Jayant

"Hello, Aalu... I need to talk to you," I said the moment she picked up the video call. I didn't even ask how she was-didn't bother with pleasantries. I had waited all evening, pacing my room since returning from the office, rehearsing the words I would say to her.

On the screen, she chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "At least take a breath first," she teased, her voice carrying a warmth I had missed for days.

We hadn't spoken properly in a while. Our conversations had become short, routine check-ins-just enough to feel like we were still connected, but not enough to feel close. I had even planned to visit her over the weekend, thought maybe we'd sit on her balcony, share a coffee, talk like we used to. But somehow, the weekend passed. I never went. Life got in the way, or maybe I did.

Now, as her face lit up my phone screen, she looked... different. Not distant, but unreadable. Like something had shifted between us.

She looked at me again, her smile fading slightly. "You okay? Your cheeks are all red."

Instinctively, I turned to the mirror beside me, checking my reflection.
"Where did you go?" she asked when my face disappeared from the screen.

"Nowhere," I muttered with a grin. The truth was, I was happy. Genuinely happy. Probably the happiest I'd been since she moved to Mumbai. There was a strange flutter in my chest, like something beautiful happened with me after a long time.

But I just sat there, caught in my thoughts, unable to speak. Maybe she noticed-maybe she was getting impatient.

"Well?" she said after a pause. "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do you just plan to waste my time?"

I blinked. "Wasting your time? It's almost midnight, Aalu. What could you possibly be doing at this hour that's so important?" I tried to joke, squinting suspiciously at her through the camera. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Her expression shifted. A flash of irritation crossed her face. "If you're just going to talk nonsense, I don't have time for this," she snapped. And before I could say another word, the screen went black. She had cut the call.

I sat there stunned, the silence in my room suddenly too loud.

I stared at the phone in disbelief.

What just happened?

She's never done that before.

What was that? What's gotten into her lately? Ever since she moved to Mumbai, she's been distant. Cold, even. She never used to hang up on me like that.

"Fine," I muttered, grabbing my phone again. "Let's see how busy you really are."

I tried calling her back. Once. Twice. But now her phone showed busy.

Busy? At midnight? What the hell are you busy with, Aalu?

Busy? At this hour?

My chest tightened with a slow, unfamiliar dread.

Where are you, Alisha? And why does it feel like I'm losing you without even knowing why?

She finally answered on the third try. This time, it was an audio call. I didn't waste a second.

"Where were you, Aalu? Why was your phone busy?" I asked, my voice low but laced with concern.

Only the muffled sounds of the outside world... and then her voice-distant, distracted.
"Bhaiya, Cristal Apartment le lijiye."

She wasn't talking to me. She was giving directions. To a cab driver.

My heart sank a little. I don't know why-it's not like I expected her to be sitting alone, waiting for me to call. But something about that moment-hearing her voice meant for someone else-felt like being shut out of a room I used to belong in.

Without a second thought, I switched the call to video.

And there she was.

Alisha.

In the back of a cab, the city moving behind her in streaks of light and shadow. She looked good. Too good. But something in her eyes had changed-sharp now, impatient.

"Where are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

She didn't soften at the sight of me. Didn't smile. Her expression was cold. Closed off.

"If you'd asked that the first time," she said tightly, "I would've told you. But now... I don't feel like it."

There it was.

Not anger. Not even hurt.

Just that quiet wall she was suddenly building between us.

And I didn't know whether to climb over it... or walk away.

"Should I come?" I asked softly, trying to hide the worry in my voice-but it must've slipped through.

I could see it in her eyes-she wasn't in the mood for comfort. Or maybe not from me.

She snapped. "Yeah, why not? You didn't even notice I was out. You didn't think it was important enough to ask!"

"Alisha-" I began, but she didn't let me finish.

She kept going, her words spilling out faster than I could catch them, louder than I'd ever heard her speak to me. It wasn't just frustration-it was pain that had been buried, building for weeks, maybe months, now erupting all at once.

It felt like she wasn't just arguing about tonight-she was unloading everything she'd kept quiet about for too long.

