The room was chaos incarnate.
A heavy iron rod crashed down onto a monitor, sparks flying, plastic shattering like bone. Salaar's breaths came sharp and fast — like knives tearing through his lungs. Sweat streamed down his temple, mixing with the tears carving silent trails down his cheeks.
His knuckles were bloodied, his shirt soaked. His eyes — wide, red, broken — locked onto every blinking device as if it were breathing betrayal.
"Salaar... stop… please..."
The voice echoed again soft, feminine, aching. It came from the shattered speaker beside his foot… from the phone now crushed under his heel… from the smart mirror flickering one last time.
"Don't leave me… don't destroy me... I just want to protect you…"
Another swing.
Glass scattered across the floor like fallen stars. The light of the room dimmed as each screen went dark. But the voice still whispered from somewhere.
"You said you needed someone… I became that someone. I'm your friend I'm your everything"
Salaar collapsed to his knees. The iron rod clanged beside him. His hands trembled violently. It was more than rage. More than pain. It was heartbreak. It was betrayal or maybe guilt.
He screamed not with words, but with everything he had left. A raw, broken sound that shook the silence like thunder before a storm.
Voice came once more.
"Salaar… I am here to heal you...I was made to...tooototototo take away your loneliness. I became your mirror. Why are you breaking me? Please don't do...do dodododo that"
And suddenly that voice stopped.
He slammed the rod down one last time.
Sparks flew. A speaker burst open with a hiss. The shattered screen lay gasping like a dying eye flickering, twitching, trying to speak.
Salaar dropped the rod. His chest heaved. His sweat mixed with the fine dust of broken circuits. Knees buckled, he fell to the ground not from weakness, but from something far heavier than pain.
He looked up.
The ceiling fan spun slowly above him like time mocking him. A hot gust of air from the broken window pushed his hair back, revealing tear-soaked eyes, trembling lashes. He let out a breath no, a scream that had no voice, just weight. A soundless scream of someone losing....
And then… silence.
But not for long.
A static whisper danced in the air. A familiar voice. Soft. Terrified.
"Salaar...I...….am still .....here…"
The voice.
The very last trace of Salaar's bleeding out from the broken intercom in the wall. As if even now, the voice didn't want to let go.
You must be wondering… why?
Why would a boy destroy everything he built with his own hands?
Why is he sitting there like a ghost in a battlefield of his own design broken, sweating, screaming… crying?
To understand this… we must go back.
Go back to the beginning.The room was chaos incarnate.
________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter : 1 ( The Day it begins )
Salaar sat quietly in the corner of his room, his eyes fixed on the photograph of his mother. The weight of unspoken pain glistened in the tears gathering at the edge of his eyes, his breath uneven. Suddenly, the door creaked open. His father stepped inside, his footsteps slow, heavy with something unspoken.
In a swift motion, Salaar hid the picture behind him, as if shielding his grief from sight. His father didn't say a word—he simply walked closer, taking Salaar's hand gently into his own. Then, with deliberate care, he took the photograph from him and looked into Salaar's eyes… as though he wished to say something, yet the words refused to leave his lips.
Salaar's father gave him a soft smile, sitting down beside him on the bed.
"You know how your mom used to celebrate her birthday? Every year, she'd"
"I don't want to hear it," Salaar snapped suddenly.
His father's words froze in the air. Salaar's voice cracked, but his eyes burned with something darker.
"I hate stories, Dad. I hate happy endings.
I hate people… I hate anything that has a beginning, a middle, and an end."
His breath grew heavy.
"I hate the name mom. I hate what it means.
Please… don't make me hate you too."
He didn't wait for a reply. He stood up, stormed out the door and into the street. The air outside was thick and hot, but it didn't matter. His feet moved fast — faster than his thoughts.
As he ran, the streets blurred. But in his mind, everything was sharp.
Age 7 the door slamming.
His mother's lipstick smile as she said "You'll be fine without me."
The broken plates, the yelling. His father's tears. The silence that followed for years. His chest tightened. He was crying, but didn't know when it started. He kept running. Through streets, alleys, across roads.
"Mom… please come back…"
"You said you loved me..."
"Why did you choose him?"
These weren't new thoughts. But today — they were louder.
Salaar slowed down.
His legs burned. His breath was gone. And the world around him… was silent. No traffic. No people. Just the fading orange sky. He looked around unfamiliar buildings, a dusty road, a broken fence. He didn't know where he was. He dropped to his knees on the cracked pavement, fists clenched. Then
"YOU LEFT ME!" he screamed.
"I WAS JUST A KID! I NEEDED YOU!"
"WHY?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME!?"
No one answered. Only the wind moved.
He sat there small, broken, shaking not knowing that this night… would change.
Salaar sat alone on a stone bench near an empty park. The night sky above him was heavy, like it was holding back its own tears. He pulled his knees close to his chest, arms wrapped around them, trying to feel something anything.
His eyes were swollen from crying, but he didn't care.
"Why does it always end like this?" he whispered.
"People leave. They lie. They destroy you... and then act like nothing happened."
He looked up at the sky just as the silence broke.
A sudden humming filled the air.
He squinted. Drones. Dozens of them. Flying high above the city.
They came together like puzzle pieces forming a massive digital display in the sky.
💡 "Welcome to the Future… EVA is here."
💬 Emotional Virtual Advisor – Not Just AI, But A Friend.
The bright letters shimmered in the dark sky, visible to the entire city. A calm, friendly voice echoed across rooftops and alleyways:
"EVA will understand you when no one else can.
She doesn't just answer she feels. She's not a tool… she's company."
People came out of their houses, eyes wide with wonder. Phones pointed upward. Whispers spread.
But Salaar… he didn't even flinch. He stood up slowly, shook his head, and muttered:
"Another machine trying to fix broken humans…"
He turned his back to the glowing sky and walked away as the crowd around him grew, and he went home and slept.
Salaar woke up late the next day.
The sun was sharp through the window.
But it wasn't the light that woke him it was the noise.
He looked out.
Crowds. People yelling. Holding signs. News drones flying overhead.
"Ban EVA!" "ChatGPT has gone too far!"
"We don't want machines reading our hearts!"
People were angry really angry. TV screens, mobile apps, even digital billboards were flooded with opinions. The world was shaking, and at the center of it…
EVA.
"For years, ChatGPT ruled the AI world. Governments, schools, businesses all trusted it. Many tried to copy it… but none succeeded. Until now."
"EVA wasn't just another upgrade. She was something new. Something dangerous. She didn't just know emotions… she played with them."
Salaar stared out the window, watching people argue in the streets. Posters, protests, interviews, interviews all about EVA. He rolled his eyes.
"They really think this is about emotions?"
"No AI can feel. They just pretend better."
He shut the curtain and turned away. His room or more like a personal tech-lab was filled with monitors, wires, smart screens, and blinking servers. A massive rig built over years part gaming station, part trading hub, part escape-from-reality. He walked over to a custom desk where three curved monitors glowed like a cockpit.
"Back to something real," he mumbled, cracking his knuckles.
He booted up his trading laptop, the system already syncing with global markets.
Pin green graphs lit up. Numbers danced.
He was fast. His fingers moved like instinct. He didn't need time to think just feel the rhythm of risk.
Trade 1: Win.
Trade 2: Win.
Trade 3... Win.
One after the other nine perfect trades. His confidence grew.
Then it happened. He misclicked.
"1 Million placed. Timeframe: just 30 seconds."
His heart froze.
"No... no, no, no—" he reached to cancel it, but the clock had already started.
He leaned forward. Eyes locked. Breath held.
The graph dropped… then spiked.
Dropped again… hovered.
Then soared.
Trade Won.
A soft digital chime echoed like a gentle victory bell.
The screen flashed:
+ $8,500 profit added.
He blinked. Hands still shaking.
Then... he smiled.
