The village slept.

Or at least it pretended to.

Haseena walked slowly through the narrow dirt path, careful not to make a sound. Somewhere beyond the mud houses, beyond the barking dogs and flickering lamps, the forest waited.

The forest was still breathing when Haseena found her.

Karishma always waited in places no one looked.

Near the forest.

Near the dark.

She sat on a fallen tree near the riverbank, knees pulled to her chest, watching the water as if it were reading her thoughts back to her.

“Tum sahi thi,” Haseena said quietly.

Karishma didn’t turn.

“Kis baare mein?”

“Ye sirf ek case nahi hai.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

“I’m ready,” Haseena said.

“Pakka?”

Karishma stepped into the faint moonlight. Her face was unreadable.

“Ab bhi ye sirf ek mission toh nahi?” she asked.

“Nahi,” Haseena replied. “Ab ye meri zimmedari hai.”

Karishma studied her for a long moment. Then she turned without another word.

“Chaliye.”

They walked.

Not through the village—but around it. Through a narrow trail hidden by tall grass and thorny bushes. It was the kind of path only someone small, quick, and alert would ever use.

Finally, they reached a clearing.

A broken hut stood there, leaning slightly to one side.

A tin roof held down by stones.

Mud walls cracked by years of rain.

A piece of cloth instead of a door.

“Ye…?” Haseena began.

“Mera ghar,” Karishma said.

Haseena’s chest tightened.

Inside, there was barely anything.

A thin mattress on the floor.

One steel plate.

A small rusted stove.

A half-empty water bottle.

No cupboard.

No toys.

No photographs.

Just silence.

“Tum yahan akeli rehti ho?” Haseena asked softly.

“Zyada tar,” Karishma replied.

“Tumhare mata-pita?”

“Gaon ke dusre side. Construction pe kaam karte hain.”

No bitterness.

No anger.

Just facts.

“Tum unke saath nahi rehti?”

Karishma didn’t answer.

She sat near the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, watching Haseena like she was deciding something.

“Unhe beta chahiye tha,” she finally said. “Beti nahi.”

Something broke inside Haseena.

“Isliye yahan?” she asked.

“Isliye kahin bhi,” Karishma replied quietly.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees, whispering secrets.

Haseena sat beside her, leaving a little space between them.

“Tumhe akele rehne ki zarurat nahi,” she said.

Karishma looked at her.

“Akele rehna mujhe aata hai,” she said. “Saath rehna nahi.”

“Phir hum seekhenge,” Haseena replied.

For the first time, Karishma didn’t look away.

“Aap yahin rahogi?” she asked.

Haseena nodded.

“Agar tum chaho.”

Karishma reached into a small cloth pouch tied around her waist and took out a folded blanket. She placed it beside her own.

“Yahin so jaaiye,” she said.

It wasn’t kindness.

It was permission.

That night, they lay under a leaking roof.

One woman trained to read danger.

One girl born inside it.

Somewhere in the village, men whispered orders.

Somewhere in the forest, dogs howled.

And in a forgotten hut, two shadows lay side by side—watching the ceiling, listening to the same silence.

Neither trusted the world.

But maybe—

They were beginning to trust each other.

The rain stopped sometime before dawn.

Haseena woke to the sound of soft movement inside the hut. For a second, her instincts screamed—but then she saw Karishma standing near the cloth door, tying the string around her waist.

“Kahan ja rahi ho?” Haseena asked quietly.

“Dekhne,” Karishma replied. “Kaun idhar–udhar ghoom raha hai.”

“It’s still dark.”

Karishma gave a small shrug. “Dark mein hi zyada sach dikhta hai.”

She slipped out before Haseena could stop her.

Haseena waited five seconds.

Then followed.

The forest was cold and wet. Leaves were slippery underfoot. Karishma moved ahead, light and silent, barely touching the ground.

They reached a small hill from where the village could be seen.

Smoke was already rising from some houses. Men were walking toward the main road. Life was starting again—as if nothing dangerous had happened the night before.

Karishma crouched behind a bush.

“Woh dekhiye,” she whispered.

Haseena followed her gaze.

Two men stood near the ration shed. One of them was holding a small list.

“Bachchon ke naam,” Karishma said. “Jo kal nahi honge.”

Haseena’s jaw tightened.

“Tum ye kaise jaanti ho?”

Karishma didn’t answer.

She just kept watching.

After a while, they went back to the hut.

Inside, Karishma lit the small stove and put some water to boil.

“Aapko chai pasand hai?” she asked suddenly.

“Bahut,” Haseena replied.

Karishma nodded as if she had expected that.

They sat on the floor, sipping from steel cups. The hut was still cold, but it felt… less empty.

“Tum school nahi jaati?” Haseena asked gently.

Karishma shrugged. “Kabhi-kabhi.”

“Kyun?”

“Gaon ke log zyada sawaal nahi pasand karte.”

Haseena understood.

“Tum bahut kuch dekh chuki ho, hai na?”

Karishma looked at her.

“Kya farq padta hai?”

“Padta hai,” Haseena said. “Tum bachchi ho.”

Karishma’s lips curved slightly.

“Yahan bachche sirf umr se hote hain.”

Haseena didn’t argue.

Outside, footsteps passed close to the hut. Both of them went silent.

After the sound faded, Karishma looked at Haseena.

“Kal raat aap darr gayi thi?”

Haseena thought for a moment. “Nahi. Par main concerned thi.”

“Kis baat ka?”

“Tumhare liye.”

Karishma didn’t respond.

She finished her tea and stood up.

“Aaj aap gaon mein dikhna, bus thoda ghav ka lagna purane kapde hai humare pass pehn lena.” she said. “Zyada chup rahogi toh shak hoga.”

“Tum?”

“Mai aas pass najar rakhungi”

Haseena looked at her. “Aur agar kuch galat hua?”

Karishma’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Toh aap bhaag jaana.”

“And you?”

Karishma smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Main toh hamesha nikal jaati hoon.”

They walked back toward the village.

People stared at Haseena—some curious, some suspicious. No one looked twice at Karishma.

That scared Haseena more.

At a small tea stall, a man leaned close to another and whispered, “Kal raat ration shed ke paas koi tha.”

Karishma slowed her steps.

Haseena noticed.

“Tumne suna?” Haseena whispered.

Karishma nodded.

“Isliye humko Dhyan rakhna hoga,”

she said softly. “Gaon bahut jaldi badal jaata hai.”

Later, as they stood near the hand pump, Karishma suddenly spoke.

“Aap sheher se ho, na?”

“Haan.”

“Wahan ladkiyon ko bachche rehne diya jaata hai?”

Haseena looked at her.

“Zyada tar, haan.”

Karishma thought about that.

“Achha hai.”

That was all she said.

That evening, they returned to the hut together.

No one followed.

But Haseena knew—

Someone had started watching.

And Karishma knew it too.

Yet neither of them said it out loud.

Because some dangers grow stronger when you name them.

And in that small broken hut, two silent warriors prepared for a fight neither of them had chosen—but both of them would face.

Together.

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That's it for today's chapter! ✨

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