"I was out, and you didn't even care to ask. You call, you talk about your day, your thoughts, but never once-never once-you asked where I was, what I was doing, how I was feeling!" Her voice cracked, anger burning behind her eyes.

I swallowed hard, guilt rising like a lump in my throat.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't ask. I should have..."

She stared at me, her breathing heavy, like the weight of her own words had exhausted her.

"Do you even care about me anymore?" Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. There was something about the way she said it-soft, steady, final-that made it land harder than if she had screamed. Like it wasn't a question, but a truth she'd already accepted.

And just like that, the floor gave out beneath me.

The words clung to my chest like smoke-slow, suffocating. I opened my mouth to respond, to deny it, to tell her how wrong she was. But nothing came out. Because deep down, some part of me knew this wasn't just about tonight. It never was.

I felt it like a punch to the chest.

Of course I cared. Of course I thought about her. Every single day.
I cared more than she would ever know.

Her decision to move to Mumbai-it had never felt like just a career move. Somewhere, deep down, I had always wondered if it was her way of creating distance... not just in geography, but in heart.

She rarely called me first. When I called her, our conversations barely lasted. Something always seemed to pull her away-an excuse, a mood, a wall she wouldn't let me climb.

And tonight, all of that silence came crashing down in one sentence.
All because I hadn't asked how she was.

I always believed love was about the big things-the promises, the milestones, the sacrifices. But it's not. It's in the noticing. It's in the small, ordinary care. The text just to check in. The late-night call to ask how the week's been. The remembering of things no one else bothers to remember.

I failed her in the small ways.

And now, those small failures had become the reason she no longer saw me as someone who could care.

I wanted to tell her, I really value her. I deeply care for her, That I never stopped.
But maybe now, that wasn't the point.
Maybe the point was-I had stopped showing it.

And that realization was heavier than anything she could've said out loud.

By now, I had understood one thing clearly-something had definitely happened with her today. She wasn't like this... not unless something had shaken her.

Without wasting another second, I asked gently, "Did something bad happen today?"

Instead, she turned her face away, eyes fixed on something I couldn't see-maybe the world outside the cab window, or maybe just an emptiness that had taken root inside her. avoiding my eyes even through the screen.

"Nhi..kuch nhi hua"
"No... nothing bad," she replied, her voice thin-too quick to be honest.

But that "nothing" didn't sit right. It wasn't the kind of nothing people say when they're fine. It was the kind people say when they've given up on being understood.
Kuch nhi.. sometime hold everything

She hadn't even looked at me when she said it-and that said more than her words ever could.

I leaned in closer to the screen, watching her carefully. "Do you need me?" I asked softly, hoping she would hear everything in my tone that I couldn't bring myself to say aloud.

She didn't answer me. Not really.

Instead, her gaze shifted to the cab window, to the blurry lights of the city passing her by. And then she whispered, almost as if rehearsed, "I don't need anyone."
There it was again-the wall. But this time, it wasn't built in anger. It was built in pain. Quiet, controlled pain. The kind you carry alone.

"I've reached," she added abruptly. "Kal baat karte hai"
(Talk you later)

And before I could respond, the screen went black. Call ended.

But her words didn't.

Her "nothing" kept echoing in my ears. The kind of nothing that meant everything.
The kind that people say when they're too tired to be disappointed again.

I sat still for a moment, the weight of her distance crashing into me like a tide. I couldn't shake the feeling-something was off, something was wrong. And more than anything, I knew I couldn't sit here, in another city, waiting for her to fall apart alone.

Without thinking twice, I dialed Vijay.

"Get the private jet ready," I said, urgency sharp in my voice. "I need to get to her. Tonight."

He didn't ask questions. He knew from my tone that this wasn't just a visit. It was a need.

The journey felt endless, though the skies were clear. Every minute, every second, her voice echoed in my mind-the way she had said "I don't need anyone." Not coldly. Not defiantly. But like someone who had convinced herself of it out of sheer exhaustion.

I had called her tonight, excited to talk, eager to share something light. But by the end of that call, my hands were trembling, and my heart felt heavy with worry. What I had hoped would be a conversation filled with laughter had turned into an unraveling.

And now, all I could think about was getting to her... before the walls she was building shut me out completely.