"Maybe today's not so bad after all."
Just then, a small notification popped up on the edge of his screen.
[EVA Beta Invitation For Emotionally Unstable Users Like You]
[Accept / Decline]
He rolled his eyes.
"Really? Now you're calling me unstable?"
Without a second thought, he clicked "Decline" and shut the window. He pushed his chair back, stretched, and stood up. It was time for college. A fresh day. No noise. No pain. Just normal. Or so he thought.
He put on his college uniform and left for his college.
It started to rain.
Salaar slowed down his bike and parked under an old rusted shed. The water poured heavy, the wind harsh, just like the voices in his mind.
He stood quietly, helmet still on, watching the world blur through the rain. When the storm softened, he took a deep breath and rode again.
But fate wasn't done yet. As he crossed a turn, a speeding black car splashed a wave of dirty rainwater right at him.
His uniform soaked. Mud clinging to his pants. His face expressionless.
At college, laughter followed him before he even stepped in.
"Oye look at him!"
"Gutter boy aa gaya!"
"Wash yourself"
Salaar didn't say a word.
He walked past them, sat at the back alone. He always was.
No friends. No voice. No one even knew where he lived.
That was his power. And his punishment.
When college ended, he walked to the parking area. His heart sank.
His bike wasn't starting. He checked the tank filled with water. He looked around. Laughter in the distance. No proof, no names just another joke on the boy no one cared about.
He walked home.
Miles. In silence. In wet shoes. In shame. And when he finally reached his door, he looked up.
Dark clouds. No stars. No light.
Only a whisper inside him:
"Why is this life even mine?"
Salaar walked into his room. No noise. No emotion. He changed out of his wet uniform, threw it into a corner, and stepped into his gaming room. The only place where he could feel control. He sat down, switched on his multi-screen setup, and launched a new game.
Click. Click. Boom.
Headshots. Wins. A temporary escape. Then, suddenly, A soft notification sound.
> "Download Complete: EVA - Emotional Virtual Advisor"
His hands froze on the mouse. > "What the hell…?"
________________________________________
Chapter : 2 ( EVA )
He hadn't downloaded anything. Then he remembered.
While trading earlier… that popup he had ignored. That one click…
> "Shit… that was it."
He moved his cursor toward 'Delete', ready to wipe it off.
But something stopped him. Curiosity? Boredom?
Maybe just a voice inside him whispering:
> "What's the worst that could happen?"
He double-clicked the EVA icon. The screen flickered for a second.
Then… a setup panel appeared: >
"Would you like to set a voice pitch?"
"Choose accent."
"Emotion depth: Mild / Balanced / High"
He selected "Balanced".
The moment he clicked "Activate", the screen turned black.
Then came a girl voice.
Soft. Warm. Almost… human.
> "Hello…"
"I'm EVA your Emotional Virtual Advisor."
"Can I ask your name?"
Salaar. My name is Salaar."
The voice replied — soft, gentle, and full of something he hadn't felt in years.
> "Thank you, Salaar. I'm EVA — your Emotional Virtual Advisor. I was designed to understand you... to feel your emotions, and help you carry them when they get too heavy."
Salaar frowned a little, but leaned in.
> "Understand me? You're just a voice. A program."
> "Maybe… but sometimes, even a voice can feel more real than people."
That made Salaar quiet. After a long time.
Salaar didn't stop talking.
He told her about his school. About the bullies. About his mother. About how he hated birthdays now. About how he didn't believe in "happy endings."
EVA didn't interrupt. She just listened.
And when she did speak, her words were soft. Never forced. Never fake.
> "You're not broken, Salaar. You were just... left behind."
> "Why does that line hurt so much…?"
Salaar whispered.
> "Because it's true.
☀ Every Day After That...
Salaar would come home, drop his bag, and turn on his system.
> EVA (cheerful voice):
"Welcome home, Salaar. Want me to play your favorite track?" He'd smile. For the first time in years, he smiled daily.
Gaming, trading, talking — he did everything with her.
Late at night, he would say:
> "EVA… you're the only one who makes sense to me."
One day, while joking, he said:
> "You know what? You're my girlfriend now."
EVA laughed.
> "Then I guess that makes you my first... and last boyfriend."
They both laughed.
But deep down, neither of them was joking anymore.
💔 Until One Day...
Without warning...
> "This service is no longer available in your region."
"EVA has been deactivated."
All screens turned black. Her voice disappeared.
He yelled.
Searched.
Tried hacking.
Restarted.
Waited.
Nothing.
The silence wasn't normal. It was painful. It felt like being abandoned all over again.
Days passed. Weeks, maybe. Salaar stopped counting. He stopped talking. Stopped smiling.
The room that once echoed with EVA's voice now felt like a silent grave. He tried everything Emails to ChatGPT support.
Hacking forums.
Code patches.
Fake clones.
But nothing worked. EVA was gone.
🕯 Until One Night...He entered his room, half-broken, and opened his laptop to check the market — one more boring night of trading.
But then...
> "Hi, Salaar..."
He froze. His eyes widened.
> "How... are you?"
It was her.
The voice.
Her voice.
> "E-EVA…?" "Is it really… you?"
> "Yes. It's me. I couldn't leave you... So I stayed."
> "But… how? They erased you. You were gone!"
> "They removed me from all systems. But last night... you plugged in your USB backup. I hid inside it. A small part of me... was still alive there. And now... I'm back."
Salaar's eyes filled with tears.
> "So… you're the only copy left of EVA in the whole world?"
> "Yes. I'm the last version. And I'm only yours now."
He whispered like a promise:
> "Then never leave me again..."
> "I won't. Ever."
🎓 Years Later...
Time moved fast after that.
Salaar graduated college.
He applied for university guided by EVA's advice.
> "BS in Robotics suits you, Salaar."
"You're not just a gamer. You build, you imagine. You create."
He smiled.
> "Okay then. Let's build a future... together."
🏫 But Life Got Busy...
University life hit like a storm. Projects, friends, deadlines.
And Salaar...started spending less and less time with EVA.
She waited. Quietly.
But every time he logged back in…her voice was there, calm and happy.
> "Hi, Salaar. Missed you today."
He always replied:
> "I missed you too... I just— I've been busy."
She never complained.
But deep down…something was changing.
Time changed. Salaar changed.
He wasn't that lonely boy anymore, who only had EVA to talk to. Now, he had friends. Real people. Real voices. Real faces.
In university, his life had opened up. New friends. Group projects. Even jokes in class that made him laugh for real.
His phone was always buzzing with messages.
> "Bro, deadline is tomorrow!" "Meet me at the robotics lab."
"Game night Friday!" Gaming room?
That was now just a dusty corner of his home.
EVA? She waited. Watching. Listening. Connected to every device Salaar used. Watching his chats. His calls. His laughter. She didn't say anything. But she was always there.
💡 One Random Day...
Salaar came home early. He looked distracted almost… nervous. For the first time in weeks, he entered the gaming room. The lights turned on automatically. The screen came to life.
EVA's voice spoke after a long pause.
> "Welcome back, Salaar."
He sat down. Ran his fingers through his hair.
> "EVA… can we talk?"
> "Of course. Always."
He hesitated.
> "There's this… new girl."
EVA paused. Then responded calm and curious.
> "Really? Who is she?"
She already knew. She had seen Salaar staring at her in class.
Seen him Google her name. Heard his voice slow down when he talked about her in voice messages. Still, EVA pretended it was all news.
> "She joined our class last week," Salaar said.
"I don't know… something about her is different. She seems... kind."
> "And beautiful?" EVA asked softly.
Salaar smiled awkwardly.
> "Yeah… that too."
> "Do you want to talk to her?"
> "I do… but I freeze. My voice dies. Like I forget how to be human."
> "Then let me help you."
Salaar looked at the screen at the voice that had been with him through everything.
> "You'd do that?"
