Kyra

I lean against my bed, the plushness of the rug under my folded legs sending tingling sensations over my skin. My fingers hover over the keys of my laptop, the books and notes sprawled around me screaming and begging me to finish the task I'd started this afternoon, but I can't stop staring at my phone.

I keep my laptop aside, grinning as I scroll past Ansh's texts.

He's ridiculous. Half his texts are silly promises, the other half cheesy pick-up lines, which made me howl with laughter every time I read them.

Who says things like this?

I shake my head, pressing my lips together to stop the laughter from bubbling out. Butterflies dance in my stomach, fluttering wildly, and I can't help the soft squeal that escapes me. My legs shoot out in front of me, and I kick them in the air like a kid caught in a daydream, grinning at my own weirdness.

He pulls the silly side of me out, the part I usually keep hidden, even from myself. The hopeless romantic, the girl who's been aching for this quiet, brooding kind of love, the kind that feels effortless when it's from him. Around him, I feel lighter, like the weight I carry just drops away. I can be anyone, clumsy, loud, weird, and he won't blink. I can ramble for hours and he'll listen like it's the most important thing in the world, no complaints, no fidgeting. I can mess up, stumble, say something dumb, and he'll just smile, brush it off like it's nothing. Like none of it ever mattered in our little world together.

A world we've built, just the two of us. No dad, no sadness, no questions, no doubts, no trace of negativity. A place where I can pretend I've become the author I've always dreamed of being, and he's my biggest, most devoted fan. Like I'm the only person in his universe, like I'm the sun, and he's just a little star, shining because of me.

But he's more than just a star. He's the brightest star in my sky, the one that twinkles every time I look at it. He's the star I've wished on for years, the one I've been waiting for my whole life. The star that makes my heart race like it's about to burst, the one that makes me feel happier than I have in forever.

I smile as I scroll through the pictures I've sent in our chat. I zoom into one where he's sitting across the table, staring straight at the camera with that confident, playful smirk, as if he knows exactly how effortlessly he owns the moment. I swipe to the next, and a giggle slips out of me. The scary, brooding edge he always wears is gone here, replaced by a softer side he says only I get to see. The photo's a little blurry, but his smile still shines through. He's looking down at the table, a quiet grin playing at his lips.

That's because I'd called him handsome.

"You look pretty," I'd whispered, and his eyes lifted with a tilt of his head.

"How can I be pretty? I'm a guy," he'd protested, mock-scowling. "Call me husband. I mean... unless you think otherwise," he'd mumbled, his voice half-teasing, half-awkward.

I'd shaken my head and let out a soft chuckle. "No, Mr. Sharma, you're absolutely right. You look... ridiculously, heartbreakingly handsome."

He stared at me for a moment, eyes widening just enough before a soft blush spread across his cheeks. He grinned like a boy caught smiling at a secret, and I snapped the picture.

My favourite one in the world.

A soft smile plays at my lips as I scroll the rest of the photos saved in our chats, ones of me, ones of him, one I'd sent of Riri playing around, ones he'd sent of him on his bike.

It was hard not to admit it. He'd caught me. He'd caught my heart. After all this time, after fighting so hard to lock it away, to keep it from feeling anything for anyone, he'd found the key and forced the cage open, like it belonged to him all along.

And after denying it for so long... after pretending it wasn't there for months... I let myself accept it. I let myself be free. I let myself feel for him, too.

Not because he forced love on me. Not because I suddenly felt different. But because of the way he held my heart... so gently, as if it might shatter if he let go. The way he cradled me in his arms was like I was made of glass. The way he cared for me was exactly the way I'd always dreamed in my dreams.

Because around him, I didn't feel fragile. He made my sensitivity feel natural, like it belonged, like it was ordinary. Like it wasn't something to hide.

And I miss him. I miss the way he makes me feel seen, safe, light, like I'm finally allowed to breathe. For the first time in weeks, it's him who's disappeared without a proper goodbye, only a message saying he'd be busy this week. I miss talking to him... miss the way his fingers brush mine, the way his arms pull me close, the way his whispers make everything else fade away.

I curl into myself, staring at the ceiling, letting the ache settle in. My phone falls beside me, silent, until it buzzes.

My heart leaps. For a second, I don't even need to check; of course, it's him. Of course it has to be. I snatch up the phone, eyes wide with excitement.

But it's not him.

The number is unfamiliar. The message is simple: just a location.

I freeze, thumb hovering over the screen. My stomach knots. Is this him? A new surprise? One of his stupid, elaborate plans?

I stare at the text for a few seconds before typing, half-laughing to myself, half-nervous:

"Is this another surprise, Mr. Mystery man?"

The reply comes almost instantly:

"Certainly."

A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. My breath catches; he really is pulling one of his old tricks again. I bite my lip to stop the nervous excitement from spilling out, already imagining how this evening will turn into another one of our little adventures.

