Since yesterday, I started working at a small café in Bangalore. It's not a glamorous place-just a little corner shop tucked between two office buildings. The décor is simple, with wooden tables and mismatched chairs, but the warmth of the place makes it feel inviting. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries fills the air, creating an atmosphere that soothes the tension gnawing at me.
It's not the kind of job I envisioned for myself. The pay is modest, and the hours are long, but for now, it's enough. It's a fresh start-away from everything, a chance to create a new life for myself, free from the shadows of my past.
The morning rush is always the hardest. The café fills with people-students hunched over their laptops, office workers in their business suits, and occasional couples looking for a quiet escape. I move between the tables, taking orders, clearing plates, and making sure everyone's happy. It's a never-ending cycle, but today, something feels different.
I'm starting to find a rhythm, a small sense of accomplishment in the tasks that seemed so mundane at first. As I carry a tray of cappuccinos to a table near the window, my eyes meet those of a gentleman who's sitting alone. He's older than most of the customers, wearing a well-tailored suit, and his presence feels like he belongs in a different world-one of elegance and power.
He smiles at me as I place his coffee on the table, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary. As I turn to leave, he calls me back.
"You've got excellent service," he says, his voice smooth and warm. I smile, nodding, not expecting much in return. But then, as he stands to leave, he places a generous tip on the table-more than I've ever seen from a customer before.
It takes me a moment to process what just happened. The tip is large enough to make me pause and stare at it, my fingers brushing over the bills. I blink, trying to keep my composure, but a flutter of gratitude and surprise fills me. It's not just the money-it's the recognition, the acknowledgment that I've done something right.
Later in the afternoon, another customer-a man, little older than me-ordered a latte with an extra shot of espresso. He's dressed casually, but there's an air of confidence about him. He thanks me as I place his drink in front of him, and then, to my surprise, he leaves a tip that's double what I expected.
"Thanks for the great service," he says with a warm smile as he stands to leave, leaving me stunned for a moment. I glance at the bill left behind, my mind racing. Another large tip. My heart races with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. It's so much more than I've ever received in a single day.
The café is busy, with people coming and going, but I can't help but notice how some of the customers are treating me-there's kindness in their eyes, a certain appreciation for the small things I do. Even those who don't leave tips make an effort to acknowledge my service with a smile or a word of thanks. It feels strange, but in a good way.
By the time my shift is nearing its end, I'm exhausted-my feet are sore, my hands are tired from carrying trays and wiping down tables, but there's a sense of pride in it. A quiet contentment. It's not a glamorous life, but for now, it's mine.
I check the tip jar before I leave. It's fuller than it's ever been, a small mountain of bills that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. The tips from today are more than enough to make my heart swell with a kind of unspoken gratitude. It feels like I've been seen, even if only for a moment. The kind of attention I never expected to get.
I grab my bag and head for the door, feeling lighter than when I came in. It's a step forward. A step toward something new.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm doing something right.
My Jaan, she's working so hard, pouring her soul into this small café, and yet, these fools aren't even paying her properly. It's infuriating. She deserves the world-luxury, comfort, a life without struggle-but instead, she's stuck in a place like this, earning barely enough to make ends meet.
I watch her every day, though she doesn't know it. She's unaware that my eyes never leave her, even if I can't be seen. I can't show myself to her-not yet. Not until she's ready to face the truth about me, about us.
But I'm not powerless. I have my own ways of ensuring she gets what she deserves. I can't stand the thought of those idiots treating her like this, so I send my men. Disguised, of course, blending in with the crowd. Every time they visit, they make sure to leave her a larger tip. It's a small gesture, but it makes her smile.
And that smile... Uff, it's enough to tear my soul apart. Every time she smiles, I feel my entire being shift. She's like a drug-her smile, her presence-consuming me. How I long to be the one to make her smile, to hold her in my arms and never let her go.
I can't help myself. I've already promised myself that when I finally confront her, when I make her understand what she means to me, I'll take away every single worry she has. But for now, I'll settle for making sure her day isn't so hard.
Today, I'll also take care of the café owner. I'll make sure every employee here gets a proper raise. I don't care if they know about me or not-they don't realize who she is. They don't know that she is my Queen. My Angel.
If they knew... Ugh, they'd never treat her like this again.
I can't come to her in person, not yet, but I'll make sure she never feels like she's alone in this fight. Not while I'm breathing.
I'm letting her do this for now because she's strong, because she's proud, and I can't take that from her. But mark my words-if I could, I'd drag her out of here in a second, put her in a place where no one could harm her, where she'd never have to lift a finger again.
But for now, I'll keep her at a distance, even as I watch over her, silent and hidden.