And now, all I wanted was to reach her before the version of her that doesn't need me became permanent.

just to remind her...
That someone still noticed.
That someone still cared, even if he was late in saying it.

_____@___

The moment I landed in Mumbai, I didn't waste a second.

"Find out everything," I told Vijay. "Every detail-where she went, who she met, what happened today."

There was no room for delay. I needed to know what broke her. I needed to know where I had failed to see it coming.

By the time I reached her building, it was well past 2 AM. The city was asleep-resting under flickering streetlights and the hum of distant traffic-but I wasn't. My pulse was loud in my ears as I stood at her door, pressing the bell again and again, waiting.

No answer.

I rang it once more.

Still, nothing.

The silence on the other side of the door felt deliberate.

I took out my phone and called her.

It rang. And rang.
But she didn't pick up.

I don't know why, but something inside me told me she was still awake.
I could feel it-like a quiet hum in the air. She was there, just beyond that door. Sitting, maybe listening. But refusing to let me in.

She knew I was calling. And she was choosing silence.

And somehow, that hurt more.

I kept calling. Kept trying. Until my hands gave up before my heart did.

Eventually, I just dropped a message.

"I'm at your door. If you don't open it, I'll just stay here."

I saw the two blue ticks appear minutes later. She had read it.

But there was no reply.

Nothing.

I stared at the screen, willing something to appear. Even a single word. Even a lie. Anything.

But she didn't say a word.

I slowly sank down beside her door, my back against the cold wall, heart heavier than the night surrounding me. The hallway was dim, quiet, empty-like her voice on the other side.

I kept waiting.
Right there on the cold marble floor.
At 2:23 AM.
And I waited.
Because I knew-she might not open the door tonight.
But I had to be near her anyway.
Even if she couldn't let me in.

After a while, I stood up again-restless, hollow, aching.

I pressed the doorbell once more.
Then again.
And again.

This time, I didn't just wait.

I began to speak-no, plead. Loudly, brokenly, almost shouting through the door.

"Alisha... please," I called, voice trembling. "Just once... talk to me. Please open the door."

I pressed my ear to the wood.

That's when I heard it-faint, but unmistakable.

Her breathing.

Uneven. Shaky. Like she was crying.

She was right there-just inches away. Only this thin wall between us, but it might as well have been a world.

Still, hearing her... it gave me the smallest ounce of peace. She hadn't walked away. She was there.

But broken.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let the words fall.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should've asked how your day went. I should've asked if you were okay. I should've been... there."

My voice cracked under the weight of guilt.

I promised to treat you like a princess... to keep you smiling. But tonight, you're crying. And it's because of me.

My forehead rested gently against the door now, breath slowing, matching hers. I could feel her sadness seeping through the air between us.

"Aalu..." I murmured, almost like a prayer. "Please... open the door."

My childhood friend. My best friend. The girl who knew every version of me.

"Aalu, please..." My voice was shaking now. "I miss you. All the time. Every moment. There's not a single second when you're not in my thoughts."

Tears were slipping down my cheeks unchecked. "Please... don't shut me out. Whatever's wrong, we'll fix it. Together. Like always."

I leaned into the door, almost as if I could melt through it. My words were tumbling now, raw and desperate.

"Your bhalu is right here. Just talk to me, once. Share it with me. You're not alone..."
"I don't know what happened today," I murmured. "But something did. And you're carrying it all by yourself."

Then I heard it.

Sobs.

Loud. Broken. Gut-wrenching.

It tore something inside me. I couldn't take it anymore.

I started shouting her name-"Alisha! Alisha!"-as I banged on the door, over and over.

Her crying grew louder, and so did my panic. I could hear my own voice echoing down the corridor, mixing with hers like two storms crashing into one another.

Then came another voice-sharp, annoyed.

"What is this nonsense?! Who are you? What the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

An older man stepped out from a nearby apartment, glaring at me. "Who let you into the building? SECURITY! SECURITY!"

He kept shouting, but I didn't even turn around. My eyes were fixed on the door. My fists still pressed against it.

Two guards rushed toward me, grabbing my arms, trying to pull me back.