I pull out a pair of baggy jeans and a thin beige cardigan, slipping them over my tank top, a soft pink one he says brings out the warmth in my skin. My eyes dart over the closet, searching for the scarf Ansh had given me. I find it folded neatly at the back, its soft fabric waiting for me.

October's chill is settling in. The wind has started to pick up, brushing through the trees and carrying a quiet shiver that lingers on the skin. It's that gentle cold that makes you want to wrap yourself tighter, to hold onto warmth... to hold onto him.

I pull the scarf around my neck, tucking the ends in as I catch my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are already flushed, and I can't stop smiling. Without overthinking it, I shove my notebook and scattered notes into my bag, zipping it up quickly. I'll write when I get back, I tell myself with a grin, already imagining the way the words will pour out once I'm with him.

I grab my phone one last time, slip it into my pocket, and swing my bag over my shoulder. The hallway feels shorter than usual as I hurry out the door. My steps are light, almost bouncing, as I take the stairs two at a time.

The house feels alive as I reach the bottom of the stairs, the sounds wrapping around me like a familiar hug. My mom and dadi are sitting together in the living room, deep in conversation, their voices low but animated as they talk about something important. From the kitchen doorway, I catch Kaynaaz laughing softly, one hand holding her phone to her ear, chatting with someone who's clearly making her smile.

I glance around for my bhabhi but don't spot her anywhere. My eyes land on my brother instead, leaning against the wall with that lazy, knowing look. He raises a brow the second he catches sight of the grin playing on my lips. I freeze for half a second before quickly turning it into a soft smile, my cheeks warming even more.

He pushes off the wall and steps a little closer, eyes narrowing. "Kidhar ja rahi hai?"

(Where are you going?)

I bite my lip, keeping my grin hidden behind my hand for just a second. "Just... the library," I say quickly.

He raises a brow and tilts his head. "Really? Just the library?"

I nod so fast it's almost comical, my heart thumping in my chest. Before he can question me further, I slip past him, brushing lightly against his shoulder, and make my way to the door.

I step outside, the crisp October air immediately brushing against my face, and flag down an auto. The driver gives me a lazy glance, and I barely notice. I'm too wound up, adrenaline thrumming through my veins, making every step feel like it's vibrating with energy.

The auto jolts forward, wheels bumping over uneven pavement, and the wind bites sharper now, threading through my hair and brushing against my cheeks through the open sides. It's colder than I expected, a brisk sting that makes me pull my scarf tighter, but somehow, it only heightens the rush in my chest.

This is so like him, always a surprise, always a little crazy, a little impossible. I can't stop grinning, even as the auto bumps over the streets. My chest feels full, like it's about to burst from the excitement and the warmth curling through me. He's going to laugh at me for being so ridiculously happy about a single text, I know it. Maybe I'll tease him too, maybe I'll roll my eyes and tell him I knew it all along.

I press my fingers against the strap of my bag, gripping it almost without realising it, as something shifts around me. The familiar bustle of the streets is fading, the shops and houses giving way to cracked sidewalks, shuttered windows, and buildings that look like they've been forgotten. The golden light of the sun still clings to the horizon, but it casts long, uneven shadows that twist across the streets, making everything look sharper, stranger.

My eyes dart nervously at the buildings sliding past. Every darkened doorway, every empty sidewalk, makes my pulse quicken, and a shiver races down my spine, even as the warmth of anticipation bubbles inside me. I glance at the location on my phone again, thumb hovering over the screen. It's probably fine, I tell myself, trying to laugh off the creeping unease.

The driver takes another turn, and suddenly the area feels almost abandoned. No people. No movement. Just the faint rustle of wind through dry leaves and the distant hum of a streetlight flicking to life. My pulse pounds, now tangled with jittery tension.

I press my fingers against the strap of my bag again, gripping it a little too tightly. Something about this place doesn't feel like a sanctuary. Something about this place doesn't feel like him, like Ansh.

I lean slightly toward the driver, trying to keep my voice steady even though my stomach is twisting. "Yehi sahi jagah hai na?" I ask, glancing at him through the corner of my eye.

(Is this the right place?)

"Ji madam," he replies without looking at me, his hands steady on the wheel.

I swallow hard and turn my gaze back to the location on my phone, tracing the route one more time. The auto slows, crawling over the uneven pavement, and my pulse picks up again. My chest feels tight, and a shiver snakes down my spine as I take in the street ahead, quiet, empty, and too still.

The auto slows to a stop, and my fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I swing the door open and step onto the uneven ground. The vehicle rumbles away, and I watch as its taillights fade, the sound of the engine shrinking into the distance. For a brief moment, I'm alone.

I lift my gaze, and there it is, a half-built building looming in front of me. The structure is abandoned, skeletal, with exposed beams and broken scaffolding catching the last of the fading sunlight. The air is colder here, sharper, brushing against my skin like icy fingers.

