“No, you can’t kiss me, you pervert,” he said, the fear killing the words in his throat. Dhruv could feel the wet spot on his cheek where the “voice” had touched him. Or had it licked him? The voice laughed maniacally.
It was suddenly on his left, too close for comfort. The smell of the late evening mist and sweet flowers was suddenly replaced by something pungent – something rotting. Dhruv began to sweat and shiver. The voice said, “Aww, come on! You’ve kissed people who told you not to, haven’t you? When you molested my son, is this how he stood? Frightened and rooted to the spot? Enjoyed leaving him here to die, did you?”
“Who-who are you?” stammered Dhruv.
The next instant, and yet as if in slow motion, Dhruv was thrown against a nearby tree trunk. The force was deliberately shoving his face towards the trunk. His clothes were being torn. He could produce no sound.
Bloody, violated and with hardly any life left in him is when he saw a form appear before him. Terrified, he tried to scream.
He was found the next day, the scream frozen on his wide-eyed, lifeless face.