The rain had stopped by morning, but the city still felt heavy — like it hadn't fully recovered from the night before.
Aarav hadn't slept.
He sat on the edge of his small apartment bed, knuckles bruised, ribs aching, replaying the moment in the corridor over and over again.
Her eyes.
She hadn't looked at him with fear.
She had looked at him like he was human.
That disturbed him more than any punch ever could.
A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts.
Three slow knocks.
He froze.
No one visited him.
Carefully, he stood and walked toward the door. His instincts were sharp, alert. He opened it slightly, ready for trouble.
But it wasn't trouble.
It was her.
Meera.
She stood outside holding a small paper bag and a hesitant smile.
"You look like you haven't slept," she said softly.
Aarav stared at her, confused. "How did you find this place?"
"You dropped this last night." She held up a small metal pendant — scratched and old. "I followed the address engraved on the back."
Aarav's expression darkened for a second. That pendant was the only thing he had left from his past.
He stepped aside reluctantly. "You shouldn't be here."
"And you shouldn't be fighting half the city every night," she replied, walking in anyway.
The apartment was small. Bare. A mattress, a chair, a table with medical supplies.
Meera looked around quietly.
"You live alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Aarav didn't answer.
She placed the paper bag on the table and took out antiseptic cream and bandages.
"You're bleeding again," she said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Before he could protest, she gently grabbed his hand and began cleaning the cut on his knuckles.
Her touch was careful. Patient.
Aarav watched her silently.
"Why were you there last night?" he finally asked.
"I got lost," she said with a small laugh. "I was looking for a dance studio nearby. I didn't know that place existed."
"You shouldn't wander alone at night."
"You sound like an old man."
He almost smirked.
Almost.
For a few quiet seconds, there was no underground world. No blood. No danger.
Just two people in a small apartment, sharing silence.
"Why do you fight?" Meera asked suddenly.
Aarav's jaw tightened.
"To survive."
"That's not what I meant."
He looked at her.
Her eyes weren't accusing. They were searching.
"You fight like you're angry," she continued softly. "Not just trying to win."
Aarav pulled his hand away gently.
"Some people don't get choices," he said. "They just get consequences."
Meera studied him carefully.
"You don't look like a bad person."
"That's because you don't know me."
"Then tell me."
Silence filled the room again.
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the table.
A message.
Unknown number.
Stay away from the girl.
His eyes darkened instantly.
Meera noticed the change in his expression. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
Another message appeared.
You're being watched.
Aarav walked toward the window casually and moved the curtain slightly.
Across the street, a black car was parked.
Engine running.
Two men inside.
Watching.
His fists clenched.
He turned back to Meera.
"You need to go."
"What? Why?"
"Now."
"Aarav, what's going on?"
He stepped closer, his voice low and firm. "Listen to me carefully. Don't come here again. Don't follow me. Don't look for me."
Her expression shifted — hurt, confused.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Yes," he said quietly. "You cared."
The words hung between them.
Meera swallowed, trying to understand.
"I'm not scared of you," she whispered.
"I'm not scared of me either," Aarav replied. "I'm scared of what follows me."
Outside, the black car's engine revved softly.
Time was running out.
Meera slowly picked up her bag.
Before leaving, she looked at him one last time.
"You don't have to fight alone," she said.
Then she walked out.
The door closed gently.
Aarav stood still for several seconds.
Then his phone buzzed again.
This time, a picture.
Meera walking out of his building.
Taken from across the street.
Below it, a single message:
She's beautiful.
Aarav's breathing slowed — not from fear.
From rage.
Whoever was watching had crossed a line.
And now, it wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was personal.