I can still hear the faint honks and murmur of cars from the main street behind me, but the space around the building is almost eerily quiet. Even the wind feels different here, slightly heavier, rustling through loose debris at my feet.

I take a cautious step forward, trying to convince myself that this is just another one of Ansh's dramatic plans. But deep down, a little knot of unease coils tighter in my stomach.

"Ansh?" I call out, moving closer to the opening of the building.

My feet scruff against the cement and scattered rocks, and a sudden gust of wind cuts past me as I step inside. Beams of sunlight pierce through the higher openings, while the rest of the building is swallowed in shadow. A shiver runs down my spine as the chill and silence hit me like a wall.

This can't be right. He knows I hate abandoned places.

I scan my surroundings, desperate for a sign of him, but there's nothing. The vastness of the place presses down on me, making my skin crawl.

"We could've just met at the library, this is creepy, you know?" I say louder, forcing the words out, hoping he hears me and steps forward.

A sudden loud noise from the floors above makes my stomach flip. Fear coils tight in my chest, and my breath catches. My first instinct is to back away, to run, but the emptiness around me only makes me hesitate. I glance in front of me, sure he's not there, and take a cautious step backwards, eyes glued to the ground.

My foot scrapes across a loose stone, and I stumble, heart hammering. Panic flares, and I whirl to bolt, only to crash headfirst into a soft, solid wall.

My forehead presses against the wall, a chest, for a moment, and I let out a shaky breath. Relief washes over me.

It's him.

I lift my gaze, my voice trembling slightly. "You scared me," I murmur, a small, nervous smile tugging at my lips.

But then my eyes take in the face in front of me.

It isn't Ansh.

And in that instant, my stomach drops, my knees feel weak, and I stumble back, heart hammering in my chest. The warmth and excitement I'd carried just minutes ago vanish, replaced by a cold, sinking terror.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, my voice sharp, trembling with a heat I can't explain, my ears buzzing as adrenaline courses through me.

Tanmay steps closer, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips, like he's already won. A quiet, almost gleeful tremor shakes him before he reaches into the pocket of the oversized hoodie he's wearing and pulls out a phone. The light from the screen cuts through the dimness of the building, illuminating his face. I can't look away, taking in his features again.

He's... different. Slimmer than when we used to be together. But that's not all. A jagged scar runs down the side of his face, cutting through his lips and making his smirk even more sinister. His eyes lift from the screen, dark, amused, almost predatory, and fix on me.

He tilts the phone toward me. The glare is blinding at first, and I squint, trying to adjust. And then... I see it.

The text.

The same text I thought I'd gotten from Ansh.

I stumble back a step, my hand flying to my mouth. My chest feels hollow, my heartbeat hammering so loud I can barely think. My mind races, trying to reconcile what I'm seeing.

This... this isn't Ansh. These weren't his messages. None of it...

"Why are you here?" I manage to whisper, my voice barely steady, disbelief warring with the icy fear crawling up my spine.

Tanmay tilts his head, that sickening smirk playing across his scarred face. "Why? Aren't you happy to see me?" His voice is soft, teasing, almost cruelly intimate, like he knows exactly what he's doing to me.

I glare at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You had no right. You can't- how did you even-" My words falter, my fear tangling with anger.

He steps closer, and I instinctively take another step back, my back brushing against the cold concrete. "Oh, but I do have a right," he murmurs, eyes glinting with amusement. "After all, you thought I was gone, didn't you? Thought I'd never come for you again."

I clench my fists at my sides, trying to steady my shaking. "You wouldn't have the guts to come for me while I was surrounded by people who would kill you for being anywhere near me. So... you lured me out here."

He chuckles, low and dark, a sound that makes my skin crawl. "Aren't you a smart girl? Very good, Kyra. Absolutely right." His smirk twists cruelly. "Your family... they've been such a pain in my ass these days. You always have someone hovering around you like a mutt, and it's so annoying. I was getting impatient... had to get you out of their hold. Had to make you come here."

"You're... fucking disgusting," I spit out, my hands trembling at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

He leans closer, voice low and taunting. "Ah, there's no need to be rude."

I don't reply. I just try to move past him, my stomach twisting with panic. My legs feel like lead, but I force them to take a step, then another, anything to get away from him.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm with a grip that's too tight, too deliberate. I stumble, catching myself on a nearby beam, my breath hitching as panic flares hotter in my chest.

His hold is wrong.

It's gross. Humiliating. Disgusting. Every nerve in me screams against it. It presses into me the way it shouldn't, invading my space, leaving me feeling small and trapped.

It's nothing like Ansh.

Ansh's touch... his warmth... his calm. It's soft. Gentle. It makes me feel safe, seen, like I can breathe and exist without fear. Tanmay's touch is the opposite. It's controlling, predatory, deliberate. It makes my stomach churn, my skin crawl.