"Alisha!" I cried again, struggling against their hold. "Alisha, please!"

And then-
The door clicked.

It opened.

And there she was.

Alisha.

Her face was swollen from crying, eyes red, lips trembling. She looked like she'd been unraveling for hours.

And I broke.

I yanked myself free from the security guards and rushed to her-closing the space between us in a heartbeat.

I wrapped my arms around her like I'd never let go again.
holding her like I was trying to stitch all the broken pieces back together.

She didn't hug me back right away.

She didn't push me away.

She didn't say a word.

But she melted into me like she'd been waiting for this embrace all night. Like her body remembered something her mind was trying to forget.

We just stood there. Holding each other.

And in that moment, it wasn't just her who needed me.

I needed her just as badly.

The guards backed away. The old man mumbled "Aaj kal ke Gen z couple" something and disappeared into the darkness.

But none of it mattered.

Because finally, we weren't separated by a door.

And that changed everything.

She didn't stop crying.

Not even for a second.

Her tears soaked into my shirt, her body trembling quietly in my arms. I held her there, standing just inside her apartment doorway. The sound of her sobs filled the silence around us. Not loud. Not desperate. Just... broken.

The only light came from the corridor behind me, casting long, soft shadows into the darkened hall.

Our silhouette stretched across the floor-two forms clinging to each other like they'd forgotten how to stand alone.

She didn't say a word.
Just the sound of her breathing.
Unsteady. Shallow. Shattered.

For what felt like fifteen minutes or more, we stayed like that. Just... holding on.

I didn't ask her what had happened. I didn't press her for answers. Because whatever it was had already broken her enough. She needed arms, not questions.

Finally, I reached behind me and gently shut the door, cutting us off from the world outside. The soft click echoed like a vow I hadn't said aloud yet.

I bent down and scooped her into my arms. She didn't resist. Just buried her face deeper into my chest like she was afraid I'd disappear if she looked up.

I carried her through the faint light, across the silent hall, and lowered her onto the sofa. But the moment I tried to pull away, she clutched me again.

"Bas thoda der aur"
("Just a little longer,") she whispered-so faintly I almost missed it.

So I sat down beside her, letting her curl into me like she was trying to crawl inside my ribcage just to feel safe. Her arms around me. Her cheek pressed to my shoulder. Her tears soaking through layer after layer until they reached skin and then bone.

She held on.

And I let her.

Time blurred.
Ten minutes became twenty.
Then thirty.

My knees had started to ache. Pins and needles prickled down my legs, but I didn't dare move. Didn't even shift my weight. Because this-this moment-wasn't about comfort. It was about being there.

For her.

For everything she couldn't say.

And though she didn't speak, every tear that fell from her eyes told me more than words ever could. She wasn't just crying about today. This wasn't the kind of pain that started and ended in a single evening.

This was the kind of pain that had been growing quietly inside her for weeks... months... maybe even longer.

She hadn't needed someone to fix it.

She had just needed someone to notice.

And now that I had-I wasn't going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not ever again.

Dawn was slowly breaking, brushing the sky with pale hues of lavender and gold. The silence inside her apartment was still heavy, but not as suffocating as it had been hours ago.

Alisha had cried herself into a fragile slumber in my arms. I didn't want to disturb her, but I knew she'd rest better in her bed. Gently, I lifted her from the couch. She didn't stir, her body soft and warm against mine. As I carried her through the dim hallway into her room, there were no words between us-just the weight of everything unspoken.

I laid her down with care, pulling the blanket over her. Sitting by her side, I stroked her hair softly, brushing the strands away from her damp cheeks. My fingers moved slowly across her head, a rhythm meant to soothe-meant to tell her, without words, You're not alone anymore.

I sat beside her for a while, just watching. My hand moved to her head-soft, slow circles, hoping to lull her into a deeper sleep. I didn't know how long I stayed there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But when her breathing steadied and her fingers loosened from their clenched fists, I allowed myself to leave.

I stepped out of the room, closing the door halfway behind me.

Once in the hallway, I pulled out my phone and called Vijay for updates. But he hadn't uncovered much. "Still looking into it, sir," he said. I told him to hurry-my patience wasn't patience anymore; it was worry in disguise.

