Delhi. The city that never truly sleeps, but tonight, it was suffocating.

A symphony of horns screamed into the night air, the chaos of traffic choking every inch of the road. People were shouting, cars bumper-to-bumper, everyone too wrapped up in their own frustration to notice the screaming siren of an ambulance trying to cut through.

Inside that white beast of urgency, the driver clenched his jaw. Samay's fingers drummed furiously against the steering wheel. His dark eyes darted from mirror to mirror, scanning for a crack of mercy in the jammed lanes. Sweat beaded down his temple. His patience was a fuse, and it was burning fast.

“Move, dammit!” he yelled, leaning out the window, but his voice was swallowed by the city's deafening noise.

With a frustrated snarl, he slammed his palm against the wheel, the sound echoing like a threat. His legs were twitching, his body buzzing with adrenaline and helplessness. And then—snap.

He flung the door open, barking at the boy beside him, “Take the wheel. Now.”

The boy didn’t ask questions. He slid into the seat with the speed of someone who’d seen Samay like this before.

Samay stormed ahead, pushing through the vehicles until he reached the intersection. With a voice that could shatter glass, he roared into the chaos.

“For the love of Mata Rani, shut the hell up and listen!”

Heads turned. Shocked silence started to crawl in.

“There’s a little girl in the back of that ambulance,” he shouted. “She’s bleeding to death while you all play 'who goes first' like this is some damn game show! You don’t hear the siren? You don’t see the flashing lights? Shame on you!”

The noise dulled into awkward hush. People began scrambling back into their cars, shifting just enough to create a narrow path through the madness. Eyes dropped in guilt. Horns fell silent.

Samay returned to the driver’s seat, reclaimed the wheel, and muttered under his breath, “Jai Mata Rani.”

His foot slammed on the accelerator, the ambulance slicing through the newly opened path like a blade.

From the rearview mirror, he glanced at the girl’s parents—pale, shaking, holding onto what little hope they had. He offered a thin, reassuring smile through the narrow window between them.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calmer now, more human. “She’ll be okay. Mata Rani will make sure of it. I promise—we’re almost there.”

The mother sobbed. “Please, bhaiya… please hurry. There’s so much blood…”

Samay’s jaw tightened again. He pushed harder on the pedal, eyes locked on the glowing hospital sign ahead.

As the ambulance skidded into the hospital’s front entrance, people scattered. Samay was already halfway out before the vehicle came to a full stop. He yanked the back door open, helped haul the stretcher down with the nurses and ward boys rushing in.

He ran alongside the gurney, voice sharp and commanding. “Where’s the doctor?! Somebody get the goddamn doctor!”

No answer.

He turned, searching every white coat and blank face. Panic was beginning to curdle into fury. He stormed toward reception, locked eyes with the woman behind the desk and asked—stone cold and razor-sharp—

“Where is the in-charge doctor?”

The receptionist froze. The look in Samay’s eyes was something feral—dangerous in a way that made her forget how to breathe.

“I-I... he’s not here,” she stammered.

“What do you mean, not here?” he growled. “Where the hell is he then?”

“At his clinic… off-site,” she whispered, shrinking into her chair.

Samay turned slowly, surveying the staff around him. Every one of them was watching him, silently, nervously. His voice thundered through the lobby.

“Is this a joke to you people? A child is dying in your hallway, and you’re all standing around waiting for your bloody turn in the script?! Her parents are breaking apart in the back of that ambulance. And this—” he gestured wildly at the idle staff, “—this is what you call a hospital?!”

A nurse stepped forward timidly. “Sir, please... lower your voice. This is a hospital.”

“Oh, now you remember it’s a hospital?” he snapped. “A hospital with no doctor?”

The nurse dropped her gaze, ashamed.

“I want a doctor. Now. I don’t care if you pull one out of a hat—either someone treats that girl, or I report every single one of you for negligence.”

The tension in the room snapped like a wire. The nurse rushed away. A minute later, she returned, out of breath and nervous.

“There’s... someone,” she said. “Someone who can treat her.”

Samay’s eyes flicked to her, slow and suspicious. “Who?”

“Dr. Suryavansh. He’s still inside the building.”

Samay raked a hand through his hair, eyes darkening.

“Then why the hell are you all standing around like idiots?!” he hissed.

The receptionist jumped in quickly, “I saw him heading toward the rear wing a few minutes ago. If you can speak to him, maybe he’ll agree to see the girl.”

Samay didn’t wait to hear more. His boots echoed across the floor as he strode toward the back, fury crackling in every step.

He was going to find this Dr. Suryavansh. And if the man refused to help—God help him.