"You think you can fight me? You think you can escape?" he says, tightening his grip just enough to remind me I'm powerless in this moment.

I shake my head, trying to free myself, trying to push past him. My hands press against his chest, but it's useless. My mind flashes to Ansh, the way he cradles me in his arms, the way he makes me feel like I matter. I ache to be anywhere else, anywhere near him, anywhere safe.

I hate this. I hate him. I hate the way he's here, and I hate that I can't get away yet.

He leans in closer, whispering near my ear, "You're so tense... It's adorable. But it's useless, Kyra. I'm in control here."

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. My fists clench tighter at my sides. My breaths come shallow, rapid, my pulse hammering like a drum. I feel trapped, cornered, assaulted.

I need to get to Ansh. I need to get away from him. I need... safety. I need warmth. I need Ansh.

"Now, now... no need to struggle," Tanmay murmurs, his voice dripping with mock patience.

Before I can react, his hand snakes up, brushing against my hair. The touch is deliberate, invasive, and every nerve in my body screams. My stomach twists violently, and a shiver of revulsion shoots through me. I jerk backwards, my hands instinctively rising as if to shove him away, and a low, guttural noise of disgust escapes my throat.

"Oh, come on... don't be so stiff," he sneers, sliding his hand down to cup my cheek. My skin crawls under his touch, every inch of me screaming to recoil. My fists clench, my nails digging into my palms, and a spark of rage ignites inside me.

I plant my feet, digging them into the cold cement, and shove with everything I've got. My arms strain, and my chest heaves as adrenaline surges.

"I know why you came here," he says, his voice low, cruel, almost savouring my panic. "To see him. To see Ansh."

The name hits me like a punch to the gut. I freeze, my head snapping to him, eyes wide, heart hammering like a drum in my chest. My chest tightens, my fingers twitch, desperate to react, to strike, to break free. Every instinct screams at me to lash out, to run, to do anything to get away.

Tanmay laughs then, dark and jagged, his anger bubbling through the sound. "Look at you," he spits, stepping closer, his face twisted with cruel amusement. "Falling apart at the mention of him. Well... I can't disappoint you now, can I?"

Before I can protest, before I can even think, his grip on my arm tightens like iron, dragging me backwards. My feet scrape harshly against the rough cement and scattered debris, small stones skittering across the floor with sharp, echoing clatters. My heart hammers so fast it feels like it might burst through my chest, and panic curls around my ribs like a living thing.

I tug and twist, my fingers clawing at his hoodie, desperate to free myself, but it's useless. He moves with a terrifying ease, each step deliberate as he guides me toward the stairs.

"Let's take you to him, yeah?" he hisses, and I feel my stomach drop at the words. My mind flashes to Ansh, warm, gentle, calm. The thought of him is a lifeline, and I cling to it even as panic claws at every fibre of my being.

I stumble, my lungs burning as I try to pull free, but his grip doesn't waver. The building seems to stretch taller, shadows deepening, the faint light from the windows no longer comforting but oppressive. Every step forward feels like a march into something I don't want to see, yet the thought of Ansh keeps me moving, keeps me alive, keeps me from collapsing entirely.

He drags me up the stairs, one deliberate, slow step at a time. The metal groans beneath our weight, echoing through the empty building, each sound amplifying my panic. With every step, he leans in slightly, his voice low and cruel, taunting me as though enjoying my fear.

"Relax, Kyra," he murmurs, the words sliding past my ears like ice. "We're almost there. I promise, it won't be much longer... and then you'll see him. Just a few more floors to go."

Every syllable makes my chest tighten, my heart feeling like it's collapsing under the weight of dread. Each step drags me deeper into a terror I can't shake, and with every floor, I wish I'd stayed home, curled up with my notes and my book, safe in the warmth of my room. I wish I'd texted him, made sure it really was Ansh.

His grip is iron on my arm, pulling me forward. I struggle, but it's useless. My lungs burn, my legs shake. My eyes start to sting, the corners wet, and I clutch at them desperately, holding the tears in, even as the heat of my fear makes them threaten to spill.

Tanmay's voice snakes around me again, calm, cruel. "Do you have any idea what it was like... seeing him around you? Him. Ansh. Always so damn close, so confident, so... untouchable. Every glance he threw your way, every word he whispered to you, I burned. I burned, Kyra. You were right there, in his arms, laughing at his stupid jokes, letting him hold you, letting him touch you. And me... I couldn't. Not once. Not when it mattered."

I freeze mid-step, every nerve screaming, but his words sink into me like venom. The images flash in my mind: Ansh's hand brushing mine, the warmth of him laughing at my silliness, the softness of him holding me close. My stomach twists, my fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

"And now," he continues, slow, deliberate, savouring every word, "now I have you. And you'll see... you'll see what it feels like for me. To burn for you, to want you, and have to wait. But don't worry... I've been very patient. Very... patient."

