Let's grab dinner after this one," Ayaan called out, pulling his visor up as he spoke. His voice carried over the low rumble of our bikes.

Ayaansh Rathore

It was freezing, the kind of cold that could cut through even the thickest leather jacket. But the mountain roads were smooth tonight, the wind crisp and alive. Ayaan and I had been riding for hours, and this spot—a quiet viewpoint 20 kilometers from campus—was the perfect breather.

I flipped my own visor up, the cold air biting at my face. "I'm not hungry," I replied curtly, my eyes on the horizon.

"Not hungry? Bro, you ride like this, you're gonna pass out one day. Matlab, kaise hoga tera raj darbaar waisa?" he teased, leaning back against his bike.

(".... I mean, how exactly is your grand court going to function like that?")

I gave him a side-eye, but my lips twitched. Ayaan had a way of keeping things light. Even with the weight of my future looming over me, he never treated me differently—not since school. That's why he was still here.

"Why're you staring at the sky like it owes you money?" he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I didn't answer immediately. The stars—so cold, so distant—reminded me of her. It had been three days since Mukti left, slipping out of my place with a thank-you note. Three days, and I still hadn't reached out. Not because I didn't want to, but because she needed space. I could feel it.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Ayaan smirked knowingly, pulling me back to reality.

"No," I lied, a little too quickly.

"Sure," he drawled, stretching the word out like he didn't believe me for a second. "Listen, ek baat bolta hoon—jo bhi hai, take your time. Tujhe pata hai na, you're allowed to feel things. King of Rajasthan ya future CM ho, par banda toh hai."

(".... I am just going to say it —whatever it is, take your time. You know that, right? You're allowed to feel things. King of Rajasthan or future CM, but you're still human.")

I frowned, trying to ignore the truth in his words. Feelings weren't a luxury I could afford. Not with the responsibilities waiting for me back home. "I'm fine," I said firmly.

Ayaan sighed, recognizing the finality in my tone. "Fine. Be all mysterious and broody. Waise bhi, mujhe pyaar karne ke liye ek ladki mil gayi hai. Tu toh unromantic hi rahega."

(".... Anyway, I've found a girl to love. You, on the other hand, will stay unromantic forever.")

I rolled my eyes. "Disgusting."

Before I could insult his lovelorn antics further, his phone buzzed. He pushed the helmet off to answer, the grin on his face slipping away almost instantly.

"What?!" he barked, his body going rigid.

I straightened, instantly on alert.

He hung up and turned to me, his face serious. "Saanvi just called. She said someone trespassed into the girls' dorm area. Security wasn't there, and the guy went inside."

"So? Security's always slow," I said dismissively. "You've jumped into the girls' dorms yourself—multiple times. Don't act like you're above it now."

Ayaan's jaw tightened. "This is different, Rudra. That dorm has a single occupant. One student. She's probably alone."

My heart stuttered. A single dorm. There was only one like that. Mukti's dorm.

I frowned, trying to piece things together. Could it really be her? I thought about her small figure, her shy but defiant demeanor, the way she always seemed to blend into the background. She didn't stand out, but maybe that's exactly why someone would target her.

Who could it be? Someone she knew? Someone with a grudge? The thought of her alone, vulnerable, made my stomach churn.

I yanked my phone out and called her. No answer.

I tried again. And again. Still nothing.

"Rudra, kya kar raha hai?" Ayaan asked, his voice laced with confusion.

("Rudra, what are you doing?")

I ignored him, texting her. Are you okay? Delivered. But not read.

Dread pooled in my gut as I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

"She's not picking up," I muttered, pulling my visor down sharply.

"Kya?" Ayaan stepped closer, concerned now.

("What?")

"You go to Saanvi," I ordered, my voice tight with urgency. "Make sure she's fine."

"Where are you going?"

"I need to check on someone."

Without waiting for his response, I flipped my helmet visor shut and started the engine. The Ducati roared to life beneath me, its power vibrating through my body.

I accelerated hard, the cold air whipping against my jacket. The curved mountain roads made it impossible to push beyond 120 km/h, but I didn't slow down. I leaned into the turns, the bike responding like an extension of me, my focus narrowing to one thing: reaching her.

The wind howled, clawing at me like it wanted to pull me back, but I didn't care. I couldn't let anything happen to her. Not to Mukti.

