The night didn’t end. Not really.
Aarohi lay on the thin mattress, her back pressed against the damp wall, curled around Chhavi, who had fallen asleep with tiny hiccups in her breath. Aarohi kept her eyes open long after the house fell silent. Sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford tonight—not with the echoes of their mother’s voice still ringing in her ears. Not with the bruises on her arm still pulsing.
She stared at the ceiling, a single, bitter thought clinging to her:
Is this it? Is this my forever?
But she didn't know that far away, something had already shifted. Something that would turn her world upside down.
—
At the Rathore estate, the air was colder than usual. Kabir paced the length of the underground garage, phone in hand, a look of irritation etched into his face.
“You're not going to like this,” he said the moment Raghav walked in.
Raghav didn’t pause. “Tell me anyway.”
“The girl... Aarohi. She's in danger.”
Raghav stilled.
Kabir continued. “Not the usual home chaos. Something new. A file came through. Her name's been flagged in the system.”
“What system?” Raghav’s voice was razor-sharp now.
Kabir handed over a printout. “A list of potential witnesses. There's a drug trail case. Her name’s there—buried under a fake medical shipment she unknowingly signed for at the clinic last year. She doesn’t know it yet, but someone in the system does.”
Raghav’s jaw tensed. “Someone wants to silence her.”
Kabir nodded. “Either discredit her, or... eliminate her quietly.”
Raghav didn’t speak for a moment. He looked down at the paper, then back at Kabir. “Find out who put her name on that list. And if anyone gets close—anyone—I want them buried.”
“What do you want me to tell her?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Not yet.”
“But Raghav—”
“She’ll panic. She’ll run. And right now, I need her right where she is.”
Kabir narrowed his eyes. “You planning to use her?”
“No,” Raghav murmured. “I’m planning to own her. And no one touches what’s mine.”
—
The next morning, Aarohi received an unexpected letter at the hospital—tucked into her locker. No name. Just a folded note.
Inside:
"Be careful who you trust. They already know. — R"
Her hands shook. For a long second, she just stared at the ink, trying to make sense of it. Was it a prank? Was this about last night? Or worse... was someone watching her again?
The feeling of being seen—of being watched—returned, stronger this time.
She looked around.
But the hallway was empty.
She pocketed the note. Not understanding that her life... had just become a ticking clock.
And she wasn’t the one holding the timer.
—
Aarohi kept her head down the rest of the day. During lectures, during rotations, she couldn’t shake the paranoia crawling down her spine. Every door creak made her flinch. Every passing glance felt like a threat.
In the pharmacy wing, she found herself staring at the same shelf for too long. Her friend Meenal nudged her. “You okay?”
Aarohi nodded quickly. “Just tired.”
But her voice cracked on the last word.
—
Meanwhile, at a high-rise in South Mumbai, a man Aarohi didn’t know was watching her photograph. It lay on the table, next to a file filled with case documents, shipment reports, and red-circled names.
“Too clean,” the man murmured. “Too smart. She’ll talk if this explodes.”
He looked at his associate. “Make it look like an accident. Tonight. Quiet. She lives in Dharavi. That shouldn’t be hard.”
—
That night, as Aarohi walked home from the hospital under a dim streetlight, a black bike began tailing her. She noticed it only after the third corner. Quiet. Engine soft. Intent clear.
She walked faster.
Then she ran.
Behind her, the bike accelerated.
She darted through alleyways, her sandals slipping, breath ragged. Her house was three blocks away—if she made it—
But the bike cut her off at the intersection.
A masked man stepped off. No words. Just a metal rod in hand.
She backed away.
Then, out of nowhere—a sharp whistle.
The attacker paused.
A second figure stepped from the shadows. Not Raghav. Someone unknown. Tall. Calm. Confident.
“Boss says not tonight,” the stranger said.
The masked man hesitated.
“Get lost,” the stranger added. “Or he’ll make you disappear for real.”
The attacker looked between them, cursed under his breath, then fled.
Aarohi stood frozen, hands trembling.
The man turned to her, eyes unreadable. “You don’t know me. But someone’s watching out for you.”
“Who?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He was already gone.
And in the distance, Raghav’s voice crackled through an earpiece. “She’s not ready yet. But she will be.”
—
That night, Aarohi couldn’t sleep. Again.
The shadows in her room felt longer. Every creak of the floorboards sent her heart racing. She kept checking the window, unsure what frightened her more: that someone might come… or that someone already had.
By morning, she made a decision.
She couldn’t stay a victim.
She was going to find out who R was. And why someone wanted her dead.
So she skipped her rotation. Took a train across the city to the free legal aid office near CST. She asked questions, carefully. About cases involving medical scams, drug shipments, about what it meant to unknowingly sign for contraband.
The clerk was kind but overwhelmed. He couldn’t give her much.
But when she mentioned the name of the fake supplier—Saras Distributors—the man paused.
He leaned closer. “You didn’t hear this from me... but that name has Rathore ties.”
Aarohi blinked. “Rathore?”
“The mafia family. You know—Raghav Rathore?”
Aarohi felt the floor shift under her.
The name burned into her memory.
Because that was the man with the wolf-like stare. The man she bumped into at the hospital.
The one who had looked at her like he owned her.
And suddenly, everything made horrible, terrifying sense.
R wasn’t just a warning.
He was a storm.
And it was heading straight for her.
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