the 14 Days

CHAPTER 2

Vishwa’s head throbbed as he slowly drifted into consciousness, his senses dulled by an overwhelming dizziness. A faint, familiar melody reached his ears, distant at first, then growing clearer—a song. His song. He tried to move, but something held him back. Panic surged through his veins as he became aware of the rough sensation of rope digging into his wrists. His hands were tightly bound behind the chair, restricting even the slightest movement. A sticky, suffocating tape pressed against his lips, sealing away any cry for help. His breaths came in ragged, muffled gasps as he forced his eyes open, the dim, flickering light above making his vision swim. Shadows danced along the walls, distorting the already unfamiliar surroundings. He tried to make sense of where he was, why he was here, but his mind was clouded, disoriented. The only thing certain was the voice—soft, melodic, yet unsettling. Someone was in the kitchen, humming his song with eerie precision. The sound of a knife rhythmically chopping against a wooden board accompanied the tune, a chilling contrast to its otherwise soothing melody. Vishwa’s pulse quickened. He struggled against his restraints, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he tried to turn his head toward the source of the sound. Was this a dream? A nightmare? Or had he been dragged into something far more terrifying than he could comprehend? His body tensed as the humming voice paused, and for the first time, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching.The humming stopped. The slow, deliberate footsteps grew closer, and Vishwa’s entire body stiffened as the presence loomed over him. A hand—cold, firm—gripped his chin, tilting his head upward. His pulse pounded against his throat as he found himself staring into the shadowed face of his captor, obscured beneath the hood of a black sweatshirt. The dim light did nothing to reveal their identity, only deepening the unease that coiled within him. A slow, calculated movement followed, fingers gripping the edge of the tape over his mouth. A moment of hesitation, then a sharp yank. Pain seared across his skin as the adhesive ripped free, leaving his lips tingling, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but his throat was dry, and before he could muster a word, a plate was placed on his lap. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air—a cruel contradiction to the situation he was in. The captor, still silent, took a step back, tilting their head slightly as if studying him.

Vishwa swallowed hard, his voice hoarse when he finally managed to speak. "Who are you?" His words were edged with fear and confusion, his eyes searching the shadowed face for any hint of familiarity. No answer. Instead, the captor reached into their hoodie pocket and pulled out a fork, tapping it lightly against the edge of the plate. A silent demand. Eat. Vishwa clenched his jaw, his muscles tense. "What do you want from me?" he pressed, his voice stronger this time. A low, breathy chuckle escaped from beneath the hood—an unsettling sound that sent chills racing down his spine. The captor finally spoke, their voice distorted, almost unrecognizable. "You don’t remember, do you?" The words slithered through the air, laced with something unreadable—mockery, resentment, or something darker. Vishwa’s stomach twisted. "Remember what?" His mind reeled, sifting through every possible enemy, every wrong turn he could have taken, but nothing made sense.

The captor took a slow step closer, placing gloved fingers on the back of Vishwa’s chair and leaning in. “You sang this song,” they murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You sang it for the world. But some songs... some songs should never be heard.” Vishwa’s breath hitched. What were they talking about? He had sung hundreds of songs—songs that people loved, songs that brought joy, pain, memories—but why would one of them bring him here, tied up in a dark room with a faceless stranger? His heartbeat thundered in his ears as the captor straightened, grabbing the fork and scooping up a bite of food. With an eerie slowness, they lifted it to his lips. “Eat,” they commanded. The tension in the air was suffocating. Vishwa hesitated, every instinct screaming at him not to comply, but hunger gnawed at him, and the uncertainty of what would happen if he refused loomed over him like a shadow. His captor’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and chilling. "You’ll need your strength... for what comes next."

Vishwa wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, his stomach tight with unease. The food had been simple—nothing suspicious, nothing overtly threatening—yet every bite had carried the weight of uncertainty. He had eaten in silence, under the watchful eye of his captor, a man whose presence exuded an eerie calm. The moment he set his spoon down, the man stood, hands casually tucked into his pockets, and spoke the words that sent a chill crawling down Vishwa’s spine.

“You’re free to roam the villa,” the kidnapper said, his voice smooth, almost friendly. “But you can’t leave. For the next fourteen days, you’re mine.”

Vishwa’s breath hitched. His mind raced, grasping at those last words, trying to peel apart their meaning. Fourteen days? The idea of captivity stretching out before him like a slow-moving nightmare made his stomach churn. His fingers curled against his thighs as he forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. There was no malice in his expression—just an unnerving certainty, like a puppeteer watching his strings tighten.

The kidnapper stepped aside, gesturing toward the vast hallways of the villa. The sheer luxury of the place was disorienting. High ceilings, grand chandeliers, walls lined with expensive art—none of it fit the image of a prison, yet that was exactly what it was. The air smelled of polished wood and fresh flowers, an unsettling contrast to the dread settling deep in Vishwa’s chest.

He swallowed hard. “Why?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The man simply smiled, tilting his head as if amused by the question. “You’ll understand soon enough.” And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the vastness of the villa.

Vishwa sat frozen for a moment before pushing himself up from the chair, his legs slightly unsteady. His gaze darted to the grand windows—tall, elegant, but likely reinforced. The doors leading outside were surely locked. Fourteen days. The number rang in his ears like a countdown, an omen of something unseen.

He took a deep breath. He had to think. He had to understand why he was here. And most importantly, he had to find a way out.

The shadows of the villa seemed to stretch and shift around him, as if the house itself was alive, waiting—just like the man who had taken him.

And somewhere deep inside, Vishwa knew—this was just the beginning.