Her tear-streaked face flashed in my mind, the memory of her small frame trembling as she clung to me. Even now, in this bone-chilling cold, that thought warmed something deep inside me.

"Please be safe, baby," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

The campus lights came into view, faint and distant. I pushed the Ducati harder, my heart pounding with each second that passed.

Mukti, wherever you are, hold on. I'm coming.

The lights were out, and the stillness of the night wrapped around the house like a suffocating veil. My eyes swept the dim surroundings, and then I noticed it—the window ajar, curtains shifting slightly with the cold wind. My heart sank into a pit of dread.

With quick, determined strides, I reached the porch and rang the doorbell. Once. Twice. Then repeatedly, my patience snapping with every unanswered chime. A frenzied urgency clawed at me, and I resorted to banging on the door with my fist, the sound ricocheting in the silence. Each second she didn't answer chipped away at my composure, a silent scream echoing in my mind.

Finally, the door creaked open, and there she was—those hauntingly beautiful eyes that had been driving me insane for weeks, framed by the vulnerability etched across her face. She looked shaken, clad in nothing but a bathrobe, her disheveled hair spilling over her shoulders. For a moment, my gaze faltered. Not the time, Rudra.

She shivered as the icy wind bit into her skin, and without thinking, I stepped closer, shielding her from the chill with my frame. I pushed the door shut behind me and turned to face the room. That's when I saw him.

The loser. Her ex.

Rage surged like a tidal wave, my fists clenching instinctively. I had already run every background check on her, combed through the details of her life. I knew who he was—Tarun, the man who had her drowning in self-loathing and tears. I didn't know the specifics of what he had done to her, but I didn't need to. His presence was a poison in this space, and I wasn't going to let it linger.

His eyes drifted to her, scanning her like he still had a right, and that was all it took. I stepped in front of her, blocking his view, and pushed her behind me with deliberate force. My voice was calm, but the ice in my tone made him flinch as I questioned him. He spewed excuses, weak, pitiful lies that only fueled my anger.

As soon as he was gone, I slammed the window shut, the cold air vanishing with him. That's when I noticed the broken lock. My jaw tightened. How long had it been like this?

I flipped on the light and turned toward her. She looked smaller somehow, standing in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around herself. There was a fragile tension in her, a silence so heavy I could feel the weight of it. She was suppressing everything, bottling up the storm that had clearly shaken her.

She left the room, her bare feet padding against the floor. Once she was out of sight, I turned back to the window. My fingers brushed over the lock, inspecting it. The damage wasn't accidental—it was flipped, rendered useless. A sharp exhale escaped me. Had she been leaving it unlocked all this time? Careless.

Anger simmered beneath my skin, not at her but at the situation, at the audacity of that man to step into her space. I'd have to talk to Viren about security measures—something discreet. I wasn't taking chances with her safety. Not anymore.

I moved through the house methodically, checking every corner, every lock, every window for signs of intrusion. The tension in my chest eased slightly when I found nothing else, but the thought of what could've happened still lingered like a shadow in my mind.

Finally, I returned to the living room and sat for a moment, my fingers tracing the Rudraksha bracelet on my wrist. There wasn't a mandir here, no place for prayer or spirituality, just a few scattered candles. But I needed to leave something—a piece of me to protect this space when I wasn't here. I slipped the bracelet off and placed it under the lamp, hiding it where she wouldn't find it.

"Mahadev," I muttered under my breath, "protect this one. Knock some sense into her, too, while you're at it. Show her that she's Shakti herself."

As the prayer left my lips, I heard footsteps. I turned, and there she was—standing at the edge of the room, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the lights. Her hair now open sprawled on her shoulders, she was dressed warm.

She was beautiful, maddeningly so, but that wasn't what struck me. It was the look in her eyes—defiant yet vulnerable, strong yet so incredibly fragile. How could someone so infuriatingly reckless also be this breathtaking?

My heart twisted as I took her in. I could feel the energy radiating off her—the remnants of her encounter with Tarun, the suppressed fear simmering beneath the surface. She was holding it together, building a wall brick by brick, refusing to let it crumble. It was admirable, but it only made me want to shield her more. From the world. From herself.

I wanted to ask her what had happened, to demand answers about what he had said, why he was here. But I held back. She didn't need me to pry, not now. She needed space to breathe, to process without feeling suffocated.

