The warehouse reeked of gunpowder and blood.
A sharp crack echoed as Abhimanyu struck the final man to the ground, his knuckles split, his eyes dark—ruthless, detached. The silence that followed wasn't peace. It was suffocating.
Another mission.
Another city.
Another name crossed off the list.
He wiped the blood from his hands, ignoring the sting, ignoring the chaos around him. He didn't go back to the palace. He didn't go back to anyone. Since London… since her—he hadn't stopped. He couldn't. Stopping meant thinking. Remembering.
Feeling.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
Ranisa.
He hesitated—just for a second—before picking it up.
"Abhimanyu," her voice was unusually quiet.
He didn't speak.
She did.
"I saw her."
His entire body froze. His jaw clenched.
"She's not the same girl, Abhimanyu. She's… barely standing. She hasn't eaten. She hasn't slept. She's lost weight. Her voice trembles. I don't even think she wants to live like this anymore."
Still, he said nothing.
Ranisa's voice cracked. "You did this. You broke her. And now she's breaking herself."
There was a pause. The silence roared louder than the gunfire from earlier.
"She told me she won't come back unless you bring her back. And I don't think you have much time left to fix this. Because she's fading, Abhi. Faster than you think."
The line went dead.
He stood there, unmoving.
The blood on his hands had dried. But something inside him—something buried—began to stir.
The line had just gone dead.
Ranisa's words kept echoing in his ears.
"She's fading, Abhi. Faster than you think."
Abhimanyu stared at the phone, jaw set, eyes narrowed. His breath was steady—but only just.
He didn't move for a beat.
Then, sharply, "Zayed."
The man who'd been silently guarding the door stepped forward.
"Yes, sir."
Abhimanyu didn't look at him. He was already walking toward the weapons table, cleaning his bloodied hands with a cloth as if scrubbing guilt off his skin.
"I want a full update on her condition. Now."
Zayed blinked. "Meera ma'am?"
He didn't answer.
Because of course he meant her.
"You're in charge if the people stationed near her building. Why haven't you reported this to me earlier?" His voice was deceptively calm.
Zayed lowered his head. "She hasn't stepped out, sir. The curtains are always drawn. No visitors. We assumed—"
"You assumed wrong." The venom in his voice returned like a storm. "She hasn't eaten. She hasn't slept. And you stood there like a fucking statue?"
Zayed paled. "I'll go now, sir. I'll—"
"I want eyes inside that apartment in the next ten minutes. If she's worse than what Ranisa said… I swear, Zayed…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
Because the fire in his eyes wasn't anger—it was fear.
Not for himself.
But for her.
The call had pierced through every wall he had built. The walls that had protected his revenge, his detachment, his denial.
Now?
Now there was only one thought echoing in his mind:
I've broken her. And I don't know if I'll ever get to put her back together.
————————————————————
Meera stood frozen for a second—her back to the door, arms limp at her sides. The scent of Ranisa's floral perfume still lingered in the air, like a ghost reminding her of everything she had just heard.
She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken—like the rest of her.
And then, as if someone pulled the last thread holding her together…
She collapsed.
Right there on the wooden floor.
Her knees buckled under the weight of grief she'd carried for far too long. Her trembling fingers gripped the edge of the carpet, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto. But there was nothing.
No one.
Tears poured down her cheeks in an endless, silent stream, and her breath hitched as sobs overtook her—wild, wracking, relentless.
She buried her face in her hands, letting it all spill—the betrayal, the love, the confusion, the loneliness. The humiliation. The hope.
The worst part wasn't the heartbreak.
It was the absence.
The total, consuming absence of the man she had given her soul to.
Of his voice.
His eyes.
His touch.
Her fingers brushed against her own collarbone, where his thumb used to rest so casually, like she belonged there.
Gone.
All of it.
She curled into herself, like a child in pain, her body shaking from exhaustion and dehydration, her mind screaming enough—but her heart refusing to stop loving him.
And as the sky outside turned grey, Mira lay on that cold floor, surrounded by the quiet, with only one thought in her mind:
If this is what loving him feels like… why does my heart still beat for him?
The next morning in Helsinki was pale and snow-dusted, but Mira hadn't drawn the curtains in days. The light barely seeped through.
Shiva stood at the front door of Meera's apartment, his jaw tense, his hand hovering just above the polished wood. Behind him, the corridor was quiet, dimly lit in the early morning gloom.
He had been standing there for five minutes. Just… standing.
He had texted.
Called.
Knocked.
No response.
And now, for the third time, he raised his knuckles and knocked again—firm, respectful, controlled.
"Meera Ma'am," he said, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. "It's me. Shiva."
Silence.
He pressed his ear slightly to the door. Not a sound. Not even footsteps. Not a whisper of movement.
He clenched his jaw. "Meera Ma'am, I'm under orders. Please open the door. Just say something, anything…"
Nothing.
He tried once more, louder. "Meera Ma'am!"
Still nothing.
He stepped back, his hand dropping slowly to his belt, where his weapon rested.
He had already disobeyed protocol by coming this far without informing the stakeout head first. But Zayed sir had called him personally—voice laced with something Shiva had never heard in it before.
Fear.
So, Shiva made a decision.
He pulled out his gun, aimed carefully at the doorknob—
Bang.
The echo shattered the hallway silence.
The door creaked open with a soft groan. Shiva stepped in, his boots silent against the wooden floor, breath fogging slightly in the cold stillness of the flat.
It hit him like a punch to the gut.
The room was a mess—dimly lit, curtains drawn, air heavy and stale. Half-drunk cups of coffee stood like monuments to sleepless nights. Papers scattered. Food untouched. Blank sketchbooks stacked.
And there she was.
On the floor. Slumped against the couch. Her body unmoving. Eyes blank.
He didn't move any closer.
He wouldn't dare.
He knew his boundaries—Abhimanyu had made them very clear.
But he swallowed tightly and spoke softly.
"Meera Ma'am… please… say something. Anything."
Still, she didn't respond.
She didn't even blink.
Shiva fingers curled into fists at his sides.
His voice dropped even lower, as if saying it to the room, to the gods, or maybe to himself.
"Saab will destroy the whole world if he sees you like this."