The desert is eerily quiet as I trace the footprints on the sand until I notice a split. Judging by the petite size of the impressions, I deduce the girl veered to the left. Eagerly, I shadow her trail.

  The desert wind, carrying a touch of ice, flutters across the dunes, slowly erasing the footprints. Yet, just before they vanish entirely, a silhouette bathed in the moon's soft glow catches my eye. It's her.

  Step by step, she advances, with the metal detector swaying gently in her hand. The same device that led her to me. I can't help but wonder what treasure she’s chasing now.

  Keeping my steps light, I inch closer, eventually crouching just meters away, concealed by the shadows.

  Now, a dilemma presents itself. Should I just approach and say, 'Hey, remember me?' What's even my purpose here? And this rifle I'm clutching—how am I going to explain that?

  Caught in my internal debate, I'm momentarily distracted by the haunting beauty of the desert. Its night-time chill starkly contrasts its blazing days, but there's an allure in this cold. Framed against the moonlit sky, the girl seems ethereal, like a muse waiting to be immortalized on canvas.

  Suddenly, a sharp gasp breaks the stillness. A snake stealthily approaches her. Without thinking, I spring into action, ready to save her. But, as I close in, she deftly thwacks the snake with her metal detector, rendering it unconscious.

  She's fierce. She didn't need my help at all.

  “Oh my, what brings you here?” She asks, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

  I'm at a loss for words. Witnessing her handle a wild snake so effortlessly was nothing short of astonishing.

  Noticing my stunned silence, she removes an earphone, "Is everything okay with Nila?”

  Wordlessly, I tug on her dupatta, nodding in affirmation.

  Her brows knit together. “You truly wanted to follow, didn’t you? I did warn you about the dangers, you know!”

  I shake my head, regret starting to seep in.

  Catching sight of the rifle, she gasps, "Is that Nila’s? That's not a toy!" Swiftly, she disarms me.

  Why didn't I resist?

  "Nila will definitely hear about this! To think he'd let you walk off with his rifle," she fumes, her face shadowed by annoyance.

  Avoiding her gaze, I look down. As if that'd shelter me from her disapproval.

  But, truth be told, I could end this entire scenario on my terms anytime I wish.

  Suddenly, a piercing screech invades my ears. Panic grips me, and in my desperation, I crouch down, tucking my head between my knees. I press my palms over my ears, hoping to shield the girl from my distress.

  “Falcon to White Snake, Falcon to White Snake, over.”

  If I stay silent, maybe he'll understand I can't respond right now. He'll try again later.

  “Falcon to White Snake, Falcon to White Snake, over.”

  I pray the sound doesn't reach her ears. That she remains oblivious.

  “White Snake, contact us within the next 24 hours, over.”

  Relief washes over me. All I need to do is check in within a day, or they'll assume I've been taken out in combat. The fallout from such an assumption is grim: they won't stop until they find my body, even if it means razing everything in their path.

  Do I even care? Why should the lives of others weigh on my conscience? Maybe I could just let fate take its course. It's not my cross to bear. Is it?

  Lost in my tumultuous thoughts, I barely register my own trembling until a comforting hand lands on my head, stilling the quivers.

  Lifting my gaze, I'm met with her gentle eyes and reassuring smile. “Poor thing, I’m sorry if I came off as too stern.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Tears spring to my eyes, but I duck my head to hide them, fearing the vulnerability they reveal.

  “I should've seen that you needed more. I naively believed that one night in the village would heal all. I'm sorry,” she murmurs.

  Could she have mistaken my anguish for fear of her reprimand?

  I'm okay. I am... I'm okay...

  But the words, they just won’t form.

  “I … I…” I stutter, despite myself.

  Why am I even trying to speak? I'm supposed to be playing mute!

  “It’s okay.” She soothes, running her fingers through my hair. “Take all the time you need.”

  In the vast, echoing stillness of the desert, I finally allow my dam of restraint to break. Tears pour down, unchecked, as I'm wrapped in her embrace, and it takes an eternity before I can regain any semblance of control.

  When the last of my hiccups subsides, I straighten up, only to be met with an overwhelming urge to sneeze. I’m caught off guard, my nose now dripping, and I have nothing to clean it with.

  Observing my plight, the girl deftly produces a handkerchief. She gently blows my nose, her face lit with a nurturing smile, then uses her dupatta to wipe away the remnants from my face. After rearranging the disheveled strands of my hair, she rises and offers me her hand.

  “Can you walk?” Her voice, a soft caress against the backdrop of the desolate desert.

  I give a small nod, and we set off, hand in hand.

