Hidden Strings: Who's Playing Who?

5. The unwanted reunion

The delay was unacceptable.  

I checked my watch for the third time, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the armrest. The stage remained empty, the lights dimmed, the murmurs of restless students swelling around me.  

Alam, my newly appointed assistant, shifted beside me, his nervous energy grating. "Sir, there’s a technical issue—they’re saying it’ll just be a few more minutes—"  

"A technical issue," I repeated, my voice dangerously soft. "In my university."
 

He swallowed. "I—I’ll go check again—"  

"No." I cut him off. "Give me my coat. I’m leaving."  

Alam scrambled to hand it over, but the moment the fabric touched my hands, I knew.  

This isn’t mine.

I turned the coat over, my grip tightening. "Where is my coat, Alam?"  

His face paled. "S-Sir, I had it with me—"  

"That coat," I said, each word measured, "had something irreplaceable inside."  

The blood drained from his face. "I—I’ll find it—"  

"Lock down the university," I ordered. "No one leaves until I have it back."  

His mouth opened, but the look in my eyes silenced him.  

"And Alam," I added, my voice dropping to a whisper, "if it’s gone, so are you."  

---

Two hours later

Two fucking  hours of searching, of guards combing through every exit, every hallway, every corner of the campus.  

Nothing.  

Mr. Han arrived, his presence a calm amidst the storm, but even his steady demeanor couldn’t quell the fury simmering beneath my skin.  

"Alam," Mr. Han said, his voice patient but firm, "think. Where did you go after you took the coat?"  

Alam squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting in concentration. Then—  

"A girl!" he blurted. "I—I bumped into a girl outside the auditorium! The coats—they must have gotten switched!"  

My pulse spiked.  

Her. 

I didn’t need a description. I already knew.  

A single command, and within minutes, the admission records were in my hands.  

Hayat Khan. Music Department. 

My fingers hovered over her contact number before pressing call. 

The first ring. Silence.  

The second—  

A breathless voice answered. "Who’s this?" 

I didn’t hesitate.  

"IBRAHIM KHAN." 

A sharp inhale. Then—nothing.  

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then his voice came again - not louder, but darker, each word carefully measured like a judge pronouncing sentence.  

"Do you know how many times I've watched you run away from me, Hayat?"  

A shudder ran down her spine. Watched?  

"Every. Single. Time." The words dripped with quiet menace. "Through crowded streets. Down empty hallways." A pause. "Did you really think I couldn't find you whenever I want?"

He paused deliberately , letting the weight of his words stir something in her.

"Hayat."

Just her name. Just that one word, spoken in dangerously low and commanding tone.

"I'm done with this. Done with your running. Done with your hiding." A pause, deliberate. "You have one hour to bring me my coat. If I have to come find you..."

Another beat of silence. Then—  

"If I have to come find you, jaan, I won't let you leave again. This time, I'll cage you myself."

The call ended.  

Hayat's breath came in short, panicked bursts.  

Cage.

Not a threat. A promise.  

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