CHHAVI'S POV

My feet froze on the damp grass. My ears suddenly sharpened, catching the shrill rustling of the cool wind as it cut through the leaves. Chills seeped into every pore of my skin, erupting goosebumps, warning me that I wasn't really alone here.

My heart thumped against my chest, amplifying the silence engulfing me with each passing moment. Fear insidiously crept into my brain, clouding my conscience and conquering my voice, robbing me out of every single thought and words. I wanted to scream, call out to Drishye, to save me because I could feel that unknown around me, lurking behind the oak trees, waiting and watching me tremble, under his gaze.

My eyes watered, burning with unshed tears but I could not dare to blink or look around, terrified of what I might witness. I felt him near me, way too near me, by my side, looking into my face, straight. One glance and I might unleash something I'm not prepared to face.

Suddenly, I felt a strong grip on my shoulder. The thumbing of my heart intensified, making me tremble vigorously. I felt the strong hands yank me, as if trying to take me away. And, I gasped hard.

"Ahhhhh!"

A raw scream tore out of my throat, echoing through the open space. The world spun in front of my eyes, blurred by the pooled up tears. My body shook as if someone was trying to pull me out of the chasm.

It was only when I felt a gentle squeeze on my arm, grounding me. I blinked, my vision unblurred and I recognised the familiar face in front of me, etched with worry. Those grey eyes, questioning my frenzy.

Drishye.

"Miss Rosy!"

His tensed voice traversed me back to the present, like a lifeline pulling me from drowning depths.

I huffed, my breathe painfully caught in my throat.

"Dri-"

I tried to call his name but it cracked, halfway. My hysteria refused to let me go.

"Why do you have blue flowers in your garden?"

I demanded abruptly, still breathing erratically. My gaze darted toward the mesmerizing blooms which were staring back at me like creeps behind the bars. Had their roots not been tangled under the soil, they'd have groped me under their canopy.

A sly smile curled his lips and for the first time ever, I felt an unmistakable spasm of intimidation. The smile was not at all casual. It was sinister, setting my nerves on fire.

He stepped closer and questioned back in a deceptively well- paced voice.

"Can a man not plant flowers in his own garden?"

I narrowed my eyes, scanning his face, trying to decode the layers behind the smile that somehow made me feel weird, like a mask shielding intentions I wasn't prepared to face.

"Are they just simple flowers?"

I couldn't help but ask, quivering. 

He took another step forward, closing the leftover distance between us and loomed over me, locking his eyes onto mine, silently commanding the hair on my nape to stand erect.

"No, they're not." He said in a rich tone that wrapped around me like smoke. "They're much more than just flowers."

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned away, strolling into the heart of the garden, his fingers grazing the delicate petals tenderly, as he explained.

"These are blue poppies, Miss Rosy. The Queen of the Himalayan flowers. They hold great medicinal value, you know. But do you know what's disheartening?"

My brows furrowed. 

"What?"

He stopped mid-stride and turned slightly, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"Natives here never really understood their worth. It's the Tibetans who revered them, who admired their true potential and celebrated it in their medical traditions. It's sad, isn't it?"

"Sad?" 

I echoed, unsure where this conversation was heading.

His smile deepened and there was something predatory in the way he watched me.

"Sad because we often fail to recognize and celebrate what's right in front of us. We take it for granted, assuming it'll always be there. Until someone else comes along and shows us its true value. Familiar, isn't it?"

His words struck me like a lightning bolt. I stiffened, my pulse quickened as I replayed them in my head, over and over. 

Take it for granted. Until someone else comes along. Familiar, isn't it?

He wasn't talking about the flowers anymore.

"I...I don't understand." 

I whispered, my voice betraying the storm of emotions brewing within me.

"Oh, you will, Miss Rosy." His tone was light, almost joyous but the glint of eldritch in his eyes and that sly smile made my skin prickle. "Now that you're here, you'll learn about them. Slowly. You'll notice everything around you, feel them, understand them."

He moved closer, oddly overwhelming me with his presence. His gaze never broke from mine. I felt his hand or perhaps, just the heat of it, trailing along the side of my body, close enough to make me shiver but never touching. The absence of contact was maddening, surprisingly. It caused a very strange ache in my lower abdomen.

"You'll explore them, Miss Rosy. And in the process..." His voice dropped to a soft whisper that brushed against my ear but laced with a teasing edge. "You'll explore yourself. Your emotions. Your fears. Your desires. Take the hints, you know?"