I swallow hard, my vision blurring at the edges. My chest feels like it's collapsing. Every step upward feels heavier than the last, and with every inch closer to the top, my stomach turns tighter, my tears finally slipping despite my desperate grip. I can feel them rolling down my cheeks, hot and fast, and I let them fall, unable to stop it.

He glances at me, and that infuriating smirk stretches across his scarred face. "Oh, don't cry yet, Kyra. You'll need every ounce of yourself for what comes next. Every last bit of your courage... and you know you'll need it."

And just like that, my resolve begins to fracture. The tears slip free, hot and fast, blurring my vision, but I don't dare wipe them away. I can only cling to them, as if they're the last fragments of my courage.

It feels like hours. Every step up those stairs stretches on endlessly, like time itself has slowed just to torment me. Tanmay's grip doesn't waver; in fact, it tightens every time I stumble, dragging me forward as though he's enjoying every second of my fear. My legs ache, my lungs burn, and my chest feels like it's caving in under the weight of panic and dread.

"Careful," he murmurs, his tone deceptively gentle, like a predator speaking to its prey. "Don't fall now... you've come so far."

I stumble forward again, my foot catching on a jagged piece of concrete. I flinch, barely able to keep my balance, and instinctively want to look back at him, want to turn and rebuke, to scream something sharp and defiant. But the movement freezes in my chest when a sound drifts down the hollow stairwell, soft, deliberate, unmistakable.

It pulls me forward like a magnet. My heart hammers in my chest, pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else. Fear and dread tangle with something else, hope, desperate and fragile, as my mind whispers the name I've been clinging to: Ansh.

Tanmay's hand tightens on my arm again, and I flinch, the sharp pain a reminder that I have no choice but to keep moving. My steps become automatic, my body dragging itself forward even as my mind screams for caution. Every second feels stretched, every floor heavier, every step a countdown to something I can't yet comprehend.

Finally, we reach the sixth floor. The shadows of the upper rooms stretch long, and I stumble forward again, my foot catching on uneven concrete. I glance instinctively behind me, about to demand he stop, to shove him away, to fight, but then the sound reaches me fully.

It's not Tanmay.

It's something else. Something real. Something alive.

And that sound drags me forward, my panic eclipsed by a sharper, more urgent need to see, to know, to confirm the one person I've been desperate for.

Tanmay's grip finally loosens, almost imperceptibly at first, and I seize the chance without thinking. My legs move on their own, stumbling over uneven concrete, heart hammering, lungs burning, but I don't stop. Every instinct in me screams to get away from him, to put distance between myself and the hands that have tormented me up these endless stairs.

The sound grows clearer as I move forward, a murmur of voices, low and urgent. My chest tightens, and my stomach twists. I risk a glance up, and my breath catches in my throat.

Two shadows stand a few feet ahead, their forms dark and imposing in the dim light filtering through broken windows. One of them is unmistakable, the familiar posture, the strength in the stance... my heart lurches with a fragile hope.

I keep moving, almost blindly, driven by a single desperate thought: Help. Please, someone, help me. Someone get me away from him.

My steps falter as I approach the pair. I want to call out, to throw myself into their arms, to beg for rescue, but fear clamps down on my voice. My eyes dart between the shadows and the stairs behind me, where Tanmay lingers, smirking and watching, letting me go but still claiming control.

Every step forward feels like a mix of relief and terror. Relief that I'm out of his immediate grip, terror at what I might find ahead. My fingers dig into my arms as I inch closer, pulse hammering in my ears, mind whirling with the memory of Ansh, the hope that he's here.

And still, I move. Forward. Forward, away from Tanmay. Forward, to the shadows.

I freeze a few feet away, my legs trembling, my chest constricting. The shadows solidify into a terrifying reality.

One man stands with his back to me, broad-shouldered, still, as though he's the calm centre of a storm I can't control. The other is slumped forward slightly, hands tied behind his back. His clothes are torn and smeared with blood, his face bruised, eyes wide and trembling with pure, raw fear. Every shallow breath he takes is a desperate gasp for mercy.

And in his hands, the man facing him grips a gun, the barrel steady and unwavering, aimed directly at the trembling figure. The metal gleams in the dim light, and my stomach flips violently. My chest tightens, and the floor feels like it's slipping from under me.

The scene hits me all at once: the violence, the fear, the silence broken only by ragged breathing. My fingers tighten, but I can't move. I can't even scream. The world around me seems to slow, sound muffled, heartbeats pounding in my ears.

No... no, this isn't real. It can't be. It's just a nightmare. I'll wake up any second...

I want to run, to do something, but my feet feel frozen to the ground. My stomach twists and churns, a hollow ache spreading through me. I want to scream, to call for help, but the terror knots my tongue.