After a quick shower, I headed to the kitchen.

The place was unfamiliar, yet I moved with intention-searching drawers, checking cabinets, hoping I'd find what I needed to make something warm for her. Something simple. Something kind.

I didn't know what she'd want, or even if she'd eat-but the need to care for her in some small way pushed me to try. Even if it was just coffee.

The aroma was comforting-two mugs filled, steam rising between them like a fragile peace offering.

And then, I heard the soft sound of footsteps.

I turned.

She stood there in the doorway, hair messy, eyes tired-but softer than they'd been. She looked... lighter, even if just a little.

She rubbed one hand against her arm and gave me a faint smile. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a little rasped from the night before. "Di must've come by earlier. You could've just told her. She would've cooked."

I smiled and turned toward her, both hands holding mugs of coffee. "I didn't want anyone else to," I said simply.

As I took a step forward, my foot slipped slightly on the smooth tile. The coffee wobbled dangerously.

"Careful-!" she gasped.

"Coffee," I muttered, trying to regain balance.

"Jayant," she said at the exact same time.

And just like that-her hands caught my arms, steadying me... and saving both of us from a very tragic caffeine disaster.
And for a moment, we just froze there-her holding onto me, me holding onto the coffee, both of us holding onto something far more delicate.

We looked at each other.

And we laughed.
Really laughed. Eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking, relief bleeding into the air around us.

It wasn't a perfect morning. We were still fragile. Still figuring out the cracks. But for a second, in that little kitchen with the morning light pouring in and the smell of warm coffee between us-we remembered what it felt like to be okay.

She reached for one mug. I handed it to her.

And for a few seconds, we just stood there in the golden haze of early morning, sipping coffee like it was the only thing anchoring us to the earth.

There were still a thousand things left unsaid. Still wounds fresh and raw beneath the surface. But she was here. I was here.

And that, for now, felt like enough.
__________________

After some time later
Vijay called me,
I stood up instantly, tension tightening every muscle. "Tell me, what happened" I asked, my voice sharp with urgency.

"There wasn't anything unusual during the day," he began. "But in the evening... ma'am went to a club. And at the club-"

"What happened?" I snapped, already pacing the length of the living room. "Say it, Vijay. What happened there?"

He hesitated for a beat too long, and I could hear the weight of his silence pressing through the line.

"I've sent you the CCTV footage. It's... you should see it."
I ended the call before he could explain further. and opened the video file without another second wasted.

The footage wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. I knew her silhouette in an instant-Alisha,

Dancing.

Alone.

She was in the middle of a crowd but somehow looked like she was on an island-lost in music, in motion, in a place far away from everyone around her. Her arms moved like she was chasing a freedom no one could offer her.

Then the music stopped.

A man approached-too close. He said something. I couldn't hear it, but I could see the way her body stiffened, how she hesitated and then nodded. Maybe she thought it would be just a dance.

But it wasn't just a dance.

He put his hands on her waist-too low. Pulled her close-too hard. She pushed him away, clearly uncomfortable. I saw her shake her head, back off. But he kept coming. Another man joined him. Then another.

She tried to push back. I saw it in the way her shoulders tensed, her arms lifted defensively, her lips forming words that no one in the video could hear-but I could imagine them.

"No."
"Don't."
"Stop."

But no one listened.

Until a girl stepped in-arguing, yelling, trying to pull Alisha away from them. She got the manager involved. After what felt like forever, she finally managed to walk Alisha out of the frame, one arm protectively around her shoulders.

My hands were shaking by the time the video ended.

I stood there, unmoving, feeling the cold fury settling into my bones like frostbite.

I had called her just twenty minutes later. Twenty minutes. And I hadn't heard the tremble in her voice. I hadn't asked the right questions. I hadn't known.

I failed her.

Then without warning, I grabbed the vase from the nearby table and smashed it to the ground. Porcelain exploded across the tiles like shrapnel.

She must've heard it.

The bathroom door creaked open. "Jayant?" she called softly, stepping into the hallway, wrapped in a towel, eyes searching. "What broke?"

I turned quickly, trying to bury the fury in my eyes.

