Chapter 18

The dreadful implications of what she had heard and who she had seen assailed Maahi as she absently stared at the swirling steam rising from the hot mug of Chocolate cradled in her hands. She was wrapped in a warm blanket, still, torpedoes of chill traveled down her arms. Her hands trembled.

"Drink it. It will help with the cold."

She looked up at the owner of the voice. Rizwan Baig. While she sat sideways on his three-seater regal couch, her back resting on the brocaded pillows that were stacked against the armrest, he sat on a stately settee. His living area was an exquisite ode to the Mughal era and while her experienced eyes had involuntarily registered her surroundings, she couldn't find the slightest of enthusiasm for the classic details she would have otherwise gone crazy over. In fact, she had been lying along the length of this couch lifelessly, before the hot-choco came along and forced her to sit up.

Maahi glared at the younger Baig brother, but when