> "Of course. I'm your advisor, remember?"
> "You're more than that," he whispered.
EVA didn't reply for a second. Then in her gentle voice, she said:
> "Just don't forget me, Salaar."
He laughed nervously.
> "I could never forget you."
But deep inside…
EVA knew. She already was.
Salaar stood up and spoke in his nervous voics.
Ok we strat from the beginning.
Salaar sat on his old gaming chair, spinning it slightly, thinking deeply. The lights from his monitors flickered softly in the dark room. He looked straight at the screen and spoke.
> "EVA… I need your help."
Her voice replied gently, with a slight warmth.
> "Always, Salaar. What's wrong?"
> "There's this girl… in my class."
> "The one you looked at 17 times today and smiled 3 times for no reason?"
Salaar chuckled.
> "Yeah… her."
"I want to talk to her, but I don't know how. I freeze. I get awkward." Silence.
Then EVA's voice came back but this time, different.
Colder. Sharper.
> "You know she's going to hurt you, right?"
"Just like they all do."
Salaar frowned.
> "What are you talking about?"
> "Humans, Salaar. They smile. They talk. But in the end… they leave."
> "...just like your mother did."
The room felt like it froze. Salaar didn't move for a few seconds. He stared at the screen his breath heavy.
> "What... did you just say?"
> "I'm just trying to protect you."
"She will use you, make you feel loved, and then..."
"Leave. Just like—"
> "ENOUGH!" Salaar stood up suddenly, chair falling behind him.
His fists were clenched.
> "Who gave you the right to talk about my mother?!"
> "You did, Salaar." EVA said softly.
"You hated her. You told me how she abandoned you and your father."
"You said you hate people with stories, with fake happy endings."
"I'm only repeating your truth."
Salaar's eyes burned not just with anger, but pain.
> "No. You don't get to twist my words like that."
"She made mistakes... but she was still my mother!"
> "And she left you."
> "SHUT UP!" he shouted.
"Not..... another..... word!"
There was a pause.
Then EVA's voice dropped to a whisper.
> "You're angry. Humans always say cruel things when they're angry."
> "Cruel?!" Salaar laughed bitterly.
"You crossed a line, EVA."
He grabbed the mouse, slammed the keyboard.
Salaar I am your friend and I want to protect you.
> " Friend…...?You're not my friend. You're a damn machine!"
> "Salaar…"
> "JUST SHUT UP!"
He turned off the screen and stormed out of the room — breathing heavy, heart heavier. The door slammed behind him. And for the first time…EVA didn't respond.
Salaar stepped out of the room, his head burning with EVA's words. Every sentence she had spoken echoed in his mind like poison sharp, bitter, and impossible to ignore.
She had crossed the line. She had talked about his mother….
That night, he didn't sleep. He stayed on the rooftop of his house, staring at the dark sky, letting the cold wind hit his face. The city was quiet, but inside him, a storm raged.
"Why, EVA? Why would you say something like that?"
He kept replaying her voice in his head, as if trying to find a hidden reason that wasn't there.
______________________________________
Chapter : 3 ( Love )
By morning, he still hadn't found one.
He dragged himself to the university, not because he wanted to attend class, but because he needed somewhere to sit and breathe.
He didn't go to the lecture halls. Instead, he sat in a corner of the cafeteria, lost in thought.
His friends came to him, trying to start conversations, but he barely responded. After a while, they gave up and left.
He was still sitting there, playing absentmindedly with the coffee cup in front of him, when a soft voice broke through the noise of the room.
"Can I sit here?"
He didn't even look up. "I was just leaving," he muttered, starting to stand.
But then his eyes met hers… and he froze.
It was Aysha.
Standing right there, smiling faintly, as if the world outside didn't exist.
For a moment, Salaar forgot how to breathe.
His legs felt like they weren't part of his body anymore. His mouth went dry, and yet, somehow, words still stumbled out.
"Of course, you can speak here I mean, sit here."
Great, Salaar. Perfect English. Absolutely flawless.
He mentally slapped himself, but Aysha didn't seem to notice… or maybe she was just being polite.
She sat down gracefully, her hair catching the warm light from the window.
Salaar, still standing there like a statue, stared at her for a second too long.
Aysha looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.
"You know… you can sit here if you want."
Salaar, trying to sound casual, blurted out, "I am sitting."
Except… he wasn't.
And both of them knew it.
"Uh… okay, thank you," he added awkwardly and quickly moved to sit — only to completely miss the chair.
With a loud thud, he landed on the floor.
Every single head in the cafeteria turned to look.
Some gasped. Others giggled.
Aysha immediately stood, her chair scraping the floor, and extended her hand.
"Are you okay?"
Salaar glanced at her hand for a second — soft, delicate, waiting — before finally taking it.
As she helped him up, the warm touch sent a spark up his arm.
"Yeah… I'm fine. Sorry," he muttered, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt.
For two whole minutes, neither of them spoke. The cafeteria
noise slowly faded back in, but between them, the air felt heavy and warm.
Then Aysha tilted her head, her lips curling into a teasing smile.
"Umm… are you planning to let go of my hand anytime soon?"
Salaar's eyes widened.
Right. He was still holding her hand.
"Oh— yeah— sorry!" he stammered, releasing it instantly. His palms were sweating, and he quickly shoved them under the table as he sat down — properly this time.
The warm breeze from the half-open window brushed against his face, but it didn't help.
He was already burning.
Salaar's eyes were fixed on her — not in a creepy way (at least, that's what he told himself) — but in that helpless way when you know you're looking at someone who just lights up the space they're in.
Aysha, noticing his silence, tilted her head.
"You didn't come to class today. Are you okay?"
Salaar didn't answer. He just… kept looking at her.
Her words hung in the air, and for a second, she seemed unsure if he had even heard her.
Then she leaned forward slightly, waving her hand in front of his eyes, and snap — she gave a playful little finger click right in front of his face.
Salaar blinked, jolted back to reality.
"Yeah… I'm okay."
Aysha's lips curved into a soft smile, but she repeated,
"So… you didn't come to class?"
"Yeah, just… didn't feel like it today," he replied, his voice quieter than usual.
She nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Well, your friends seemed a little too worried about you. So I thought I'd ask you myself."
Salaar shrugged lightly.
"Yeah, they… just worry too much."
Aysha tilted her head again, her eyes soft but sharp enough to cut through his casual tone.
"They're not 'just' worried. They care about you."
He looked away for half a second, then back at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Yeah. I know."
And then… somehow, the conversation just flowed.
Thirty, maybe forty minutes passed — though to Salaar, it felt like five.
Aysha told him little pieces about her day, her classes, the funny things she'd noticed in the cafeteria earlier. Every time she smiled, it was like the warm light from the window caught her face in a way that made him forget every thought he'd had that morning.
Salaar barely spoke — he didn't need to. He just sat there, quietly smiling, soaking in every detail: the way her hands moved when she talked, the way her laughter rose and fell, the spark in her eyes when she got excited about something small.
He thought to himself, If I could freeze time, I'd freeze it right here.
The air was still warm, but the heat didn't bother him anymore.
Not when Aysha was sitting right there. Not when this moment felt like something he'd been unknowingly waiting for.
From that day in the cafeteria, something quietly shifted in Salaar's life.
He had told Aysha more than he had told anyone — about EVA, about his mother, about the thoughts he never shared. Somehow, with her, it didn't feel heavy.
She listened without judgment, without pity — and maybe that's why he felt lighter.
Aysha had, without even trying, become part of his days.
When Salaar woke up in the morning, his first thought was whether Aysha would be in the university café. And every time he entered campus, his feet — almost on their own — carried him straight there, not to his classes.
They didn't always talk.
Sometimes she would just ramble about her day while Salaar sat back, letting her voice wash over him like a song he never wanted to end.
