The scolding was worse than the crash.
Worse than the slap. Worse than the blood at the corner of Vivaan's mouth.
"Do you have any idea what you did?"
Reva stood stiffly in the living room, fingers curled into the fabric of her kurta, as her father's voice echoed off the walls.
"Why would you slap him?" he demanded. "Do you know who that man is? Do you understand the consequences of laying your hands on someone like that?"
"I didn't slap him for fun," Reva snapped, the words spilling out before she could soften them. "He hit Vivaan first. He assaulted him. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch?"
Vivaan's father shook his head, disappointment etched deep into his face. "Reva, the accident happened because Vivaan wasn't paying attention. That part is on us."
Reva turned toward him sharply. "So that makes it okay for someone to punch him?"
"No," he said firmly. "But it makes it reckless to escalate the situation."
Her father sighed, rubbing his temples. "Reva, people like him don't play by the same rules. You don't confront them. You don't provoke them."
"I didn't provoke him," she said, her voice shaking now. "I stopped him."
Silence followed.
Heavy. Unforgiving.
"Enough," her father said finally. "Go upstairs."
Reva didn't argue. There was no point. She turned and walked away, each step tight with frustration and something dangerously close to regret.
---
Myra was sitting on her bed when Reva entered their room, scrolling mindlessly through her phone.
She looked up once. "So," she said dryly, "was it fun getting yelled at by two disappointed fathers at the same time?"
Reva dropped onto the edge of the bed. "He hit someone," she said, voice sharp. "And somehow I'm the problem."
Myra sighed, put her phone aside, and took Reva's hand gently. "I know. And you were right."
Reva looked at her, surprised.
"But," Myra continued softly, "being right doesn't protect you from people like him. There's no winning there. Promise me you'll stay away."
Reva hesitated.
Then nodded. "Okay."
It was easier to promise when exhaustion weighed her down like concrete.
They slept without another word.
---
The scream woke them.
"Myra! Reva!"
Their mother's voice was frantic, tearing through the quiet of the night.
Reva bolted upright, heart slamming into her ribs.
They ran downstairs to find Savitri standing near the sofa, hands trembling, face pale.
"Your father," she whispered. "He collapsed."
Everything moved too fast after that.
Myra checked his pulse, her expression sharpening instantly. "Mild heart attack," she said, already reaching for her phone. "We need to get him to the hospital now."
"I'll get the car keys," Reva said, already turning.
Her hands shook as she searched. Drawer. Table. Counter.
Nightstand.
She grabbed them and ran.
Outside, the air was thick and dark, the street unnaturally quiet.
Then she saw it.
The car.
Or what was left of it.
Flames licked up the side of the vehicle, smoke curling violently into the night sky. The sharp smell of burning metal hit her lungs, stealing the breath from her chest.
And standing beside it—
Him.
The man she had slapped.
The firelight cast harsh shadows across his face, smoke curling around his silhouette. He looked calm. Unbothered. As if he had been waiting.
Reva's heart dropped into her stomach.
This.
This was what they meant by consequences.
Her fingers tightened around the keys, knuckles white.
The world felt suddenly very small.
And very dangerous.
---