I open my mouth, ready to scream, to shout Stop! to make the man see me, to make him stop. My hands lift instinctively, trembling, my fingers curling as if I could somehow grab the air and pull the violence away.

But before the sound can escape my lips, a voice slices through the heavy, tense air. Calm. Cold. Terrifying.

"This is the payment of your deed, professor."

My stomach drops. My heart freezes mid-beat. I barely have time to react before the gun fires. The sharp crack explodes in the room, bouncing off the concrete walls, rattling through my bones. The man in front of the barrel jerks violently, the rope cutting into his wrists, his chest heaving as the life drains from him. A strangled, ragged sound rips from his throat, and I feel bile climb into my mouth.

My hands fly to my mouth, trying to muffle the scream that tears at my chest, but a strangled, horrified sound escapes anyway. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixes with the coppery tang of blood, hitting me like a wall.

My eyes widen, fixed on the figure in front of the tied man, the gun still in his hand, the shadowed posture terrifyingly familiar. My legs buckle, my knees threatening to give way, but something primal keeps me on my feet. My chest heaves, heart hammering uncontrollably, lungs burning as if every breath is a battle.

Every muscle in my body tenses, every nerve screaming. My fingers dig into my arms, clutching myself as though I can hold together the pieces of my breaking mind. I can't move, can't think. The horror presses down, suffocating, twisting my stomach. My head swims, vision blurring, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears, drowning out everything except the image before me.

The man's body slumps, blood spreading across his shirt in dark, horrifying patterns. My legs shake violently, my stomach lurching, but my feet remain rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away. My throat burns with unshed screams, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

The world narrows. My legs feel like lead, my chest tight, and my stomach twists in knots so sharp I can barely breathe. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, and my ears ring with the echo of the gunshot. I stumble backwards, and then I step onto something sharp. A piece of broken glass bites into the sole of my shoe, a small, sharp, insignificant pain against the tidal wave of terror surging through me.

I freeze. My body locks in place, every muscle stiff, my heart hammering so violently it feels like it might burst from my chest. At first, I think it's the scene that has rooted me to the spot. But then the terrifying truth sinks in, twisting cold and sharp through my veins.

It's the voice.

Not just any voice. His voice. Ansh. The voice I know better than my own heartbeat. The one that has comforted me through storms, that has whispered me back to myself when everything around me was falling apart. The one I considered my sanctuary, my safe place. The one who sang for me when the world was too cruel to bear.

Everything else fades but that realisation, that single horrifying fact, pins me in place more effectively than anything else ever could.

I can't breathe. I can't think. My mind fractures, splintering into a thousand tiny pieces, and I feel detached, as if I'm watching this scene from outside my body. My pulse hammers in my ears, and my thoughts are fogged, warped, disconnected.

No... no... no...

Every instinct screams to run, to escape, but I can't. My legs are frozen. My hands are useless. My mouth opens, and nothing comes out.

How... how can it be him? That voice... that voice... I'd recognise it anywhere. I'd recognise it even if the world fell apart around me. And now... It's here. Here, of all places.

The thought burns hotter than any fear of blood or gun or pain. The voice that sang for me, that cradled me in the quiet, that was my sanctuary, is here, twisted in this horrifying scene. It's betrayal, it's terror, it's everything I wasn't ready to comprehend.

This can't be real. This can't be him. It can't. It just can't.

I stagger, my vision blurring, the world tilting violently. My body feels detached, unreal, like I'm suspended in some horrifying dream. The scream I want to make, the scream that could shatter walls, sticks in my throat. My hands clutch at my chest, at my face, at anything I can hold onto, desperate for a tether back to the real world, back to safety, back to the Ansh I know.

But it's gone. The warmth, the sanctuary, the voice that once comforted me, everything I trusted, has transformed into something alien, terrifying.

A sob rips out of me before I can stop it, raw and jagged, bouncing off the cold, empty walls. My hands fly to my mouth, trying to stifle it, but it's useless; the sound tears through me anyway, a small, desperate warning I can't contain.

Movement in front of me, it's quick and sharp. A voice slices through the blur. "Kyra?"

I snap my head toward it, but it's all wrong. Everything is smeared and distorted, as though I'm seeing through fogged glass. Shapes twist and writhe, the man tied to the chair and the gun gleaming in the weak light, and yet it all melds together, unrecognisable, surreal. My vision can't hold it, and my brain can't process it. It all crashes at once.

The voice calls again, louder, insistent. "Kyra! No.. NO!"

It should ground me. It should bring clarity. But instead, my mind lurches violently backwards, dragging the past into the present. The gunshot, the blood, the terror, it collides with the memory I've tried so hard to bury. The car. The screech of metal against metal. Dadu crying out. The heat, the panic, the helplessness pressing on my chest like stone. The smell of smoke, the sting of blood, the sickening thud of impact.

