I'm a well-wisher

Gnapika sat in her room, lost in thought, replaying Nirbhay's words over and over in her mind. She felt a growing unease within her, a feeling that had taken root the day she first met him. It was when Gowthami was in the hospital, her condition critical, that Nirbhay had approached her. At first, she had brushed him off, dismissing him as just another stranger. But there was something about the way he spoke—his knowledge of her and her mother—that stopped her in her tracks.

She remembered it clearly. The bustling hospital corridor had been filled with the smell of antiseptic, the beeping of monitors, and the quiet hum of worried conversations. Gnapika had been pacing, her heart heavy with worry for Gowthami, when a man stepped into her path. His presence was unremarkable, but his words had cut through her haze of anxiety like a knife.

"I'm a well-wisher," he had said, his voice calm and composed, almost too casual for the setting. Gnapika h