  Our journey continues in tranquil silence, stretching out for what feels like hours. Her metal detector remains silent, its usual beeps conspicuously absent. Eventually, we opt for a brief respite atop a dune.

  In the moonlit night, she seems otherworldly — her piercing blue eyes, a perfect match to her earrings, and her snowy white hair capturing and reflecting the celestial glow. I yearn to communicate how ethereal she appears to me, but words elude me.

  “By the way, what’s your name?” Her inquiry breaks the comforting quietude.

  Mustering my voice, now raw and husky, I manage to utter, “Gini.”

  Her lips form a small ‘oh’ before blossoming into laughter. “Gini! That’s a lovely name! It suits you.”

  I gather my thoughts, hoping to return the gesture.

  ‘And yours?’

  Come on, ask her! Just ask!

  But as I part my lips, the ominous rumble of distant detonations fills the air.

  Such abysmal timing!

  Both of us pivot, scanning the horizon. Though the blasts emanated from behind me, my heightened senses pinpointed their source with unerring accuracy.

  “Nala…” Her voice trembles with apprehension.

  The distinct report of an automatic rifle — unmistakably different from Nila’s — informs me who's responsible.

  In a heartbeat, I'm on my feet, Nila’s rifle, which she’d left by her side, now firmly in my grasp.

  “Wait! You can’t go alone!” She cries out, her fingers stretching out in a futile attempt to halt my departure, but I'm already a blur in the distance. She's quick, but I've always been quicker.

  A frenzied ten-minute sprint brings me to Nala's side. A bleeding gash mars his forehead, but it seems the bullet merely grazed him. My eyes catch a fleeting shadow from the adjacent dune.

  Swiftly, I use the dupatta as a makeshift camouflage, pressing myself into the sand, becoming one with the desert. I ready the rifle, safety off.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I fix my aim on the elusive figure.

  I count down … 3 … 2 … 1… And with an exhale, I pull the trigger.

  The gunshot rips through the quietude, echoing across the vast expanse. Somewhere in the distance, I hear her desperate scream, “GINI!!”

  As the shadow crumples into the sand, I toss aside my makeshift cover and wait for her to catch up.

  “What happened?!” She bursts out, breathlessness evident in her voice.

  I point to Nala, and a ghostly pallor washes over her face.

  “NALA! ARE YOU OKAY?!” Panic edges her voice as she frantically checks him for injuries. It's evident he's merely unconscious.

  “Who did this?” Her voice is a low hiss.

  My finger extends towards the dune, and the shadows on her face deepen in anger.

  “You stay here. I'll handle it.” She asserts with a command in her voice.

  Yet, I clutch her dupatta, shaking my head firmly.

  “I’m coming,” My gaze unwavering, communicates my intent.

  Her stern expression softens, and she exhales. “Seems I can't deny you anything,” she concedes.

  Together, we traverse to the next dune, where, as I suspected, one of the Indian separatists lay — the one who'd been hunting me. A grievous wound mars his chest.

  Witnessing her initial reaction, perhaps it's her maiden encounter with such a sight. She exudes the aura of someone who's lived a life cushioned in luxury.

  Tentatively, she steps forward, placing two fingers against his wrist to ascertain his pulse. But the man's hand suddenly latches onto hers.

  “You…” He rasps out, voice filled with pain. “Weren't you with-?” A bout of coughing interrupts him.

  “Why did you harm my friend?” She questions him. Her back is to me, shielding her facial expression. Curiosity piqued, I sidestep to catch a glimpse of both their faces.

  “It's not you... It's...” He grimaces, catching sight of me, fingers weakly gesturing in my direction.

  I sense the imminent danger of his revelations. Swiftly, I raise the rifle, aiming squarely at his head. The inevitable mess might mar her, but such is the cost of silencing him. As my finger tightens around the trigger, prepared to send the final blow...

  A gleaming silver blade pierces his throat.

  The intricate curve of the kirpan, held deftly by the luminous girl beneath the moon's glow, takes center stage.

  With a devilish smirk, she thrusts it deeper, extinguishing the light from his eyes.

  Stunned, I lower my rifle, caught in the mesmerizing dance of moonlight and murder.

  “This is for my friend, you bastard!” She declares triumphantly.

  Once finished, she withdraws the kirpan, meticulously wiping away the blood with the same handkerchief she'd used on me earlier...

  She rises gracefully, her silhouette poised against the night, and slowly faces me, a radiant smile illuminating her visage.

  “Well, Gini,” she begins, playfully bringing the blade to her lips, “Isn't it about time you reveal your true colors?”

  As her laughter rings out, the moon casts a surreal glow on her, making her seem even more enchanting than ever.