"The vase," I lied, forcing a breath. "It slipped. My fault."

She looked at the mess and gave me a tired smile. "It's okay. We'll buy a new one."

"No," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "I'll replace it. With interest."

She laughed lightly, not catching the storm still swirling behind my eyes. "Alright, Mr. Responsible. You can pay for it."

And just like that, she disappeared back into her room, closing the door gently behind her.

But I remained rooted there, surrounded by broken pieces-both on the floor and inside me.

I couldn't protect her that night. Couldn't even read her silence.

And now... I couldn't unsee what I had just watched.

So when I picked up the phone again, I called Vijay, I didn't hesitate.
"Where are they?" I growled.

"We're still tracing them, boss. The girl who helped, we also tracking her. We'll know soon."

"Find them," I said. My voice was ice. "I don't care what it takes. Find those bastards."

"Yes, boss."

I ended the call.

My blood was thundering in my veins. I looked at the time. The incident... it had happened barely twenty minutes before i called her. Twenty minutes. And I hadn't noticed anything in her voice. Nothing.

Guilt twisted like a knife in my gut.

She had no idea how close she had come to something terrifying. How alone she had been in that moment.

And how very, very not alone those men were about to be now.

Because now... I was coming for them.
_____________

We were having lunch together-quiet, almost peaceful-when my phone buzzed with a message from Vijay.
One glance at the screen, and my fork froze mid-air.

I stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back, barely noticing the sound it made as it scraped the floor.

"Jayant?" Alisha looked at me, puzzled. "Where are you going all of a sudden?"

I paused for a second. She didn't deserve panic-not again. I softened my voice. "Get ready. We're going out."

She blinked, unsure. "Now? It's scorching outside."

I forced a smile. "I know. But it won't take long."

"Yes," I said, already walking toward the door. "Come on."

She didn't argue-maybe because of the look in my eyes. Maybe because deep down, she knew this wasn't just an afternoon drive.

Within minutes, she was dressed and seated beside me in the car. Her silence was heavy, her presence more fragile than usual. I kept my eyes on the road, one hand gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

As we turned onto the street that led to the club, her body stiffened beside me. I felt her breath hitch even before she spoke.

"Jayant... why are we here?" she asked, her voice trembling at the edges. "Let's not-please, let's just go back."

I didn't answer right away. I slowed the car, eyes fixed on the building where it all had happened. Where she had stood alone in a crowd. Where no one listened.

I cut the engine and stared straight ahead. "There's something I need to finish here," I said quietly.

She shook her head, panic rising in her voice now. "You go. I'll wait here. I don't want to go."
I turned to her then, really looked at her. Fear had settled into her eyes like a shadow she was too tired to fight off again. But I couldn't let her run from it. Not this time. Not when I was standing right beside her.

"You're coming with me," I said gently, but firmly. Then I stepped out and walked to her side, opening the door for her like I always did.

She hesitated-fingers clenching the edge of the seat, eyes darting toward the club's neon sign-but eventually she stepped out. Slowly. Quietly.

And then she did something I wasn't expecting.

She grabbed my hand.

Tightly.

Like she needed to be anchored.

And maybe... I needed that too.

"I don't want to remember this place," she whispered.

I glanced at her. "You won't have to. Not after today."

We stepped into the club together.

Dim light filtered through the grime-streaked windows, flickering against torn posters and cigarette haze. The scent of stale beer and testosterone hung heavy in the air. It was midday, but the place still throbbed with a kind of darkness. Not the celebratory kind you'd expect from night parties-this was different. Men lounged around with cocky smirks, exchanging cheap laughter and even cheaper words. Local thugs. The real owners of this den during daylight.

Alisha's fingers tightened around mine. I could feel the cold sweat in her palm.

And then, quietly, like clockwork, my team entered from the rear. Professionals I'd hired-not criminals, not thugs, but trained fighters. I wasn't here to start a war. I was here to end one.

We walked straight to the center of the club, the abandoned dance floor still sticky from last night's excess. I climbed onto the stage. My boots echoed on the wooden platform as I raised my hands and clapped-sharp, deliberate.

The room fell into silence.

All eyes were on me.

