Draped for the Devil - 4
693 Words
As soon as Zara reached the hostel, she closed the door behind her and sank onto her bed. Her hands trembled as she placed them on her lap, trying—desperately—to calm the storm inside her.
But the silence in the room only made it worse.
Her heart still raced. Her mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment—his eyes, dark and sharp, locked onto her like a warning she couldn’t unhear. Her thoughts kept circling one question over and over again:
What did he say to his assistant?
Why her?
She clutched the bedsheet beneath her, breathing heavily. No answer came. No calm followed.
With a frustrated sigh, she rose from the bed and began moving mechanically—changing out of the red saree that now felt too heavy on her skin, too tainted by that moment. She slipped into her nightwear, trying to shed the unease along with the fabric. Then she walked to the washbasin, splashed her face with cold water, and let it drip down her neck like she could wash the fear off her skin.
Still trembling, she raised her eyes to the mirror.
And froze.
Aariz’s face—his cold, unreadable expression—flashed before her eyes in the reflection.
Her breath hitched. Her chest seized.
She spun around in panic—her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
No one was there.
Just her. Alone in the room.
But her fear wasn’t gone.
Her throat tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes. Silent, hot tears that slid down her cheeks without permission.
She hugged herself as if trying to shield her soul from whatever this was—this nightmare that had stepped into her life so suddenly, so quietly, and yet with such terrifying weight.
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Meanwhile…
After the distribution of awards, Aariz leaned slightly toward the principal and said in a calm, low voice, “I’ll take your leave now.”
The principal, though slightly surprised, nodded politely. He turned to the senior lady lecturer and signaled her to carry on with the rest of the event. Then, out of respect and courtesy, he walked alongside Aariz toward the exit to personally see him off.
Outside, the convoy of black SUVs stood ready, engines humming quietly in the night air. The Mercedes-Benz door was held open by Akash, Aariz’s personal assistant.
But just before Aariz stepped into the car, he paused.
His eyes flicked toward Akash—just a glance.
Akash understood instantly.
He turned toward the principal and spoke formally, “Sir wants to speak with Miss Zara Iqbal.”
The principal blinked. “Zara?” he repeated, confused.
Akash nodded once. “Sir wishes to speak to her. Immediately.”
The principal hesitated for a second, then turned to a student standing nearby, one of the boys enjoying the evening program.
“Go and call Zara Iqbal,” the principal instructed. “Ask her to come here at once.”
The student nodded and hurried off.
Several minutes passed.
He returned, slightly out of breath. “Sir, Zara Iqbal has already left the event and gone back to the hostel.”
The principal gave a slow nod, waving the student away.
Akash turned slightly toward Aariz, who remained silent, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed ahead.
Then, without seeking further permission, Akash spoke again, his tone composed and firm.
“Then arrange a meeting with Miss Zara Iqbal tomorrow during college hours. Sir needs to speak with her. In private.”
There was no room for discussion. No question. Just a quiet command that had already been decided.
With that, Akash opened the car door.
Aariz stepped inside, without a word.
The engine started.
One by one, the black SUVs followed, moving in perfect synchronization behind the Mercedes, rolling out of the campus in silence.
And with their departure, the air around the college shifted again.
The tension that had settled since his arrival seemed to dissolve.
The crowd, the staff, and even the principal let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.
The powerful storm had passed.
But for Zara…
It was only just beginning.
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- Writer