My heart feels like it's being squeezed, then torn apart. My lungs burn, desperate for air that won't come fast enough. Every sense is overloaded: the coppery scent of blood in the abandoned building, the gunpowder stinging my nose, the faint hum of distant traffic outside, the cold wind cutting through my thin cardigan, it all merges into one suffocating wave. My ears ring; my vision spins. Every heartbeat echoes in my skull, deafening.

And through it all, through the chaos, through the panic, through the blur of past and present, I hear it. His voice. Ansh. Familiar. Comforting. Sacred. And yet... here, now... it belongs to this scene. The dichotomy rips me in two. I want to reach it, cling to it, let it ground me, but the image of it all, of death, overpowers everything.

I stumble, chest heaving, head swimming. My knees threaten to buckle, my stomach churns violently, and the world tilts, unsteady beneath my shaking feet. I want to run, to scream, to disappear, but I can't. My body freezes, trapped in the vortex of terror. Time itself stretches out in cruel, dragging seconds. Present and past, memory and reality, collide in sharp, jagged bursts that I can't separate.

The sobs keep coming, uneven, ragged, echoing against the concrete. I want to cling to something solid, someone real, someone safe, but all I can do is shiver in place, overwhelmed by the impossible fusion of horrors. Every nerve screams for escape, every thought is fragmented, every breath is a battle.

I want to run. I need to run.

The low, familiar voice cuts through the storm inside my head, slicing through the chaos. "Señorita..."

Something in me freezes, not like before, paralysed by fear, but different. A thread of recognition, a fragile tether, pulls me toward the sound. My vision narrows, and for a fleeting moment, the edges of the nightmare blur.

I see him. The blur of motion sharpens. The warmth I've missed, the softness, it all flickers in his presence. My chest eases slightly. My lips part, and for the briefest second, I almost, almost, believe I'm safe.

But then my gaze shifts.

The man behind him. Lifeless. Cold. Stretched unnaturally across the floor. Blood seeping into the concrete, pooling in a grotesque, dark stain. My stomach lurches violently, bile rising hot and bitter in my throat.

And then... my eyes catch it. The crimson smears across his white tee. The stark, impossible reality slaps me in the face. My safe place, my anchor, is stained, caught in the nightmare I've been trying to flee from.

The world snaps. My chest tightens, my lungs burn, and the sobs break free again, uncontrolled, primal. My hands fly to my face, but it doesn't help. I stumble back, knees weak, vision spinning. The walls, the shadows, the horror, it all presses in, suffocating, relentless.

And then it bursts out of me, raw, guttural, deafening:

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream tears through my chest, bouncing off the empty building, echoing into the hollows of my mind. It's pure terror, pure chaos, pure despair. Everything I thought I could handle, everything I thought I could control, shatters in that single, aching sound.

I feel unmoored, untethered, lost entirely. The nightmare isn't just around me anymore; it's inside me, crawling into every corner of my being, and there's no turning back.

"Kyra..." His voice is gentle, pleading, soft. He reaches out, hand stretching toward me, and for a fraction of a second, I want to let go, to lean into him, to find safety. But terror coils tighter around my chest, freezing me in place.

I step back. Slowly. Slowly. My feet scrape against the cement, each movement deliberate but trembling, as if the ground itself might swallow me if I move too fast. His hand follows, brushing the air where I was just a heartbeat ago, but I flinch, recoiling.

One more glance. Just one. My heart aches, desperate for it all to vanish, to be a nightmare I can wake from. His eyes, so full of concern, so soft, look at me, searching, but it doesn't matter. The lifeless body behind him, the blood on his t-shirt, the horror of the scene, it all presses down, impossibly heavy, and I can't bear it.

It's not a dream.

It's real.

I turn. My legs spring forward, running before my mind catches up, before the sobs can be stopped. Pain, fear, grief, all the fragments my heart has been holding, unleashed in one searing wave. My chest heaves, lungs burning, tears blinding me as I stumble over debris, nearly falling, but refusing to stop.

Every step is desperate, frantic. Every breath is ragged. My mind screams at me to get away, to reach safety, to find the warmth and softness that used to be Ansh, but the scene, the blood, the gun, the fear won't let me go.

I can hear him behind me, calling my name, but his voice doesn't reach me, doesn't break through the terror clawing at my chest.

"Kyra!"

My feet pound against the stairs, the sound loud and frantic, echoing through the empty, hollow building. Every step is fueled by fear, by panic, by the unbearable weight of what I've just seen.

"Baby, please wait! Kyra, stop!"

His voice splinters into the air around me, soft and urgent, desperate and pleading, but I can't stop. My mind is a whirlwind of horror and disbelief, my heart hammering, my lungs burning, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

All I can think about is escaping, getting away from this nightmare, finding any sense of safety. Every step is ragged, each turn in the stairwell a blur. The building seems to stretch endlessly, shadows twisting around me as if mocking my terror.