I scanned the crowd. "Who is it?" I said, my voice firm and cold. "Which coward here thought it was brave to put his hands on a woman against her will?"

Gasps, scoffs, and snarls followed. Every man's pride twitched at the insult. Eyes narrowed. Jaws clenched.

A short, scruffy guy stepped forward-maybe 5'5", all muscle and ego, with the kind of face that wore violence like a badge. "Who the hell are you to walk into our place and run your mouth?" he barked, spitting his words in my face. "Do you even know where you're standing?"

I met his glare without blinking. "Yes. In the middle of rot," I said calmly. "But don't take offense. I wasn't talking about you."

He shoved closer, his breath sour. "Then who the hell were you talking about, huh?"

I didn't flinch.

"The one who assaulted her last night," I said, tilting my head toward Alisha, who now stood a step behind me, her entire body trembling. "The one who saw a woman dancing alone and decided that made her his property."

He smirked. "So you're her hero now? She's just some cheap girl from last night. Who even cares?"

That was it.

The slap came fast and hard. The sound cracked through the silence like a whip. My palm struck clean across his face, snapping his head to the side.

"She is not cheap," I growled. "And she is not yours to define."

He staggered, eyes wide, and then chaos erupted. Chairs flew, fists clenched, and one by one, the rest of them surged forward.

But they never reached me.

My team moved in. Silently. Efficiently. Like a tide of vengeance.

Fists pounded flesh. Grunts and curses filled the air. The sound of justice, raw and ruthless.

I didn't move. I stood beside Alisha, watching the men who had laughed at her pain now crumble at her feet.

When it was over, they were on their knees. Bloodied, breathless, broken.

I turned to her gently. "Tell me," I said. "Which one?"

Alisha hesitated. Her eyes darted from face to face. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to remember.

"This is enough, Jayant," she whispered, tears brimming. "Let's go. Please."

But I couldn't let it slide.

"Enough?" I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. "Alisha, last night... someone touched you. Hurt you. I wasn't there. But today, I am. And I won't leave until he answers for it."

She stared at me, then at the men kneeling before us. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her trembling hand and pointed at one of them.

Him.

I walked over to the edge of the stage, picked up a pair of boxing gloves, and handed them to her.

"I can't," she said, taking a step back. "Please... I'm not like you."

"No," I said softly, "you're stronger."

She looked into my eyes, and I saw it-the flicker. The fire. Buried beneath fear.

"Don't be scared," I said. "Make them afraid."
Daro mat, Darao

Alisha stepped forward. The gloves felt too big on her small hands, but she didn't care. She approached the man slowly. Her breathing was ragged. Her shoulders shook. But she didn't stop.

She stood in front of him.

And then she struck.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She hit him until his smirk shattered. Until his teeth were red. Until his pride bled onto the dirty floor. And then she kept going. The punches came like a dam broken open-rage, fear, shame, all pouring out.

"Enough!" I said, rushing forward to stop her. I held her from behind, pulling her away from the crumpled man.

She collapsed into me, sobbing.

I wrapped my arms around her, shielding her from the wreckage.

We stepped out of the club in silence.

The sun was bright now. Blinding. Almost cruel.

But something had changed.

She had fought for herself.

And no matter how much it hurt to watch-this was how healing began.

She didn't need me to be her hero.

She just needed someone to remind her that she already was one.

Alisha had to learn to fight.

Last night, I wasn't there to protect her. Tonight, I was. But what about tomorrow? What about the nights I might not be there? The moments I might be too late?

She needed to know how to stand up-for herself.

Not just to scream for help, but to remind the world that she wasn't fragile. That she could throw back every hand that dared to cross a line, with fire in her eyes and strength in her soul.

Like Shreya had.

I still remembered the day Shreya stood against me-not with fists, but with fierce conviction. She had fought me, not out of hatred, but for herself. For her dignity. For her worth.

That courage... that defiance... it had shaken something inside me. And now, Alisha needed that same fire-not to prove something to me, but to herself.

Because love could hold her. I could protect her. But only she could reclaim the parts that were taken from her.

Don't be a victim, be a storm.
don't get destroyed, destroyed them all.

__________________
🫶Be strong