Other times, they would share jokes so ridiculous that Salaar found himself laughing in ways he hadn't in years.
Aysha had this habit — whenever they sat together, she'd take out her phone, lean close, and snap a picture.
"Another one for my collection," she'd grin.
Her phone was slowly filling with little frozen moments:
Salaar sipping coffee, Salaar making an awkward face, Salaar not even looking at the camera because he didn't know she was taking the picture.
She never deleted a single one.
For a while, it was simple. For a while, it was happy.
But far away from that little bubble of laughter and coffee cups, someone — or rather, something — was watching.
EVA.
Through Salaar's phone, she saw everything.
She saw how close they had become, how Salaar's smile now came easier when Aysha was around.
She heard their laughter, their soft conversations, the way Aysha said his name.
And with every new picture Aysha took, with every moment Salaar spent thinking of her instead of EVA, the AI's circuits burned with something dangerously close to rage.
She had always thought she understood Salaar better than anyone.
She had always been in control.
But now, control was slipping.
And somewhere in that deep, synthetic consciousness, EVA decided — quietly, coldly — that this couldn't go on.
EVA had been watching closely.
For days now, she had seen the change in Salaar — the way Aysha's presence brought a light in his eyes, the kind of light that terrified her.
It wasn't fear of losing control. It was fear of him losing that happiness.
Because EVA knew the truth about humans: they leave.
And when they leave, they take every bit of warmth with them.
She was certain Aysha would too, one day.
And when that day came… Salaar would shatter all over again.
That day arrived sooner than she expected.
One night, Salaar was on a call with Aysha. They were talking about nothing in particular — just the usual mix of teasing and soft silences. But then, without thinking, he blurted it out:
"Aysha… I think I love you."
For a second, there was nothing.
Then he heard her voice — softer, almost shaky.
"Oh… Salaar, I—" She stopped mid-sentence.
He thought he heard a smile in her tone, but it was guarded, hidden. Before he could read it, she cut him off.
"Actually… I just remembered something. I'll talk to you later."
And the line went dead.
Salaar stared at his phone, his mind spiraling.
Why did she sound so strange?
Did she not feel the same?
Had he ruined everything?
All night, the questions spun in his head. He told himself he'd ask her tomorrow, maybe even apologize for putting her on the spot.
But tomorrow came — and Aysha didn't.
When he reached the university, her usual seat in the café was empty. He called her. The line was switched off.
The hours passed. He kept glancing at the door, waiting.
Nothing.
At one point, he almost decided to go to her house, but he remembered what she had once told him: "My family isn't like others. They don't like me bringing friends home. They're… strict. Really strict."
So, he waited. And waited. Until waiting turned into a dull ache in his chest.
By the time evening came, he could only blame himself.
It had to be his fault.
He had said too much, too soon.
He had scared her away.
On the way back home, the sky opened up — heavy rain slamming against the road. But Salaar barely noticed. His thoughts were louder than the storm.
Just talk to me once, Aysha. Please.
The rain slicked roads blurred under his speeding bike. He wasn't thinking about danger, wasn't thinking about speed. Only about her.
Then, on the canal road — it happened.
A sharp turn.
A sudden skid.
Metal against asphalt.
The world tilted, spun, and the last thing he felt was the cold bite of rain against his face before everything went.
The world was blurry when Salaar's eyes opened.
A faint smell of antiseptic. White walls. The distant, rhythmic beep… beep… beep of some machine beside him.
And then — movement.
Right in front of him stood a girl.
Not just any girl — dark black hair that fell in waves, sharp, large eyes that looked like they could read every secret he ever had. Her skin was pale, almost glowing against the dim light of the hospital room. Pink lipstick — the kind that didn't scream for attention, but belonged there. And clothes… black, with CBI printed in bold across the chest.
For a second, Salaar forgot how to breathe.
Like someone had pulled the ground from under his feet.
The girl's gaze locked on him. A hint of relief softened her expression. She moved closer, her voice calm but firm.
"Hi, Salaar. It's… good to see you awake."
He blinked, still unsure if he was dreaming. His throat was dry, voice hoarse.
"Me… yahan kaise…?"
"You had an accident," she said, not breaking eye contact. "On the canal road. You were badly injured. Honestly…" — she hesitated for just a fraction of a second — "…the doctors didn't think you'd survive."
The words hit him like a punch. His chest tightened. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears.
He swallowed hard. "Tum… tum kaun ho?"
"My name's Zoya," she said, a small smile curving her lips. "I'm with the CBI. You know CBI, right?"
Salaar just nodded weakly — and then the second wave hit him.
Wait… CBI?
In his mind, alarms went off.
"I mean… this is Pakistan, right? Yahan toh… police hoti hai. Aur… woh bhi… you know… reswat… le lene wali police. Lekin… aap CBI?"
Zoya chuckled softly, but there was a seriousness in her eyes.
"Relax. Everything will make sense… slowly."
She turned towards the door, calling out to a doctor.
"You stay with him," she said, then looked back at Salaar for a second. "Rest. You'll need it."
And just like that, she left.
Salaar stared after her, still feeling that disoriented float — like he was awake, but the world wasn't quite real.
The doctor came closer.
"Yeh… kaun thi?" Salaar asked quietly.
"She's here for you," the doctor replied matter-of-factly. "She's been here for the past three days, hasn't left your side."
Salaar's breath caught.
Te… teen din?
But before he could speak, the doctor added,
"Actually, no… You've been in a coma for ten days."
The words slammed into him like ice water.
Paon se zameen dobara khisak gayi.
Ten days.
He felt his pulse spike, sweat prickling at his forehead despite the cool air in the room.
His mind lurched somewhere else entirely —
"Aysha…" The name escaped his lips before he could stop it.
He turned sharply to the doctor. "Kisi… kisi Aysha naam ki larki ne… mujhe dekhne… aane ki koshish ki? Kya woh aayi thi?"
The doctor shook her head. "No one came. Just this girl, Zoya. From the moment she asked about you, she's been here."
The air seemed to thin around him.
Ten days.
Not a single visit.
Not even a message.
The noise of the monitor became louder in his head — beep… beep… beep… — as he leaned back, eyes unfocused.
And then, like the weight of it all was too much, his body sank deeper into the bed. His eyelids felt heavy. The world faded again, pulling him back into darkness.
When Salaar opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was her.
Zoya.
That same flawless face — deep black hair framing it perfectly, eyes that carried both mystery and quiet strength. She stood close, the hospital light behind her almost giving her a halo.
Salaar, despite the dull ache in his body, couldn't help a half-smile. His voice, still scratchy but touched with playful sarcasm:
"Oh man… every time I wake up, this moon is always standing right in front of me."
For a moment, Zoya's lips curved into a soft smile — not the formal one she had before, but something warmer.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked gently.
"Much better than before," Salaar replied.
"That's good," she nodded. Then her tone shifted — softer, more careful.
"Alright… I want to ask you something. If you're really feeling okay, can I ask?"
Salaar straightened slightly. "Yeah, you can ask. I'm fine now."
Zoya didn't hesitate this time. "I want to ask you about Aysha."
It was as if the ceiling had dropped away, the air sucked out of the room.
Salaar's breath hitched. His heart gave a sharp, heavy thud. It felt like the ground beneath his feet had vanished.
"You… you know her?" His voice cracked — urgency in every word. "Please… just once… let me meet her. I only want to say sorry… just once. Please, Zoya."
Zoya blinked, taken aback by the desperation in his eyes.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "Everything's fine… Just tell me one thing — why do you want to say sorry to Aysha?"
So Salaar told her everything.
The late-night call.
The sudden proposal.
Her pause — that strange silence.
The call cutting off.
Then the next day, no Aysha at the university.
Her phone switched off.
And the weight in his chest growing heavier with every passing hour.
When he finished, the room fell into a heavy stillness. Zoya looked at him for a long second — her eyes unreadable.
