Traitor
1000 Words
The hall fell silent as soon as he entered.
Six feet and two inches of presence—power coiled like a serpent beneath flawless control. Clad in a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders like shadow itself, he moved with the grace of a man who never needed to speak to be feared. His shoes clicked softly against the marble floor, yet the sound echoed like thunder in the ears of the ten guards lined up before him.
His black eyes swept over them—not just black, but the kind of black that pulled you in like the depths of the ocean, drowning you before you even realized. They didn’t blink. They didn’t waver. They studied. Calculated.
Judged.
And behind those eyes, a storm brewed.
One of them had betrayed him.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The tension in the room wrapped around every man’s throat like a noose.
The traitor could feel it.
The weight of that stare. The chill of his silence. The way the man’s hands rested calmly at his sides, but his very stillness screamed danger. The kind of danger that didn’t warn. Didn’t ask. Just acted.
He took one step forward. The guards straightened.
Another step. The air thinned.
Then he stopped. His eyes locked on the fourth man from the left.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
A flicker. A twitch. Barely a breath of guilt—but he saw it. He always saw it.
He stepped closer—slowly, like a predator. The room grew colder.
He tilted his head slightly, the shadows of the room catching the hard lines of his jaw. His voice, when it finally came, was a whisper, but it felt like a blade being dragged across glass.
"Do you know what I hate more than enemies?"
No one dared answer.
“Liars... who stand this close to me.”
His hand moved in a blur—faster than anyone could react. A knife—thin, silent, clean—slipped from inside his jacket and into the traitor’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall like a torn page.
The guard screamed. The others didn’t flinch.
He leaned in close, his voice colder than steel:
“You looked away for one second. That’s all I needed.”
He turned his back calmly, adjusting the cuff of his black suit, the room still drowning in the weight of his presence.
“Clean this mess.”
And just like that—he walked away.
Silent.
Untouchable.
With black eyes that had already seen the end long before it began.
___________________
The morning light seeped through the gaps of the curtain, touching her face like an unwanted guest. She stirred slightly on the old, squeaky bed, the springs groaning under her as if echoing her soul’s exhaustion. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, staring blankly at the familiar ceiling above—a ceiling she had memorized from the nights she couldn't sleep, the nights she wished her voice would come back.
Not by birth.
It was taken from her.
Stolen in a moment no one ever talked about anymore. Not even her parents. Just silence. That cruel, endless silence.
She sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her toes brushed the cold floor. The clock ticked 6:07 AM. College started at 8.
She had exactly nothing.
No coins. No notes. No balance in her account.
Again.
She rose, folding the blanket and setting it neatly to the side like she always did. The small act of routine brought her a strange kind of peace. In the tiny bathroom down the hall, she washed her face, brushed her teeth in silence, and looked into the stained mirror. Her fingers touched her throat lightly, as if still hoping to feel something stir within—words that once came so freely, now buried somewhere too deep.
She dried her face and moved back to her room. Her clothes were already laid out on the stool—a dull grey kurta and black shalwar, ironed the night before. She wore them quietly, fingers brushing over the fabric like they were sacred. Her bag rested beside the cupboard, stitched at the corner where it once tore. She packed her books again, even though she knew she'd be too tired to study once she reached.
She scribbled a small note for her mother and left it on the table beside the kitchen:
“Ja rahi hoon. Paon se.”
(I’m going. On foot.)
No need to ask. They already knew. The bus fare had been pushed toward bills. Rent. Medicine. The world didn’t bend for girls like her.
She tied her shoes—old, fraying at the laces—and knelt down for a moment longer than necessary. Her hands tightened into fists. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. Only breath. Only pain.
Then—
Tears.
She sat back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and let the tears spill over. Not loud. Not shaking. Just quiet rivers on a quiet face. A face that had already learned to suffer in silence.
She wanted to scream. Not just because her legs hurt from the long walk she knew was ahead.
But because she couldn't scream anymore.
She wanted someone to ask her why her eyes looked like they'd stopped dreaming.
Why her steps dragged.
Why her notebooks were filled but her voice was gone.
But no one ever asked.
Because she still smiled.
Because she still walked.
Because she pretended.
She stood up after a few minutes, wiping her face on her sleeve. She adjusted her dupatta, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped outside. The sky was still pale, the street quiet, the world busy preparing for another day it wouldn’t pause for her.
She took a deep breath, and with the weight of dreams on her back and dust on her feet,
She started walking.
Again.
- Writer
