Who is the Bad Aunt?

Adrenaline surged through Nikhil's veins. Ignoring the throbbing ache in his temples from the sudden turn of events, he slammed the car into reverse and peeled away from the curb, tires screeching in protest. Rashmi clung to him like a frightened koala, her muffled sobs vibrating against his chest. In the rearview mirror, the woman and the man were mere angry blurs, their enraged shouts drowned out by the roar of his engine.

He hit the gas, speeding through the deserted streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon. Fear gnawed at him – those people wouldn't hesitate to hurt him to get to the girl. The desperation in her eyes confirmed it – they were not good people.

He stole a glance at his passenger. "Who are they, Rashmi?" he asked gently, his voice barely a whisper above the engine's hum.

Rashmi remained silent, her body trembling against his. He tried again, hoping to soothe her. "It's okay, tell me when it feels safe. We'll get you away from them."

Suddenly, a sickening jolt sent the car lurching forward. Nikhil swore under his breath as he fought to regain control of the swerving vehicle. He slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt in the middle of the deserted road. His heart hammered against his ribs as he peered through the rear window.

There, blocking their path, was a dark-tinted sedan. No markings, no license plate – it screamed trouble. But fear turned to a steely resolve. His car might have been a luxury sports model, but it was also built for speed.

Launching himself back into the driver's seat, he floored the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, propelling them forward like a rocket. The sedan lurched after them, its headlights pinning them in a beam of menacing white.

The chase was on. Nikhil expertly weaved through traffic, pushing his car to its limits. The adrenaline coursing through him was both exhilarating and terrifying. He knew he couldn't outrun them forever, but he had to buy himself some time.

Every twist and turn tested his skill, every near-miss sent shivers down his spine. But slowly, ever so slowly, the distance between them began to increase. The sedan, a heavier model, struggled to keep pace. Finally, with one last desperate maneuver, Nikhil managed to lose them in a labyrinth of narrow backstreets.

He pulled into a hidden alley, his chest heaving and hands slick with sweat. He switched off the engine, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the roar of the chase. He turned to Rashmi, expecting to see her still terrified.

But instead, she was looking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Are we safe now, mister?" she asked, her voice small but clear.

Nikhil managed a shaky smile. "Yes, little one. We're safe." He gently untangled himself from her grasp, his body aching from the exertion. This unexpected turn of events had certainly been a workout.

Looking at the sleeping city, a new problem presented itself. What to do with Rashmi? He couldn't take her to the police station at this ungodly hour, and leaving her alone was unthinkable. Then, a decision formed in his mind.

He'd take her home.

Of course, he'd have a lot of explaining to do to Anya in the morning, but for now, Rashmi needed a safe haven. And somehow, he felt a strange sense of responsibility for the little girl who'd found comfort in his arms during a terrifying chase. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected detour in his life held a meaning he couldn't yet comprehend.

Nikhil pulled his luxurious sports car to a halt in front of his sprawling mansion. The imposing structure, bathed in warm yellow light, seemed to rise from the manicured lawns like a beacon of safety. He carefully lifted Rashmi out of the car, her small frame surprisingly heavy with exhaustion.

As he approached the entrance, his chauffeur, Ravi, a man who embodied the definition of unflappable, rushed out, his eyes wide with concern. "Mr. Malhotra! Where have you been? We were…" Ravi's voice trailed off as he took in the sight of a tear-stained Rashmi clinging to Nikhil.

Nikhil, too tired to explain, simply shook his head and stepped into the waiting elevator. The doors slid shut, whisking them up to his opulent living room. There, sitting on the plush velvet sofa, was his mother, Pushpa. Her usually serene face was etched with worry.

"Nikhil!" she exclaimed, relief flooding her features. "Where have you been? It's past midnight! You never stay out this late."

She then noticed the little girl tucked under his arm. "Nikhil, who is this?"

Nikhil, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion, sighed. "We'll talk in the morning, Ma. I'm beat."

Pushpa frowned, concern flickering in her eyes. She reached to take Rashmi, who instinctively clung tighter to Nikhil. "But… come on, dear. Let me take you."

Rashmi let out a whimper, her grip on Nikhil tightening. Pushpa tried again, this time gently, but the little girl burst into tears, burying her face in Nikhil's chest.

Pushpa's frown deepened. "Nikhil, what's going on? Why doesn't she want to come with me?"

A wry smile tugged at Nikhil's lips. This wasn't the first time he'd brought home strays. Their spacious house currently played host to two rescued kittens and a dog, all thanks to his soft spot for the downtrodden.

"Later, Ma," he promised, exhaustion winning over patience. "I'll explain everything in the morning."