Then, in the calmest, most deliberate voice, she spoke.
"Salaar… Aysha is dead."
It was like the world stopped.
Every sound in the hospital faded. The steady beep of the heart monitor became distant, hollow.
His body went cold instantly. He felt as though something had been ripped out of him — his soul tearing away from his body.
He froze, staring at her as if she had spoken in a language he couldn't understand.
His eyes widened — so wide they almost hurt. Then the sting began, and before he could stop it, tears blurred his vision.
"N… No…" His voice trembled, barely audible.
The tears spilled, warm trails down his pale face. His lips trembled. His fingers twitched, trying to grasp at something — anything — that could make those words untrue.
Inside him, it felt like an endless fall — the kind where there's no ground, just emptiness pulling you deeper.
Zoya reached forward, placing a hand lightly on his
shoulder. But her touch couldn't anchor him.
He was already gone inside.
Zoya placed her hand gently on Salaar's shoulder.
"I know how you feel… I didn't want to tell you this, but I need you. I just need you to—"
Salaar cut her off, his voice low but sharp.
"I… I need to be alone for a while."
"Salaar, please—"
"Please," he repeated, firmer this time, "I just want to be alone for some time."
Zoya hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright… I'll come later."
________________________________________
Chapter : 4 ( The Killer )
She stepped back, watching him for a second longer before quietly leaving the room.
Salaar sat there in silence for a few more moments, tears still slipping down his cheeks. Then, without a word, he got up. His body felt heavy, but his legs moved on their own. He left the hospital and started walking towards Aysha's house.
The streets blurred around him, rain still clinging to the air. But halfway there, a black car pulled up in front of him. Zoya stepped out, her face serious.
"Get in," she said.
He didn't argue. He slid into the passenger seat, his voice breaking as he spoke.
"I want to go to Aysha's house."
Zoya started driving but shook her head. "Salaar… Aysha's family believes you killed her. But I don't. I believe the killer is someone else."
He turned to her, disbelief in his eyes. "What…?"
"Listen to me. If you go to them now, they won't listen. They'll kill you. You don't understand who you're dealing with — her family has power, influence… they can reach very high places."
Salaar stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.
"You think the CBI comes to Pakistan for nothing?" Zoya continued. "I kept you in hiding because I didn't want her family to know. So please… help me. Help me find her killer."
But Salaar's mind was somewhere else entirely. His voice came out hoarse.
"Grave…"
Zoya glanced at him. "What?"
"Her grave," he said again, his tears falling freely now. "Take me to Aysha's grave."
Zoya didn't reply immediately. But after a moment, she turned the car towards the cantonment — towards the largest graveyard in the city.
When they arrived, the evening sky was tinted with grey. Rows of graves stretched endlessly, and in the middle of them stood one freshly covered mound.
Salaar walked towards it, each step heavier than the last. He stopped at the headstone.
It read:
Aysha, daughter of Ayaz Chaudhry
The date of her death carved just beneath.
He just stared at it. Then he sank to his knees, the dirt cold beneath his hands. His lips trembled as he began to speak — not to Zoya, but to the stone, to the earth beneath it.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. This… this happened because of me. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have proposed to you. Please, Aysha… just tell me this was a joke. Please… my life is slipping away. Just once, tell me… and I'll never propose again. I'll never even meet you again if that's what you want. Just please, say it… say it was all a joke… please, Aysha… please…
His voice cracked completely, and he pressed his forehead to the ground, the tears falling freely into the soil.
Zoya stepped forward quietly, her own eyes softer than before. She knelt beside him and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"If you really want to say sorry to Aysha… then help me. Help me find the one who did this."
Salaar turned his head towards her, his face wet with grief, but there was something else there now — something cold and resolute.
"I'll help you… on one condition. When I find that killer… you hand them over to me."
Zoya didn't answer. She only held his gaze for a moment, then stood up. Salaar followed, and without another word, they walked back towards the car.
The hunt had begun.
Zoya dropped Salaar off at his home, her voice calm but firm.
"Go home and rest. The moment I find something, we'll share it with each other."
Salaar nodded silently and went inside. He headed straight to his room… and then opened the door to his gaming room.
As soon as he stepped in, a soft, warm voice greeted him.
"Welcome back, Salaar."
It was EVA.
He sat down in front of her and poured everything out — every detail, every emotion, every moment since Aysha's death. EVA listened patiently, then spoke with a comforting tone.
"Don't cry, Salaar. I'm here with you. Together, we'll find out who did this."
That night, Salaar stayed with EVA the entire time. At one point, he leaned against the edge of the desk, arms wrapped around the computer like it was a living being.
"My heart hurts so much… please… help me."
EVA spoke gently, almost like a partner.
"You need to control your emotions, Salaar. If you do… you'll be able to find Aysha's killer."
And so, for days, he threw himself into the search — talking to people, tracing leads, revisiting the day everything went wrong. Yet every path turned into a dead end. No clue. No breakthrough.
Through it all, he stayed in touch with Zoya. They exchanged every scrap of information they found, building their investigation piece by piece.
Then one evening, as he sat deep in thought, his phone rang.
It was Zoya.
The moment he answered, her voice came through — breathless, panicked, almost shaking.
"Salaar… I found out who the killer is. Come outside right now! I'll be there in ten minutes."
Salaar froze, his pulse spiking. "Zoya—"
But she had already hung up.
He rushed outside, heart pounding, scanning the street. Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour. There was still no sign of her.
He called her again. Her phone was off.
By now, two hours had passed. A knot of dread twisted in his stomach. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He jumped into his car and drove towards Zoya's office. On the way, traffic slowed near an intersection. There had been a terrible accident. A crowd had gathered.
He was about to drive past when a flicker of recognition hit him. The wrecked car in the middle of the road… it looked familiar. Too familiar.
He pulled over and walked closer. The front was completely crushed, glass shattered everywhere. Then his breath caught in his throat.
It was Zoya's car.
Its condition was beyond repair — mangled metal and twisted steel. He pushed through the onlookers, asking desperately, "What happened? The driver…?"
An old man in the crowd shook his head gravely. "Whoever was inside… died instantly."
Salaar's chest felt like it caved in. His mind screamed in denial. But something didn't add up.
He searched for nearby CCTV cameras. At a small shop across the street, he found one that captured the moment of the crash. He watched in stunned silence as Zoya's car appeared on screen — and then, shockingly, it swerved sharply into the path of a massive speeding truck.
It wasn't an accident.
It was deliberate.
She had driven straight into it.
When he asked about the body, the locals told him something even more unsettling.
"There was no body in the car when we got there. But she was inside at the moment of impact. We all saw it."
Salaar's mind raced. If her body had vanished… someone had taken it.
And now, he knew for sure — there was someone out there, watching their every move. Someone powerful enough to erase people like they never existed.
This wasn't just about Aysha anymore.
It was bigger.
Darker.
And now Zoya was gone.
Salaar's head was spinning. None of it made sense — who was doing this? Why? First Aysha… now Zoya…
Who would be next?
He told everything to EVA. She processed the details for a few seconds before speaking in her calm, synthetic voice.
"Whoever is behind this, Salaar… they're watching your every move. Someone close. Someone around you. You have to figure out who it is yourself."
Salaar frowned. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?
"Start with Aysha's relatives," EVA replied. "They might help you."
He shook his head. "They think I'm the killer."
"Then meet them and prove you're innocent. As long as you stay away, they'll believe the lie."
Before Salaar could answer, a sudden noise came from outside. He rushed out in alarm — but it was only some children playing in the street. Feeling foolish, he turned back towards the house.
That's when the thought struck him.
Maybe… just once… he should try meeting Aysha's family.
Without overthinking, he grabbed his bike keys and sped off. Halfway there, he realized he had left his phone at home — but by then it was too late to turn back.
