Navi
I had completely lost track of time. The only thing anchoring me to reality was the fire burning in my lungs and the heavy weight in my legs, each step feeling like a leaden burden. When I finally collapsed onto a crooked bench at an empty bus stop, the city transformed from a vibrant place of streets and lights into a suffocating trap, closing in on me. Every sound pierced the silence too sharply. Every shadow loomed too close, as if they all belonged to him.
Each car that drove by made me flinch. Even the wind seemed to murmur his name. Nihal. I could feel him—like a ghost brushing against my skin, like a memory that wouldn't fade away. And for one horrifying moment, I was convinced he would emerge from the darkness with that smile—that devastating, merciless smile that had ensnared me before I even grasped what it meant.
But the figure that stepped out wasn't Nihal.
He appeared like a blade drawn in silence—lean, scarred, with eyes glinting with hunger. Not a cop. Not a savior. Something far worse.
"You're Navi," he said. It was not a question—just a statement.
My throat tightened around the words. "Who are you?"
He dropped onto the bench next to me, way too close, way too confident, as if the seat had been waiting for him all along. "Someone who knows what kind of monster Nihal Malhotra is. Someone who knows he's not dead."
His words hollowed me out, sinking like lead in my stomach.
He knows.
"You… saw him?" My voice cracked under the weight of fear, trembling with a desperate denial. As if saying it out loud could make it untrue. As if I could shove the shadows back into silence.
The man's mouth twisted—not a smile, not quite. "Saw him? I've been chasing his shadow for three years. And now you're caught up in it."
Caught up. The word sliced through me like wire around my ribs.
"If you know he's alive, then go to the police," I managed to say, though my voice quivered like glass on the verge of breaking.
He laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that held no warmth. "The police? They're stumbling after ghosts.
Nihal's too sharp, too deep in the shadows. I don't want him in handcuffs. I want him six feet under."
The chill in his voice cut deeper than any threat Nihal had ever made. It wasn't a savior sitting next to me; it was another predator, circling like a hawk.
I stumbled to my feet, trembling. "I want no part of this. Just leave me alone."
His hand shot out, gripping my wrist with an iron-like certainty. My heart raced against his hold.
"You don't get to walk away," he said, his tone flat. "You've been in his apartment. You've seen things no one else has. That makes you valuable."
"Valuable… for what?" My breath hitched in my throat.
His gaze pierced through me, sharp as a blade. "For bait."
That word was poison. Bait. Not a woman. Not a person. Just a pawn. First Nihal, and now his enemies.
And in that very moment, I understood the unspoken truth:
if I turned this down, I wouldn't live long enough to regret it.
---
They called it a safe house. But honestly, there was nothing safe about it. The concrete walls were just a facade—pretending to be strong while hiding the truth.
A bulb hung overhead, its feeble light flickering like a dying heartbeat. In the corner, a single chair slumped, adding to the desolation. The silence was suffocating, only interrupted by the haunting words they'd left behind: Stay put. He'll come for you.
And God help me—I believed it. Deep down, I already sensed Nihal was here.
Watching.
Waiting.
Time dragged on, heavy and stifling. Each breath felt like it was scraping against my throat, and every shadow seemed to brush against my skin like his fingers.
Then—the bulb flickered twice. And went out.
The door creaked open.
I didn't need to see him to know he was there. His presence filled the room, thick and magnetic, pulling everything toward him.
"Little bird." His voice slithered through the darkness, smooth yet toxic. "Did you really think they could keep you from me?"
My voice faltered. "You're dead. You're supposed to be—"
A low, dark chuckle escaped him, intimate and chilling. "Dead? No. That was just the tale I spun for them. But you…" He stepped closer, each movement tightening the heat and fear in my chest. "…you're the story I refuse to let go of."
I stumbled back, but the walls betrayed me, pushing me right into his grasp.
And then—light exploded into the room.
The scarred man and his soldiers stormed in, guns raised, fury blazing in their eyes. "Got you," he spat. "This ends now, Nihal."
For a brief moment, surprise flickered across Nihal's face. Then it vanished quickly, replaced by that smile—the one that both shattered me and pulled me in.
"Did you really think I came here unprepared? God, you are more foolish than I thought" .
His voice was calm, deadly, laced with mockery. "No. I came because she's here."
Gunfire erupted, shattering the stillness with each deafening shot. Thick, choking smoke curled through the air, enveloping the room. I crashed to the ground, my lungs on fire, as chaos exploded all around me.
And then—a hand
his hand.
Warm. Possessive. Closing around my wrist as if it had always been meant for him.
Not the scarred man's.
But
Nihal's.
He pulled me close, shielding me as bullets whizzed through the smoke. His chest pressed against mine, solid and reassuring, his breath hot against my ear.
"Do you understand now?" His words wrapped around me, dark and inescapable. "Even when they're after me….they always bring you back ."
My scream was swallowed by the smoke as he dragged me out—out of the safe house, out of safety, out of everything I thought I had left.
In that moment, the truth hit me hard:
The nightmare wasn't just chasing me anymore .
The nightmare had me .
And the scariest part of it all—some shattered part of me didn't know if I wanted to run… or give in.