Finally, after a long day of work, I reached my flat, completely exhausted. My feet ached from the constant running around, and my head was heavy with the weight of all the things I had to do-keeping my job, managing my expenses, and still trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
I kicked off my shoes, feeling the coolness of the wooden floor beneath my feet as I trudged into the bathroom. The hot water from the shower helped to loosen the tightness in my muscles, and for a brief moment, I could forget about everything. The steam from the shower clung to my skin, calming my mind and body. I let myself sink into the warmth, even though I knew I couldn't let myself fully relax. Not with all the turmoil swirling inside me.
After I dried off, I moved to the kitchen to make a quick dinner-nothing fancy. Just something to fill my stomach before bed. A bowl of pasta, some garlic bread. Simple, easy. I ate in silence, my mind wandering, mostly back to the chaos I had left behind. Ashtram. His face. His words.
I couldn't get him out of my head. Even now, after all that had happened. After everything I learned about him. I hated him, I told myself. I had to. He dragged me into this world I didn't belong in, made me see things I couldn't unsee.
But there were moments. Moments when I'd close my eyes, and I could still feel the weight of his arms around me, the warmth of his body next to mine. I hated that I missed it. I hated that I was still so drawn to him, even though everything about him terrified me.
But tonight, I had to focus on something else. I had to focus on getting some rest. The past few days had been too much, and I couldn't afford to break down now.
I finished my dinner quickly, cleaned up, and then moved to my bedroom. The bed felt like a welcome refuge. As I slipped under the covers, I closed my eyes, trying to push aside all the swirling thoughts that had plagued me for so long. My body was tired, but my mind... it wouldn't let me sleep.
With a sigh, I turned onto my side, pulling the blankets tightly around me, hoping that tonight I'd finally get some peace.
But somehow, even in my sleep, I knew it wasn't going to be that easy.
Finally, I'm inside her flat. I can feel it-the pull, the undeniable force that's always there when she's close. My Angel, my Niranya, is here. The moment I step in, the air feels different, charged with the intensity of my obsession for her.
I should be satisfied. I've been patient. I've stayed in the shadows, watched over her from afar, but tonight, I couldn't take it any longer. She needs me. I can feel it in the way she moves, the tiredness in her every gesture. She's been working so hard, so relentlessly, and yet, the world around her doesn't seem to care. They don't see her like I do. They don't understand that she's more than just a girl doing a job-she's my Queen, my everything.
I had to get in. I made sure of that. The flat's owner had no choice but to give me the duplicate key. Money speaks, after all. And for extra security, I had hidden cameras installed all over her flat. I needed to keep her safe, to know what she was doing, where she was at all times.
I step into her bedroom, my eyes immediately falling on her. There she is-my Jaan-sleeping so peacefully, but the exhaustion on her face is undeniable. Her shoulders sag, her eyes closed in a way that speaks of more than just tiredness. It's as if the weight of the world is on her.
She's so small in the bed, yet so strong. I want to fix it all for her, make everything right. I know I can. I have the power, the means, and I will stop at nothing to ensure that she's never hurt again.
I approach the bed quietly, my gaze never leaving her. The soft rise and fall of her chest is calming, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch her immediately. I want to wake her up, pull her into my arms, tell her everything will be okay. But I can't. Not yet.
I lean down, brushing a soft kiss over her forehead, my lips lingering just a second longer than necessary. She's so warm, so delicate. My heart stutters in my chest. I'm sorry, my Angel. I didn't want it to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you. But I'll make it right. I swear to you, I'll make it all better.
But it's her lips, her sweet, intoxicating lips that keep haunting me. The memory of them on mine, the taste of her, the softness of her kisses-they burn through me, sending waves of need through my veins. I crave her. I crave to kiss her, to feel her lips under mine again. The way she melts in my arms, the way her kiss ignites something deep inside me.
I want it. I need it.
But I stop myself.
Not now. Not yet. She's not ready, and I won't push her. I know I should wait, wait until she understands, until she's ready to let me back in. I won't force her. Not this way.
I close my eyes for a moment, forcing the craving to subside. It's killing me, but I know this is the only way. I have to respect her, give her the time she needs.
I kneel beside the bed and begin massaging her feet, careful with every movement, ensuring she remains undisturbed. She doesn't stir, her body too tired to react, but I know she feels the gentle pressure of my hands. I move with precision, making sure every touch is soft, tender, the way she deserves.
I don't want to wake her, but I need to do this. I need to care for her, to show her that even though I'm lurking in the shadows, I am always with her. Every moment, every step of the way.
I massage her feet until the tension in her body starts to ease. She lets out a soft sigh, and I feel a deep sense of satisfaction. She's finally at peace, even if it's just for this moment.
I watch her as she falls back into a deeper sleep, her breathing more even now, the exhaustion slowly leaving her body. She looks so peaceful now, so safe.
I don't want to leave her, but I know I must. For now.
But one thing is certain. I won't ever let her go again. Not now. Not ever.
Write a comment ...