I stumble. I nearly fall. My hands scrape against the concrete railing, my knees hit the steps, and I don't care. I can't care. All that exists is the need to run, to get away, to breathe, to survive.

And all the while, his voice follows me, fractured and pleading, breaking my heart into pieces I can't yet feel because I'm too consumed by fear.

"Kyra, Kyra, please... baby, stop! Love..."

I am running. I am crying. I am breaking.

And all I want is for it to stop.

Finally, the stairwell ends, opening onto the main street. The sunlight is low, softened by the early evening haze, and for a moment, the outside world feels alien, too bright, too wide, too normal after the claustrophobic terror of the building. Horns honk in the distance, engines rumble, and the cold October wind hits my face, sharper than the adrenaline running through my veins.

I stumble onto the cracked sidewalk, knees threatening to buckle. My scarf is loose, fluttering in the wind like a banner of panic, my hair sticking to the sweat and tears on my face. My fingers claw at my bag as if holding it tight could anchor me, but it does nothing.

I see a cab approaching at the end of the street, yellow and distant at first, and something flickers inside me, hope, or desperation disguised as hope. I throw myself toward it, waving my hands frantically, tears blinding my vision.

The driver slows, eyes widening as I stumble into the open door. My voice is a broken whisper, hoarse and trembling:

"D-101, Maharaja Enclave... please, just please, hurry."

I collapse into the seat, curling into myself like a wounded animal. My chest heaves violently, sobs wracking my body, tears streaming unchecked. I feel every bit of fear, every bit of shock, every bit of heartbreak pouring out all at once. My legs tremble uncontrollably, my fingers clutching my knees, and the cab begins to move, the city lights flickering past in a blur.

Outside, the world continues, indifferent, unaware, but inside, I am unravelling. My body shudders, my vision swims with the images replaying over and over: the blood, the lifeless body, the gun, and the sound of that voice I've loved and trusted, now twisted in this horrific moment.

I press my face into my knees, muffling the sobs that keep tearing through me. Tears won't stop. They keep falling, streaming down my face, soaking my scarf, dripping onto my hands, and I don't even try to wipe them away anymore. It hurts. God, it hurts like nothing else ever has. Every heartbeat feels like a hammer against my chest, every breath is ragged and shallow, and the ache in my chest is unbearable. It's like my heart has been torn out and stomped on, and I'm left trembling in the ruins of it.

I love him. I love him more than I ever thought possible. I've loved him in the quiet, in the loud, in the stolen moments and the shared silences. I've loved him from the first, timid flicker of feeling, to the fire that consumed me the moment I realised it was more than just infatuation. I called him my star, my heart, my muse. I wrote poems for him, smiled at his texts until my cheeks hurt, daydreamed about a world where it was just us, our small, perfect universe.

And I thought I finally had it. I thought I had my happy ending. I thought I could finally breathe, finally be safe, finally be loved in a way that made all the loneliness, all the heartbreak, all the waiting worth it. I let myself believe that the past didn't matter anymore, that the pain had finally stopped, that love could be enough.

But I was so, so foolish.

I opened my heart for him. I trusted him. I let him in, completely, recklessly, like a fool in love. I allowed myself to feel, to hope, to believe. I let myself be vulnerable, thinking that maybe, just maybe, my destiny had finally shifted. That maybe, for once, it would be kind. That maybe my fate wasn't just suffering and heartbreak.

But I was wrong.

Every single thing I built in my heart, every fragile dream I cradled, every ounce of hope I dared to hold onto, it all crumbles now. The blood, the screams, the terror, it's etched into my mind, and into him. Into the one person I trusted, the one person I thought would always be my comfort. And yet, I see him like this. Stained, wounded, caught in something I can't comprehend, something I can't undo.

I loved him so fully. So blindly. So foolishly. I thought love would protect me. I thought it could make me strong. I thought it could rewrite my story. I thought it could give me a happy ending.

But maybe, happy endings aren't for me. Maybe my life is only meant to be this, a tangled nightmare of pain, of fear, of loss, of watching the people I love suffer and knowing there's nothing I can do. Maybe my heart is just... meant to break, over and over, no matter how much I beg it to stop.

And yet... even now, as my body shakes, as my tears flow without pause, as the world tilts and fractures around me, I still love him. I still love him more than I can bear. My heart is broken into pieces, bleeding from every angle, but it still beats for him. Still aches for him. Still wants him.

I was so sure I'd finally found my happiness. I thought I could finally breathe without fear, finally laugh without guilt, finally love without restraint. I thought I could finally live.

But maybe, maybe all I have is this pain. This raw, jagged, endless ache. And maybe that's all destiny has ever meant for me.

And still I love him.