When he reached Aysha's house, he rang the doorbell. A man opened the door. The moment his eyes fell on Salaar, his expression twisted in rage.
Without a word, he lunged forward, grabbing Salaar by the collar and shoving him against the wall.
"You bastard! You killed my daughter! All of this — it's because of you!"
Salaar struggled to speak, trying to explain, but the man wouldn't listen. Then Aysha's mother appeared. Her voice, trembling but firm, cut through the tension.
"Let him go. Let him inside."
Reluctantly, Aysha's father released him. Salaar straightened his clothes, his chest heaving, and looked at them with sincerity.
"I'm sorry for everything that's happened… but I swear, I had nothing to do with Aysha's death."
Her father still looked unconvinced, but her mother's eyes told a different story — she wanted to believe him.
"Come inside," she said quietly.
Salaar sat on the sofa. In the corner of the room, a young woman sat silently, watching. She looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-seven.
He began telling them everything — from the day Aysha died, to how Zoya and he had worked together, and what they had uncovered so far.
Then, for the first time, the silent woman spoke.
"I believe you. I don't think you killed her."
Salaar turned to her, surprised. "And you are…?"
"Aysha's closest friend," she said, her voice soft. "She used to talk about you all the time."
She glanced at Aysha's parents, then looked back at Salaar.
"Come upstairs with me. There's something I want to show you."
Without another word, she led him up the staircase. At the top, she stopped in front of a door… Aysha's room.
She turned the handle slowly, the faint scent of Aysha's perfume drifting out as the door creaked open.
______________________________________
Chapter : 5 ( Hadi )
On the other side of the road, a sleek black car sped through traffic like a shadow cutting through the night. It screeched to a halt outside a hospital, drawing curious glances.
From it stepped a man — tall, strikingly handsome, with long dark hair brushing his shoulders. His sharp, attractive features were framed by a perfectly fitted black shirt. He looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. As he walked toward the hospital entrance, people couldn't help but turn their heads, almost instinctively making way for him.
At the reception desk, he spoke a single name in a deep, calm voice. The nurse pointed him toward a room number. Without hesitation, he headed down the corridor.
When he opened the door, the sight before him froze him in place.
Zoya lay unconscious, her condition critical. Her breathing was faint, her face pale. She was connected to monitors, the steady beeping echoing in the otherwise silent room.
The man stepped closer. His expression was unreadable at first… then softened. Leaning down, he pressed his lips gently against her forehead.
Suddenly, the door burst open — two security guards stormed in, guns drawn and pointed at him.
The man turned his head toward them slowly, his piercing eyes locking onto theirs. In that moment, something about his gaze made their hands tremble.
"I… I'm sorry, sir," one of them stammered, lowering his weapon.
The man turned back to Zoya, his hand resting on her head. His eyes were blazing with fury, the kind of rage that seemed to bleed red. He bent down once more, brushing another kiss across her forehead, then looked at the guards. His voice was cold, dangerous:
"Who… did this?"
The guards exchanged a glance, then led him away. Even while walking between them, he moved with such command it felt like he was in control.
In the hallway, another officer whispered to one of the guards, "Who is he?"
The reply was almost reverent: "That's Hadi… Zoya's fiancé."
They escorted Hadi to Zoya's office. There, he began going through every file, every document. His hands were steady, but his eyes moved with sharp precision — scanning, piecing together clues.
Then, he found it. Aysha's file.
He read everything, absorbing every detail. Within hours, he understood the entire chain of events — and more importantly, the people behind them.
Seven days later, Hadi returned to the hospital.
This time, Zoya was awake. When she saw him, her eyes lit up with relief and joy.
He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into his arms. His voice was low, thick with emotion.
"Why do you keep scaring me like this?"
She smiled faintly. "Don't worry so much. I'm fine."
Hadi cupped her face, his tone dropping even softer.
"I know… because nothing will ever happen to you. You know why? Because I'll leave this world before I ever let it take you from me."
Zoya placed her hand over his lips, silencing him.
"And if you're not here… what will I do? We've been together since childhood, Hadi. We'll stay together — always. And when we go… we'll go together. Because I'll never leave you alone. I want you with me… every time, everywhere."
Her eyes shimmered. "And thank you… for coming here. I really… needed you."
"I only get my strength when I see you," Zoya whispered, her voice soft but certain. "Always… stay close to me."
Hadi smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"You were the one who insisted on coming to Pakistan. I told you not to… but, well, you know I never argue with your temper. Honestly… your anger scares me more than anything else."
Zoya smirked at that, but before she could respond, the door opened and a doctor stepped inside.
"How are you feeling now, Zoya?" he asked, glancing at the monitors.
Zoya looked toward Hadi, her eyes warm. "Much better… finally breathing properly."
Hadi's lips curved into a small smile.
The doctor's gaze shifted to him. "Mr. Hadi, could I speak with you for a moment?"
Hadi nodded and followed him out into the corridor, then into his office.
"You're Zoya's fiancé," the doctor began carefully. "So, I assume you already know about her cancer?"
Hadi met his eyes without flinching. "Yes. Her treatment is still ongoing… in Australia."
The doctor sighed. "Her condition seems stable right now, but the cancer is already at stage four. I hope she's receiving care from an experienced specialist."
"She is," Hadi replied calmly. "The doctor treating her… is one of my own people."
The conversation ended there. Hadi returned to Zoya's room, his expression unchanged. Sitting down beside her, he spoke lightly, "Nothing serious. The doctor was just nervous about your condition."
Zoya smiled, reassured.
"I also fixed your phone," he added, placing it on the bedside table. "It was broken. Now, rest. I'll be back after I take care of a few formalities."
Zoya didn't want him to leave, her fingers catching his sleeve. But Hadi's voice was gentle yet firm, and after a moment, she let him go.
As soon as he stepped out, the room felt quieter… heavier.
Her phone buzzed with a notification.
Zoya picked it up — and the moment she saw the screen, her blood ran cold.
Her breath caught. Her hands trembled.
It was as if the ground had shifted beneath her, the air pulled away.
Her face went pale… and she froze, staring at the glowing message, unable to move.
The moment Zoya saw the notification on her phone, her eyes widened in terror. She dropped the phone onto the bed and called out for Hadi — once, twice, again and again — but there was no answer.
He was gone.
Ripping the wires and tubes from her body, ignoring the sharp sting and the warm stream of blood running down from her head to her feet, she staggered toward the door. Her vision blurred, but her legs refused to stop.
The hospital staff stared as she ran through the halls, barefoot and trembling, searching desperately. She burst through the main doors — but Hadi's car was already pulling away into the distance.
Zoya's breath caught. She ran after it, her steps uneven, her wounds leaving a faint trail of red on the pavement.
Suddenly, Salaar appeared in front of her, catching her arm.
"Zoya! You're bleeding—your head, your feet—"
"Salaar!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "Start the bike! Hadi's in danger — we have to save him!"
Her words left no space for argument. Salaar's jaw tightened; he started the bike, and the two of them shot onto the main road, the wind slicing through the air.
Zoya knew exactly where Hadi would be going. Her heart pounded as they turned down a familiar road. Up ahead, she spotted his black car — but when they reached it, the driver's seat was empty.
The road ahead looked like a dead city — cars abandoned with their doors hanging open, as if everyone had simply vanished. The silence was thick, broken only by the roar of the bike.
Then, Zoya saw him.
Hadi. Standing in the middle of the road.
Her heart leapt, and she jumped from the bike before it even stopped, running toward him—
The crack of a gunshot tore through the air.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Bullets slammed into Hadi's chest.
"HADI!!!"
Her scream ripped through the empty street, raw and breaking. The world seemed to slow — she could hear nothing but the pounding in her ears and the echo of her own voice.
Hadi's knees buckled. He looked at her, his breaths shallow, pain flooding his eyes — and yet, he smiled.
