CHAPTER 216: CHAPTER-216

"You know what? I’m not cooking. I’m not your damn servant!" he barked, his voice louder than the forest deserved. "Why am I always the one slaving over the fire? Huh? Anyway—" he lifted his chin, smirking, "I can eat raw meat. Not my problem."

He turned his back with exaggerated flair, crossing his arms, lips curling into a smug smile. One... two... three... she’ll snap. She has to snap.

But instead of fire, he got water.

Kaya silently bent down, picked up the wood he’d tossed, and placed it back into the flames. Her face didn’t change, not a flicker of irritation, not even the roll of an eye.

"Okay," she murmured, almost too softly, and began stirring the pot.

Veer froze.

He slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing at her calm, steady movements. The firelight painted her expression gold, but it was empty, distant. She stirred the soup like a ghost, like she wasn’t even here.

A shiver slid down Veer’s spine, unfamiliar and unwanted. He found himself grinding his teeth again.

What the hell is going on with her? This isn’t Kaya. This... silence—damn it, it’s worse than her shouting.

After cooking the soup, Kaya quietly served two bowls. One for herself, one for Veer. She didn’t speak a word.

Veer accepted his bowl, blowing on it lazily before taking a sip. His eyes never left Kaya—her calm, her stillness, the way she drank without even glancing at him. It made his skin itch.

"This silence is killing me," he muttered under his breath. Then, suddenly, an idea sparked.

He sniffed the soup dramatically, made a face, and spat the next sip back into the bowl.

"Yuck! What the hell is this? Is this even soup?" He shoved the bowl away with exaggerated disgust. "Oh, my god... Madam, if you cannot cook, why do you even try?"

He waited, almost eagerly, for her to explode like she usually would—sarcasm, shouting, anything. But Kaya simply glanced at him once, lowered her gaze, and continued drinking her soup, unfazed.

The vein on Veer’s forehead twitched. What the hell? Not even a glare?

His eyes darted around, restless, until they landed on the chunk of meat roasting over the fire. A sly grin spread across his lips.

"Fine," he said to himself as he sauntered over, snatching the meat from the flames. "I’ll eat this instead."

He tore off a piece with his teeth, savoring the smoky juices, then walked back to Kaya and dropped a chunk into her bowl with a flourish.

"Here, sweetheart. Try it—it’s way better than your... vegetable water."

He leaned in, waiting for her to snap, counting silently in his head.

One... two... three...

But instead, Kaya froze only for a moment. Her eyes flickered to the meat, then to Veer’s smug face. Calmly, she set her bowl down, pushed the meat aside, and reached for another handful of boiled wild greens.

Her silence cut deeper than any insult.

Veer sat back, dumbfounded, chewing on the meat without tasting it. What the hell is going on with her?

But what Veer didn’t know was that Kaya had already mastered the art of silence long before this forest, long before him. Back in her world, Kaya had won a gold award for her stillness and alertness—she was the kind of soldier who could stay unmoved for days, her body and mind like steel.

She had trained herself to endure. Even if she were thrown into an enemy camp where soldiers mocked her, spat on her name, or worse—committed unspeakable acts before her eyes—Kaya could remain stone-faced, calm, unshaken. Silence was her shield, her sharpest weapon.

So, of course, Veer’s little tricks—the teasing, the taunts, the petty complaints about soup—were nothing. They couldn’t scratch her surface.

But Veer didn’t know that.

From morning until now, he kept trying to pick a fight.

"Oi, sweetheart," he smirked, waving a half-burnt stick at her. "Don’t tell me you’re sulking because I look better than you even when I’ve been fighting snakes all day."

No reaction.

"You know," he leaned closer, pretending to whisper, "I bet in your past life you were a rock. Same face, same silence. Boring as hell."

Still nothing.

"Ah, I get it now," Veer clapped his hands dramatically. "You are staring at me the whole night because you fell for me! Kaya, my dear, I’m flattered, but you don’t have to be shy—just confess already."

Nothing. Just the soft sound of Kaya sipping her soup.

Veer felt his blood boil. "Damn it, woman! Say something! Call me an idiot! Throw the soup at my face! Anything!"

But Kaya only lowered her gaze again, her calmness cutting deeper than any insult ever could.

Finally, after hours of this relentless poking, Kaya’s lips parted. Her voice was so quiet, it almost drowned in the crackling of the fire.

"...sorry."

The word hit Veer harder than a blade.

He blinked, frozen, as if the ground had just shifted under him. Sorry? That single word from Kaya felt like someone had struck him across the face.

Kaya—the woman who would bite back at every insult, who would glare, curse, and fight him for even breathing too loudly—had just said sorry.

For once, Veer was dumbfounded.

That night, the roles were reversed. Unlike the night before—where Kaya had sat awake, watching the forest in silence—this time she slept deeply, her face untroubled, her breathing slow and even.

But Veer couldn’t close his eyes. Not even for a second.

He sat cross-legged near her, staring at her face without blinking, his restless mind spinning like a storm. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

She never sleeps this easily. She never lets her guard down. Kaya’s the one who snaps at every noise, every shadow, every damn insect. And now—look at her. Sleeping like nothing in the world could touch her? No. That’s not normal. That’s not her.

His father’s old words echoed in his head like a curse:

"When people are about to die, boy, they change. Their anger goes first. Their fight goes quiet. They grow calm—like the soul is already halfway gone."