Fantasy Adventure of sam and neha

[Life_is_short]

Somehow, we make it all the way home.

The drive feels endless, even though it isn’t.
The city lights pass by, unnoticed.
No music. No words.

Stress sits between us like a third passenger.

So much is racing through my head, but I force it down.
Ayaan.
What he might do next.
What he already knows.
Our identities. Our work. Our lives.

Too many things are at stake.
Right now, we just survive the moment.

We unlock the door and step inside.

The house feels familiar, quiet, safe.
But the calm doesn’t reach us.

Neha drops her bag and walks straight to the sofa.
She sinks into it, shoulders heavy, like the weight finally caught up with her.

She pulls out a cigarette.

The lighter clicks.
A small flame.
She brings it close and lights it slowly.

She inhales deeply.

Holds it.

Then exhales.

Smoke curls into the air, hanging there, thick and slow.
She takes another drag. Longer this time.

Her hands tremble just a little.

She’s smoking, but not for pleasure.
Not even for habit.

She’s smoking to breathe.
To feel something steady.
To keep herself from breaking.

I stand near the door, watching her in silence.

The room fills with smoke and unspoken thoughts.
Nothing is said, but everything is understood.

We’re home.

But the danger hasn’t left our minds yet.


I walk into the kitchen, trying to look calm.
I am not calm.

I take out a glass.
Then I stop, think for a second, and decide one glass is enough.

I pour a single malt.
Carefully. Like this is a serious medical situation.

I take it to Neha.

She looks at me.
Then at the glass.
Then back at me.

Without a word, she gulps it down in one go.
Like water. Like she’s angry at the glass.

Her hand is still shaking when she gives it back.

I sit next to her.

SAM
Are you ready?

She doesn’t answer, but she knows exactly what I mean.
So do I.

Her eyes move around the room, finally stopping at the laptop.

We never chatted with Ayaan on our phones.
Never.

No apps.
No messages.
No chatbots hiding in some corner.

Phones are dangerous.
Someone at home might see.
Someone at work might pick it up.
One wrong glance and everything is exposed.

So we used the laptop.
Always the laptop.

Very professional.
Very secret-agent type.

Close the lid and poof… gone.

No trail.
No notifications.
No accidental “good morning” popping up during a meeting.

At least, that was the plan.

Now it feels a bit ridiculous.

All that planning.
All that discipline.

And still, here we are.
Stressed. Silent. Slightly drunk.

Neha exhales slowly.

I look at the laptop.

SAM (V.O.)
Turns out, even spies panic sometimes.

The humor doesn’t fix anything.
But for a second, it helps us breathe


I log into the chatbot.

My hand is shaking slightly as I type the password.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Messages explode onto the screen.
Too many. All from Ayaan.

I start reading.

“Ha ha… I know you guys are fake.”
“You never showed up.”
“I know everything.”
“I will expose you… I have your pics.”
“You underestimated me.”
“I am a computer genius.”
“I can trace your location.”

And many more.

For a second, my heart jumps.

Then something unexpected happens.

I smile.

A real one.

Relief washes over me like cold water.

SAM (V.O.)
He didn’t know.
He never saw us.
We were never there for him.

I turn the laptop toward Neha.

SAM
Look.

She reads the messages slowly.

Then she takes a long drag from the cigarette and passes it to me.
She leans back into the sofa, finally relaxing.

The room feels different now.
Lighter.
Sharper.

We’re both IT professionals.
We know this game.

Tracing location?
Pure nonsense.

Big words. Small knowledge.

Still, one thing bothers me.

The picture part.

I look at Neha.

SAM
Are you sure you never shared any picture?
Or any social media link?

She looks at me calmly.
No doubt. No fear.

That confidence answers everything.

I nod.

Inside, I really want to abuse him.
Type everything I’m thinking.
Crush his fake confidence.

But then I stop.

Why provoke someone like this?

Silence is better.

Confusion is better.

I go straight to settings.
Delete account.

One click.

Gone.

Let him sit there, refreshing his screen.
Wondering. Guessing. Imagining.

I close the laptop slowly.

The room feels thick.
Not dangerous anymore, but heavy. Like leftover smoke after a fire.

I take another drag and lean back.

SAM (V.O.)
I pray one day he does this to the wrong person.
Someone very rich.
Someone political.
Someone who doesn’t panic… and doesn’t forgive.

God will teach him the lesson we didn’t.

Neha exhales a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

The cigarette burns quietly between her fingers now.
Her shoulders finally drop.

The poison in the room changes shape.
Earlier it was fear.
Now it’s anger cooling down.
Still there, but no longer sharp.

We sit in silence for a moment.

Not scared anymore.
Just tired.

Tired of pretending.
Tired of being careful.
Tired of people who mistake lies for intelligence.

I look at Neha.

She looks calmer now. Strong again.

We didn’t lose anything tonight.
No identity.
No work.
No control.

Only illusions.

I stub the cigarette out.

SAM
Let him think he’s powerful.
Reality has better ways of correcting people.

The house is quiet again.

And this time, it feels real.