Hints.

I swallowed hard, trying hard to steady myself. His warm breath sent a wave of heat rushing through me despite the cold morning.

"Do you know about blue roses, Drishye?"

I asked, hoping against hope that he would brush it off and end this conversation that was getting under my skin.

He chuckled softly, just amplifying my frenzy.

"Of course, Miss Rosy. They're very...significant."

He replied without skipping a beat, confidence very much evident in his rich tone. I had desperately wanted him to deny it. To say they were just flowers, nothing more. My heart sank deeper and danced out of rhythm.

"Blue roses aren't natural, Miss Rosy," he continued in his rich tone as he walked back into the garden, caressing those soft, creepy petals. "They remind us that the most beautiful things are often the most dangerous. Because they're not meant to exist. They're created. Beautiful, mysterious and rare."

He paused, letting his words sink in before walking closer and question me in a near whisper. 

"And you know what's even more special about them?"

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He leaned closer, his lips hovering near my ear, tangling a blue poppy by the side of my ear and in a caressing voice, he stated. 

"A man who harvests blue roses, is a man who is granted all his wishes. "

My pulse thundered in my ears as his words sank in along with the petty blossom. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to step back, to put distance between us but I couldn't.

"Lucky man, it seems."

I muttered sarcastically, hoping to mask my unease.

His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. 

"Why lucky, ma'am? Maybe life ransacked him too many times that he started believing in these illogical traditions..."

I felt a chill run through me.

For a moment, silence housed the space between us. My mind was a storm- a demonic hurricane, churning with relentless chaos, ready to devour the slightest courage or positivity I was desperately trying to nurture within myself just to survive. And my body, it felt like a volcano oozing out of its dormancy by erupting molten lava of my desires, threatening to consume me whole.

I was losing my grip, sinking deeper into an abyss of doubt. Suddenly, his voice shattered the thick clouds of tension in the air like a sharp crack of thunder.

"Do you love blue roses, Miss Rosy?"

His tone was calm, almost too calm and yet it carried an undertone that made my skin itch. I blinked, snapping out of my spiraling thoughts. 

"They're beautifully...haunting. Like a beautiful witch."

I admitted, my voice trembling.

He tilted his head and repeated while scanning my face.

"Beautifully haunting..."

His gaze felt like a scalpel, cutting through layers of pretense I didn't even know I was wearing. The tip of my fingers and feet felt cold, as if they're being graced by a cold silver knife.

"A beautiful witch...or maybe a godly devil?"

I swallowed hard and replied.

"A godly devil?"

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable- or maybe something I was not ready to interpret.

"Yes," he said, a voice laced with an unsettling undercurrent. "Someone too divine to be mortal, yet too dangerous to be holy. Too pretty to be a demon, yet too sinister to be a god. A creature that is untouchable yet irresistible. Don't you think such beings exist, Miss Rosy?"

My heart pounded violently in my chest. I didn't know if it was his words or the way his gaze pierced me. I felt cloth less in front of him but surprisingly, I didn't feel as shameful. I don't know why. 

"I... I don't know."

I stammered, clutching the hem of my saree to steady my shaking hands as he stepped closer.

"You will," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "Sooner or later, we all meet our devils. The question is, will they be caring enough to make us forget the pain?"

He stepped closer, the faint scent of the wildflowers clinging to him like an aura. His darkening, smoky eyes held mine captive. 

"Miss Rosy, sometimes," he continued as his tone kept darkening, "it's not the devil we hate but the reality- the harsh, unrelenting truth they force us to see. The one we've been running from all our lives, burying it under layers of lies and fears. The way they wrap themselves around our souls, only to unwrap the illusion we've so carefully built over the years, exposing what we are at our core. The truths we're too afraid to face. The fears we can't admit even to ourselves."

I shuddered as the chill in his voice settled over me like a suffocating fog.

"And that's why we hate them. Not because they destroy us, but because they show us we've already been destroying ourselves. And when the devil is finally able to show us the beauty of reality- the one which homes our every desire and helps us demolish our barriers, we start to wonder..." 

He paused, letting the words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

"Wonder what?" 

I whispered.

"Wonder if you're falling for the devil," he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Or if you've been one all along."

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HEALTH UPDATE: Yeah, I'm recovering. I guess I'd need another couple of weeks to sit straight and write with the maximum efficiency I've. Next chapter is in progress! I'll try to update you all asap. Meanwhile, you may engage with my Instagram reels. 

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