Somewhere in Delhi, far from the screaming sirens and sterile white halls of the hospital, a narrow lane cut through the belly of the city. Down that lane, a man walked alone, his silhouette folding into the night like a secret.

When he reached his house, he stepped in with a cold, unreadable expression, casting a vacant glance around the darkened room. Silent. Stale. Familiar.

Without a word, he climbed the stairs—one floor, then another. Finally, he reached the rooftop, stripped of life. No one was there. Just the wind and the hum of sleepless electricity. He moved toward the small shed-like room on the terrace and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. Locked.

Darkness.

He turned—and froze. There was something. A shift in the air. A presence. He could feel it, but not see it.

Still, he continued. Mechanically, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing strings of prayer beads wound around his neck—one after another, layers of devotion. He removed them with careful hands, placing them into a brass plate on the table. Then, he slid off his loose pants and folded them neatly beside the bed. In their place, he tied a simple white dhoti around his waist, knotting it loosely, like he always did before sleep. It had to be loose—so he could breathe. So the night could take him gently.

And it did.

Sleep dragged him under like a wave.

But within minutes, he stirred. His breath quickened. His chest heaved. Something—or someone—was above him.

He was gasping, shivering, trapped beneath a man whose face he could not see. He felt the weight, the heat, the trembling breath against his neck. Then—lips. Pressed against his throat. Soft. Hungry.

His hands, as if possessed, slid along the man’s chest, tracing every line down to his waist. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. The sensation gripped him like a fever.

They both breathed heavily now, lost in a rhythm older than language.

Then—the man on top leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss.

He responded with trembling hands, threading them through the stranger’s hair, pushing upward, brushing against flesh where only fabric had been. Fingers found skin, and with one push from below, he made contact. Their shared moan filled the room like incense.

They pulled apart only to stare into each other’s eyes—yet the darkness was thick. They couldn’t see. But they could feel. And that was worse. That was real.

The man above smiled—crooked, sinful—and began moving downward. Slowly. Reverently. He reached his legs, took one foot in his hands, and began kissing each toe like a ritual. The priest trembled, sighing, swallowing down every sound he wanted to make.

The man rose again.

But suddenly, with a breathless grunt, the one below shoved upward, flipping their positions. Now he was on top, descending on the other man’s chest like a storm. Hands roaming, breath hot, heart pounding.

He tried to untie the dhoti—but in his haste, the knot pulled tighter. The priest’s back arched, breath hitched. He was suffocating in want, in fear, in something he couldn’t name.

He shoved the man off, frantic, desperate, and yanked the knot loose. His dhoti hit the floor. So did the other’s lower garments. Now, nothing separated them.

They were both panting, bodies hot with tension, trembling at the edge of something they weren’t ready to admit.

He leaned down, kissed the man again—and this time, a low cry escaped.

The man below clutched him tightly, arms coiling around his back like vines, pressing their bodies together until nothing existed but the heat and the darkness and the terror of being seen without light.

Then—silence.

The priest jolted awake, eyes wide, breath ragged. Alone. He was drenched in sweat. His body ached. The sheets were tangled around him like shackles.

It had been a dream.

Just a dream.

But not like any dream he’d had before.

He sat up slowly, horror blooming across his face as he looked down. His lower body was stiff. Still aroused. Still trembling from something he had never dared to imagine before tonight.

He clutched his chest. Shiv… Shiv…

“I… I dreamt that? With a man? What—what kind of thoughts are these…?” he whispered to no one.

His voice cracked. Rage and shame warred inside him.

In his entire life, he had never touched himself. Never let impure thoughts linger. He was a priest. A disciple of purity. Of restraint.

And yet, tonight, his body had betrayed him.

He stumbled to the jug of water, drinking greedily, then hurled the empty vessel across the room. It clattered to the floor, splitting the silence open like a scream.

He collapsed onto the sofa, face buried in his hands, breath shallow and broken.

What kind of dream was that…? Who was he?

The boy’s body still lingered in his mind—but the face was smoke. A blur.

He tried to remember. Tried to focus. But all he could summon was the feel of skin, the scent of breath, the sharpness of heat.

Was it someone I know? A stranger? Or… a ghost from a forgotten thought?

The shame ran deep. The rage deeper.

Without another word, he stood, left the room, and climbed down the stairs. He needed a bath. He needed cleansing. Cold water. Prayer. Fire, if necessary.

But the night had already carved itself into his soul.

But who is this mysterious priest?
Why does one forbidden dream ignite such fury within him?
And while his world begins to unravel…
Will Samay be able to save the girl in time?

📹 TO BE CONTINUED...!

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