With that, he carried Rashmi up the grand staircase, the soft glow of the chandeliers illuminating their path. He settled her on his king-sized bed, the luxurious silk sheets a stark contrast to her dirt-streaked clothes.

Finally getting a good look at her face, Nikhil's breath hitched. Tiny bruises marred her pale skin, a testament to the horrors she'd endured. "Who did this to you, Rashmi?" he asked gently.

Her tear-filled eyes met his. "The bad aunt," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Suddenly, Nikhil understood why she wouldn't go with Pushpa. Rashmi was being abused. And now, she was safe in his arms. A feeling of fierce protectiveness washed over him, a stark contrast to the turmoil of his night.

Slipping out of the room, he raided his kitchen, returning with a glass of warm milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Rashmi devoured them hungrily, her eyes wide with a combination of fear and gratitude.

"Do you want a bath?" he asked gently.

She nodded eagerly, the flicker of a smile gracing her lips for the first time.

As he ran a warm bath, Nikhil couldn't help but wonder. When was the last time Rashmi had eaten a decent meal, let alone slept in a soft bed? And what exactly had happened to her that led her to seek refuge in his arms in the dead of night? One thing was certain – whatever secrets Rashmi held, she wouldn't be revealing them tonight. But Nikhil was determined to find out. And he had a strong feeling that this little girl, with her bruised body and haunted eyes, was about to change his life in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine.

The warm water swirled in the bathtub, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Nikhil. He turned towards Rashmi, offering her a gentle smile. "Alright, little one. Why don't you get undressed? The water's perfect."

Rashmi looked up at him, her big brown eyes glistening with a mix of apprehension and exhaustion. Hesitantly, she started to lift her shirt, then winced, tears welling up again.

"Can you help me, mister?" she whispered, her voice barely above a sob. "It hurts."

Nikhil's heart clenched. He knelt beside the tub, his voice low and soothing. "Of course, I can help you, Rashmi. But only if it's okay. Tell me if anything hurts, alright?"

Rashmi nodded, her eyes wide as Nikhil carefully peeled off her dirty clothes, surprised at the gentleness of his touch.

"Why are you so careful?" she asked, a hint of suspicion lingering in her voice.

"Because you deserve it, sweetheart," he replied softly. "No one should be treated rough."

A flicker of something dark crossed her face. "The bad uncle always took them off roughly," she mumbled, the words heavy with unspoken pain.

Nikhil's jaw clenched. The anger simmering inside him threatened to boil over. He eased Rashmi into the water, wincing as she hissed at the sting of her bruises.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured, gently washing her tiny body with a soft washcloth. "The water will make you feel better."

As he began to clean her legs, he noticed her tense up, her gaze darting nervously between him and the washcloth.

"Rashmi, are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "Does anything down there hurt?"

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No, it doesn't hurt. But the bad uncle said…" she trailed off, tears shimmering in her eyes.

"What did he say, sweetheart?" Nikhil coaxed gently, a sense of dread creeping into his gut.

"He said… he said no one else can touch me there, only him," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

The revelation hit Nikhil like a physical blow. His mind reeled, piecing together the horrifying truth behind Rashmi's bruises and her fear. This wasn't just neglect; it was something far more sinister.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain calm. He gently washed the rest of her body, avoiding the sensitive area she mentioned. Wrapping her in a soft towel, he dried her with utmost care, his heart heavy with a protectiveness he hadn't known he possessed.

As he dressed her in a clean pair of pajamas, Rashmi curled up against him, a tiny ball of vulnerability. "Who's that lady?" she asked, her voice small, pointing towards the hallway where he'd peeked in on his mother earlier.

"That's my mom," Nikhil replied, pulling her closer.

"Will she hit me?" Rashmi asked, her voice filled with a fear that shattered his heart.

Nikhil felt a surge of anger towards the people who had put this fear in her eyes. "Never," he said fiercely. "My mom would never hurt a fly, let alone a sweet girl like you. Why did you ask that?"

Rashmi's lip trembled. "The bad aunt says I'm bad and that I deserve to be hurt," she whispered, burying her face in his chest.

Nikhil held her tightly, his own voice thick with emotion. "You are a good girl, Rashmi," he said, his words a balm to her wounded spirit. "You deserve all the love and happiness in the world."

He gently tucked her into the plush bed, the soft glow of the night light casting dancing shadows on the walls. Rashmi snuggled into the covers, her eyes already drooping with exhaustion.

"Mister?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Yes, Rashmi?"

"Thank you for saving me."

Nikhil smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You're safe now, little one. Sleep well."

As he watched her drift off to sleep, a silent vow formed in his heart. He would protect Rashmi, no matter the cost. But the question that gnawed at him was this: who was the bad aunt and uncle, and how were they connected to the little girl with haunted eyes curled up in his bed?