Prisoner

The mild but familiar stench of rotting flesh made Kiran squint and gingerly open her eyes. She felt sluggish and sleepy, as if she had just woken up from a long and much needed nap. Instead of a cozy pillow or a comfortable bed, however, she woke up to the maroon scarf covering the crook of Noorh's neck.

Kiran gasped and quickly leaned away, her cheeks flushed scarlet at the thought of sleeping on a man's chest. Noorh didn't seem to mind it though. In fact, he sat unperturbed and unmoving in front of her as if he himself had fallen into a deep slumber.

"Noorh?" Kiran asked, her hands tentatively touching his shoulders. His head was bowed low, almost as if he had fallen asleep due to extreme exhaustion. "Noorh, wake up," she said, gently shaking his shoulders. "Noorh," she called out again before gingerly tipping his chin upward to take a closer look at his condition.

To her horror, Noorh's face had turned ashen. His skin was ice cold and his lips was a shade