The sky wasn't crying.
It was warning.
Rain slid off rooftops like whispered sins, soaking the city in silence. The streets were half asleep, empty but alive. Every drop that hit the pavement sounded like a second ticking toward something inevitable.
Mahira pulled her dupatta tighter as she walked. Not rushing, not hiding. Just… escaping. From nothing. From everything.
Her sandals clicked against the wet concrete. She hated the sound — it made her feel noticed. She wasn't supposed to be noticed.
Until she was.
And he did.
Across the road, partially under the shade of an old haveli's arch, he stood.
He wasn't leaning. He wasn't moving.
He was watching.
Not in the hungry, cheap way men sometimes do.
No.
His gaze was calm, still… but heavy.
Like it carried intent.
Zaroon.
The kind of man mothers warned their daughters about — not because he was dangerous, but because he didn't care that he was.
Wearing black, a single silver ring on his finger, his hair slightly damp — as if even the rain didn't dare soak him completely. And those eyes... still. Focused. Dark like a locked room.
> She froze.
Not out of fear. Out of something she didn't have a name for.
He lit a cigarette. One click. One flame. One drag.
But his eyes never left her.
> "You're staring," she said softly, finally.
Her voice wasn't loud. But it cut through the rain.
His lips moved, barely.
You walked... and everything else stopped. He wants to say but be silent...
She blinked.
He took one slow step forward. Rain pattered harder, but his pace didn't change.
> "I don't talk to strangers," she said, eyes narrowing.
> "You just did."
His tone was low, almost amused — like the night had just become more interesting.
She should've walked away. Turned. Ignored.
But she didn't.
Because no one had ever looked at her like that —
Like she was not a girl. Not a body. Not a soul.
But a trigger...
"I don't look at everyone like this". he said, taking another step.
> "And what makes me different?" she asked.
He stopped. Just a few feet away now. Close enough to hear her heartbeat.
Close enough to end it.
> "Tum woh ho jo kisi ki kahani ka shuruat ban sakti ho… ya barbaadi."
(You're the kind who could start someone's story… or ruin it.)
She swallowed. Not fear.
Not thrill.
Something else.
He tilted his head slightly, almost like a question.
> "Don't worry," he said quietly. "I don't follow women."
> "Good." Her voice trembled.
> "But sometimes... madness follows without asking."
And just like that, he turned.
Walked away.
Vanished into the night as if he never existed.
But she stood there.
Still. Breathing harder than before.
Because she knew —
That man didn't touch her. Didn't speak her name. Didn't ask for anything.
But still…
something changed.
It wasn't the rain.
It was him.
And it was never… just rain.