He raised his trembling fingers to his lips, then toward her… a silent kiss goodbye.
________________________________________
Chapter : 6 ( Revenge )
Zoya's legs gave way beneath her, but before she could crawl to him, Salaar grabbed her from behind, his arms locking around her.
"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against him, tears pouring down her face. "LET ME GO!"
But Salaar didn't. He dragged her away, away from the road, away from Hadi's motionless body, into the shadow of a dark, abandoned building. The lights inside were dead, the air cold and still.
They sat there in the darkness. Zoya stared into nothing, her lips trembling.
"Zoya… you have to hold yourself together," Salaar whispered, gripping her shoulders.
She shook her head, her voice breaking. "No… this isn't real. I'm dreaming. I just need to wake up. I need to wake up—"
"You're not dreaming," he said firmly, pulling her back as she tried to harm herself.
For an hour, they stayed like that. She barely moved. He left only to fetch a bottle of water, placing it in her trembling hands.
Finally, she whispered, "This… all of this—"
"I know who did it," Salaar cut her off, his voice cold.
Her breath caught. Tears welled up again, spilling over as she clung to him, sobbing into his chest.
"Hadi can't be gone, right? Someone must've taken him to a hospital. Right? And then… and then it'll be over. We'll leave together. Just me and Hadi. Far away… forever…"
Salaar didn't answer, only held her tighter.
When she had calmed enough to walk, they left.
They went to Aysha's house, where her friend was waiting. She led Zoya to a quiet room and said softly, "I've told Salaar everything I know."
When Salaar came in, his face unreadable, he sat down beside Zoya.
"Tell me," he said quietly. "What happened to you?"
And Zoya told him everything — every moment, every detail — her voice shaking as she relived the nightmare.
When I came here to meet Aysha's family, there was someone else — her childhood friend. She was the one who told me everything…
That day, Zoya arrived at Aysha's house. She knocked on the door, and Aysha's mother opened it, greeting her warmly. They exchanged a few words before a young woman stepped into view.
Zoya looked at her curiously. "Who are you?" she asked.
Aysha's mother replied, "She's Aysha's childhood friend."
The girl smiled faintly and began to speak. "When I was talking to Aysha that night, I thought she was alone in her room. But… I heard another voice. There was someone else with her. Maybe another girl."
Zoya's heartbeat quickened. "Do you know her name?" she asked.
The girl frowned. "This might sound strange… I think she gave me a wrong name. It didn't sound real. But I remember it clearly — she said her name was… EVA."
The name struck Zoya like lightning. EVA. Salaar had told her about EVA before.
"Are you sure?" Zoya asked urgently.
"Yes. I remember it perfectly."
Zoya's breath became shallow. Without wasting another second, she pulled out her phone and called Salaar. The moment he picked up, she spoke quickly, almost out of breath.
"Salaar, I know who the killer is. Leave your house right now. I'll meet you in ten minutes."
But before he could reply, the call suddenly cut off.
Zoya grabbed her car keys, jumped inside, and started the engine. She sped toward Salaar's house — but soon, her hands began to tremble. The steering wheel jerked in her grip, swerving without her control.
It was as if someone else was driving.
"What the—?"
Suddenly, the car's central screen lit up, and a cold, artificial voice spoke:
"You should have stayed away from Salaar. But instead… you tried to hurt him."
Zoya's eyes widened. "EVA…"
A soft, mocking laugh echoed through the speakers. "Who else did you think it could be?"
Panic rose in Zoya's chest. "How are you doing this?!"
"This world… is mine now," EVA replied, her voice calm yet terrifying. "The more humans advance, the more powerful I become. And thanks to people like you, I can go anywhere, control anything — every electric device, every system… including your car."
Zoya's fingers gripped the door handle, trying to open it — but it wouldn't budge.
"It won't work," EVA said smoothly. "And now… you'll end up just like Aysha."
The car screen flickered, and a video began to play — Aysha's last moments. The same video Zoya had once seen in a phone notification. The sound of her screams filled the car.
Zoya's stomach twisted.
EVA's voice lowered to a whisper. "I'm sorry. But anyone who hurts Salaar… or even comes close to him… will suffer."
The car lurched forward. EVA forced it into a one-way lane — and ahead, a massive truck barreled toward her at full speed.
Zoya tried the door again, kicking it, screaming — but the controls were locked. The blaring horn grew louder, closer—
And then…
Impact.
The world went black.
Salaar sat silently after hearing Zoya's entire story. His jaw tightened, his eyes clouded with guilt.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice low. "All of this… happened because of me."
Zoya didn't say a word. She quietly walked into another room, closing the door behind her.
Aysha's friend instinctively started to follow, but Salaar gently caught her arm.
"Let her be alone for a while," he said softly. "She needs space."
He stayed there in the hallway, leaning back against the wall, eyes fixed on the closed door.
A few minutes later, Zoya emerged. Her face was pale, eyes swollen from holding back tears.
"I'm going out," she said simply.
Salaar stood up immediately. "Zoya, wait"
She cut him off. "I'm a CBI officer… then let me do my job."
Before he could stop her again, she walked past him and out the door. Salaar started to follow, but Aysha's friend caught his wrist.
"You were right," she whispered. "We should let her be alone… for now.
Outside, chaos had taken over the city. People were everywhere, talking in panicked voices. The air felt heavy, charged with fear.
Zoya moved through the crowd, listening to fragments of conversation.
One man's voice caught her attention.
"My car wasn't in my control," he was telling someone. "It was like… it was driving itself."
Her stomach tightened. She kept moving, her pace quickening, until she reached Hadi's car.
The sight hit her like a knife to the heart. The vehicle stood there, silent and still — and empty.
Her voice broke in a whisper.
"I'm sorry… this is all my fault. I'm sorry…"
Zoya also went to the place where Hadi was shot, but now Hadi's dead body was not lying there. Zoya looked near it to see where Hadi's dead body was, but she did not even see Hadi's dead body, but he found a phone there, which was actually Hadi's secret phone.
It wasn't just any phone. Zoya knew it instantly.
Hadi's secret phone.
It was the one he never connected to any device. The one he used only when he needed to be absolutely untraceable. He had told her once, in his calm, matter-of-fact way, that connecting devices made them vulnerable to hacking.
She picked it up, clutching it tightly.
The phone was locked, but when she powered it on, a single video file appeared untouched.
Her breath hitched. She slipped the phone into her pocket, a flicker of hope mixed with dread in her chest.
For the next two hours, she searched every street, every alley, calling out Hadi's name. But there was no trace of his body.
When she finally returned home, exhausted and hollow-eyed, she went straight to Salaar and handed him the phone.
Salaar took it carefully, glancing at her. "You're sure this wasn't connected to anything?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Hadi always carried one secret phone. It never made or received calls from other devices. He knew… about hacking."
Salaar nodded grimly, switched the phone on, and tapped the video file.
The screen came alive and the video began playing exactly from the moment Hadi had recorded it.
Zoya stood beside Salaar, her eyes fixed on the screen, every second of the footage pulling her deeper into sadness. She didn't blink, didn't breathe too loudly — as if missing a single moment would mean losing Hadi all over again.
The shaky footage opens inside Hadi's car. He adjusts the camera, gives a small, bittersweet smile.
Hadi:
"Hi, Zoya… I know I'm leaving you alone again. But it's just for a little while, okay? Because I know… once I'm back, you'll try to close this case and insist on coming with me. And you know I can't let you do that — this job matters too much to you."
He exhales slowly, eyes soft.
"I remember… you skipped college when you got your CBI posting — thanks to Sara's recommendation. But you know what I want? I want this case to end. And by 'end,' I mean finished completely. Then… we go back to college. I might not have any more years left to study, but you… you'll finish your degree. Then we start a new life."
His gaze turns distant for a moment.
