89. Again?

••••••••••

Mahira was reviewing a patient’s report when she heard a knock on her cabin door. Without looking up, she said, "Come in."

The door opened, and a man stepped inside. She barely spared him a glance before asking, “What do you need, sir?”

He didn’t respond immediately, just stood there, watching her.

She sighed, finally looking up. “If you have any injuries or need treatment, my other doctors can take care of you. I have a lot of work, so—”

“I wanted to meet you.” His voice was calm, but there was something unsettling about it.

Mahira frowned. “There’s nothing for us to talk about. Please leave.” She went back to her work, dismissing him.

She heard him turn, but instead of leaving, she heard the soft click of the door locking.

Her fingers froze on the papers. Slowly, she looked up.

The man was still there, facing her now, a twisted smirk on his lips.

Confusion crept into her expression. "What do you think you're—"

"I just got the chance," he murmured, stepping closer. "Your room is soundproof, you see. And I’ve been waiting for days for this moment."

A chill ran down her spine.

Her hand instinctively reached for the telephone on her desk. Before she could dial, she heard him chuckle.

Mahira’s eyes darted to the wire.

It was cut.

Her heartbeat spiked.

Panic set in, but she masked it as she slipped her hand into her pocket, gripping her phone.

She had to be fast.

She quickly pulled it out, her thumb racing to unlock it—

But before she could, she saw him reach for a heavy flowerpot beside her desk.

Her breath caught in her throat.

No—

He hurled it straight at her hand.

CRASH!

A sharp, unbearable pain shot through her wrist as the impact forced the phone from her grip, sending it clattering to the floor.

Mahira let out a scream, her eyes wide with agony.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched her wrist, which was now twisted unnaturally.

A broken bone.

She knew it immediately.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them down, trying to think.

Trying to escape.

But the man took another step forward, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

She was trapped.

Mahira's entire body trembled as the man stepped closer, his eyes dark with twisted intent.

Her instincts screamed at her to run.

Ignoring the searing pain in her wrist, she shoved herself up from the chair and made a dash for the door.

But she barely made it two steps before something hard collided with the side of her head.

A glass vase.

Shattered on impact.

Her vision blurred as white-hot pain exploded in her skull, warm blood trickling down her temple.

She staggered, clutching her head, but the sudden strain on her already wounded body was too much.

Her shoulder—her stitched wound—ripped open.

The pain was unbearable.

A scream tore from her throat as she collapsed to the ground, her body writhing from the agony.

She barely had time to register the throbbing in her head before she felt his presence looming over her.

“You made this difficult for yourself,” the man sneered, his voice thick with amusement.

Mahira’s breath hitched in terror as he knelt beside her. His fingers, rough and unwanted, trailed down her cheek.

She recoiled, her entire body shuddering in revulsion.

Then—

The sound of a zipper from his pants.

Her stomach twisted in horror.

“No—” she gasped, her voice breaking.

His filthy hands grabbed at her, tugging at the fabric of her clothes.

Mahira’s instincts kicked in.

With whatever strength she had left, she pushed at him, kicking wildly.

Her nails scratched against his arm, her panic giving her strength.

But it wasn’t enough.

He growled in anger and then—

A stinging crack echoed in the room.

Mahira’s face whipped to the side, her cheek burning from the force of his slap.

Her ears rang.

Her vision spun.

Pain.

Too much pain.

Her body ached, her strength draining.

But she couldn’t let this happen.

She wouldn’t let this happen.

Mahira’s entire body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Pain.

That was all she could feel.

Her cheek burned from the slap, her skin throbbing where his filthy hand had struck her.

The side of her head was wet, the blood sticky as it trickled down.

Her wrist—useless, broken, aching.

And her shoulder—her stitches had torn open completely.

She could feel the warm blood soaking her clothes, dripping down her arm, staining the floor beneath her.

Everything hurt.

But nothing—nothing—compared to the terror clawing at her chest.

She couldn’t move.

Her body refused to listen.

Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push, to crawl—to do something—but her limbs were frozen, too weak, too battered.

She could hear him breathing.

Heavy. Slow.

Waiting.

Watching.

She shut her eyes tightly, trying to disappear into the darkness.

Nahi, nahi, nahi…

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

The room was too quiet.

The silence suffocated her.

The only sound was the wet trickle of her own blood, dripping onto the cold floor.

She couldn't stop shaking.

A choked whimper escaped her lips, unbidden, unwanted.

She bit down on her tongue, trying to silence herself, but it was no use.

She was terrified.

Just as that before incident of her life.

This wasn't like the bullet wound. That had been pain—agony, yes, but this?

This was fear.

She felt disgusting.

Vulnerable.

Helpless.

A wave of nausea hit her as she felt his shadow cast over her again, his presence unbearable, suffocating.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow, every inhale burning like fire in her lungs.

She clenched her jaw, her fingernails digging into the floor, trying—desperately—to ground herself.

She needed to move.

To do something.

To get away.

But she couldn't.

Her body wouldn't listen.

Her mind was slipping.

And for the first time in her life—

She wished someone would save her.

The man stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his touch unwelcome as he reached for her.

Mahira’s entire body tensed, panic clawing at her throat.

She wanted to run, to scream, but the sharp pain in her wrist and shoulder made every movement unbearable.

Her heart pounded violently, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

And then—nostalgia hit her like a storm.

A buried, haunting memory surged forward, wrapping around her like chains.

The ache in her heart was far worse than the pain in her body.

Her vision blurred, the walls of her office spinning, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

A distant ringing filled her ears, drowning out the sickening words the man was uttering.

Her legs gave out. Darkness crept into the edges of her sight.

A shiver ran through her before her body finally gave in, and she collapsed, unconscious.

••••••••••

Pain wasn’t just a feeling—it was carved into her very existence.💔