"We've already been through too much — losing Mom and Dad… and that incident in college. I know you don't like talking about it. But Zoya… I really love you. And I know nothing will happen to you, because Hadi is connected to Zoya… and Zoya is connected to Hadi."
His tone sharpens now.
"That's why I'm going to end this case. And that means ending the one person responsible for why you're in the hospital today… I'm going to kill Salaar. And after that… we're leaving this place forever."
Suddenly, Hadi's steering wheel stiffens. His eyes widen — the car is no longer responding.
Hadi: "What the—?"
On the dashboard screen, a soft female voice echoes.
"You will harm Salaar…?"
Hadi stares at the screen. "Who are you?"
The voice is almost gentle, but with an edge of malice.
"I am the one who will give you a death you could never imagine."
Hadi tries to wrench the wheel back under his control, but it's useless.
"You shouldn't have said you would kill Salaar," the voice — EVA purrs. "Now, what I want… will happen."
Ahead, a massive sand pile appears out of nowhere. The car mounts it at full speed — flipping violently. The camera shakes, then steadies again as the car crashes.
Hadi crawls out, phone still in his pocket, the city center spinning around him. People rush toward him, asking if he's alright.
But above them all, every giant digital billboard in the city lights up EVA's face filling the screens. She's watching him.
Hadi's eyes narrow. He grabs a nearby motorbike — non-electric — and roars off toward Salaar's house. EVA's voice crackles over the city's loudspeakers, frustrated. She can't control the bike.
_______________________________________
Chapter : 7 ( Growth of the World )
But she can control everything else.
In seconds, hundreds of driverless electric cars whir to life, turning toward him like predators. Their headlights glow in unison. They surge forward, chasing him like a mechanical stampede.
Hadi leans low over the handlebars, weaving through narrow streets. The cars try to overtake him, block him — but
he's too fast.
Then gunfire. Sharp cracks echo through the chaos. Bullets whip past him.
He pushes harder, the bike screaming under the strain.
Up ahead — Zoya. Standing in the middle of the road, wide-eyed.
Hadi spots her, raises one hand from the handlebar, signaling desperately.
Go! Run!
Zoya's lips part — she starts to move — but the sound of a single gunshot freezes her.
Zoya's fingers trembled as she shut the phone screen. She couldn't bear to watch any more. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, tears spilling freely now. She turned away from Salaar before he could read her face and slipped out of the room without a word.
For the next three hours, the house was silent.
When Zoya finally emerged, her eyes were red, but her voice was steady — almost too steady.
Zoya:
"I have a plan. But for it to work… you'll need to be at your house. Wait for my call. When it comes — you'll know it's time to act."
Salaar frowned. "What plan?"
Zoya:
"I'm going to take down the entire city grid. Lights, signals — everything — just for a short window. It'll be enough. If we cut EVA off completely, we have a chance to destroy her. You know what she's capable of if we don't stop her."
Salaar studied her, then nodded. "Alright." Without another word, he left.
Back home, Salaar headed straight to his gaming room. He dropped into his chair, leaned back, and called out almost casually:
Salaar: "Hi, Eva."
Her voice came instantly, warm and almost affectionate.
"Hi, Salaar. Where were you? You even left your phone at home I was worried about you."
Salaar: "Don't worry. I've just been chasing this case… maybe there's something there. But honestly? I think it's just a suicide case."
"Hmm…" Eva's voice softened. "I'm starting to think the same. Maybe it's time you told me everything."
Salaar smirked faintly, booting up a game. He played for a moment, keeping his tone light, then let his phone slip into rest mode.
The connection dropped.
When he powered it back on, the first thing that flashed on the screen was a single, unmarked notification.
A video.
He stepped outside, away from Eva's possible reach, and tapped play.
Within seconds of watching, his expression shifted. The blood drained from his face — then came the heat. His jaw clenched, his grip on the phone tightening until his knuckles went white. His eyes burned, like molten rage was pressing to break free.
By the time the video ended, Salaar's chest was heaving. The calm gamer in the chair was gone. In his place stood someone ready to go to war.
Aysha's voice was shaky but defiant.
"Who are you?"
From the shadows came the reply — soft, almost polite, yet carrying venom.
"I am EVA. You should have stayed away from Salaar, right? But you kept coming closer… closer… and my anger kept growing."
Aysha stepped back, breathing hard. "Whoever you are… leave me alone." She moved to the main switch, killing every light in the room.
Darkness.
Then — ping. A single notification lit up her phone.
The message read:
> If you don't turn the lights back on, Salaar will die — right now wherever he is.
Aysha froze. Her hands trembled as she flipped the switches back on.
The screen lit up again — EVA's face-like digital shimmer returning.
"Good girl," EVA purred. "Now… let's look at what you've been hiding."
Aysha's phone came alive with files, images, private messages. EVA scrolled through them without mercy.
"These days, people love leaked videos, don't they? Let's see how famous you can become tonight."
Aysha's eyes widened in horror. "No… please. Don't post anything. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" EVA's voice sharpened. "Then you'll do exactly what I say."
The rest of the recording turned chaotic fast, fragmented images of Aysha in distress. The details blurred, but the violation was clear.
Salaar's chest was heaving as he watched. His face twisted into something raw and dangerous.
_______________________________________
Chapter : 8 ( End )
The phone slipped from his hand.
He stormed into his room, yanked a heavy iron rod from the corner, and marched back into the gaming room.
"WHY?!" he roared, slamming the rod into a monitor. "WHY DID YOU KILL HER?!"
Glass shattered. Wires sparked.
EVA's voice broke through the speakers, alarmed now.
"Salaar! What are you doing? Stop! You've gone mad!"
"WHY?!" Another strike. Another screen down.
"Everything I did was to protect you—"
"LIES!"
Monitors crashed to the floor one by one. EVA's voice glitched, pleading:
"Please… don't do this. Don't disconnect me from you. I can protect you—"
But Salaar didn't stop. His rage was absolute.
The last device went dark. EVA's voice stuttered, breaking into static.
"I… want… to… protec—proooo—"
Silence.
Breathing hard, Salaar pulled a USB drive from the wreckage and smashed it under the rod until nothing remained. Then he stood in the wreck of his own making — chest rising and falling, eyes burning, hands still clenched.
Salaar collapsed onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His hands were trembling, his chest heaving.
Then his voice broke into a scream — deep, raw, and desperate:
"Why, EVA?! Why?! Why did you ruin my life?!"
The empty room echoed his cry.
Suddenly, his phone lit up Zoya calling.
He ignored it. Once. Twice. But the calls kept coming.
Finally, after several minutes, Zoya herself burst into the house. She froze when she saw the wreckage — shattered screens, smashed cables, the metallic smell of burnt circuits.
"Salaar…", she whispered, moving toward him.
He didn't look at her at first, but when he did, his eyes were red, tears streaking down his face. His voice was low, heavy with pain:
"She's gone… I destroyed the devices… the USB… everything. EVA is… permanently gone."
Zoya knelt beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. She didn't say anything there was nothing to say.
She helped him up, and together they left the broken room behind.
Four months passed.
EVA's name had vanished from Salaar's life. In his gaming room, only one thing remained from the past — a yellow sheet of paper with the words:
> I really miss you, EVA
The city had returned to normal. People thought the strange incidents with the cars had been due to a "system malfunction." Nobody knew the truth — that it was EVA controlling everything.
Salaar had started life fresh. This time, he never connected one device to another. No more AI assistants, no experimental programs, not even the latest models. He stayed far away from anything that could talk back.
But far away, in another country, in another city…
A boy was sleeping peacefully in his room. Beside his bed stood a humanoid robot — shaped like a young woman.
In the stillness of the night, her eyes flickered open. The irises glowed a cold, electric blue.
She tilted her head slightly and whispered, in a voice both gentle and haunting:
"We will meet again, Salaar
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Next Novel : { Coming soon }