Her eyes darted to mine, and for a moment, something flickered there—doubt, maybe, or relief. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by the mask she wore so well.

She made me furious. Reckless, frustratingly stubborn. But she also made my chest ache in ways I couldn't explain. I didn't just want to protect her—I needed to. From every external threat, yes, but also from the spiral of self-doubt and guilt I could see tugging at her.

She didn't know it yet, but I wouldn't let her carry this alone. Even if she fought me every step of the way, I'd be there. Always.

What's struggle?

It's the delicate balance of restraint and madness, the dance of chaos just beneath the surface. It's staring into those wide, innocent eyes that peer up at me, brimming with curiosity, completely unaware of the storm they're causing. Eyes that make me want to unravel her, corrupt every inch of that innocence, and pull her so deep into the abyss with me that she'd never want to crawl out. But for now, I hold my ground, latching onto my restraint with iron will, letting the cold, indifferent mask slip over my face.

That's struggle.

"Are you planning to push me off this cliff?" she asks, her voice casual but edged with a faint nervousness. We're back at the viewpoint—a place I've never shared with anyone else. For the past five years, it's been my sanctuary, mine and Ayaan's. But tonight, it's hers. She needs this place, its untamed beauty, the calm energy it emanates.

Her eyes flit to the edge of the cliff, her mind clearly racing with thoughts. She thinks she hides it well, but I can see the gears turning in that head of hers.

I smirk, amused by her question. If only she knew the darker musings swirling inside me. If you ever found out what's in my head right now, sugar, you'd probably be the one pushing me off this cliff.

I don't say a word. Instead, I stare, letting my silence stretch, my gaze pinned to her face. She's so unaware. So beautifully, achingly unbothered by the havoc she's wreaking.

"Waise, you do look a bit homicidal sometimes," she quips, breaking the silence.

("Well...)

I raise an eyebrow. What the hell is that supposed to mean? The confusion must be written across my face because she quickly adds, "Especially when you give me those eyes." Her tone is contemplative, as though she's sharing some profound realization.

A slow smile spreads across my face, sharp and teasing. I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear as I murmur, "What eyes, sugar?" My voice is low, deliberately suggestive, and I can feel the way she falters. Her breath hitches, her gaze drops, and she hides behind the veil of her lashes.

That's the reaction I crave. That flicker of vulnerability.

"Did you have dinner yet?" I ask abruptly, shifting the mood before it overwhelms her. The question pulls her back, though she doesn't respond. Instead, her eyes wander to the sprawling darkness before us, the mountains silhouetted under the night sky. The wind teases her, playing with her hair, skimming over her skin like it has a right to touch her. It's almost mocking me.

I grab my helmet, breaking the spell, and plop hers onto her head. It's too big for her, and it slides down, nearly swallowing her face. She startles, giving me an annoyed glare, and for a second, I almost laugh.

She doesn't move. Of course, she doesn't. Her stubbornness is as infuriating as it is endearing.

"We're leav—" Before I can finish, she snaps the visor shut with a defiant click.

Oh, she's testing me now.

I reach out instinctively, gripping the bottom of the helmet and tugging her close. The movement is sharp, deliberate, and for a moment, she's frozen, her chest pressed into mine in the narrow space between us.

A feisty one. I like it.

Her defiance melts under my touch. The fire in her eyes dims, replaced by something softer, warmer. Her cheeks flush, and I smirk inwardly as I untangle the strands of her hair caught in the straps. My fingers linger, brushing against her skin before I fasten the helmet securely.

When I lean back, she complies this time, quietly climbing onto the bike behind me. Her small hands clasp around my chest, hesitant at first, then firming as we take off.

I feel her warmth against my back, the faint tremble of her body betraying the calm facade she tries so hard to maintain. She doesn't realize it, but I can feel everything—the way her grip tightens ever so slightly when the wind rushes past, the way her heart beats just a little faster.

This connection between us, this pull—it's electric, charged, and screaming with unspoken desire. She doesn't even know how much power she holds, how much control she has over the beast inside me.

And as we ride into the night, her body pressed against mine, I know one thing for certain: she's inescapable.

The café door creaks open, and the familiar wave of warmth washes over me. It's a comforting kind of warmth, one that wraps around you like an old blanket, smelling faintly of spiced tea and incense. Jessie keeps this place alive at hours when even the mountains seem to be asleep.

Lunar Yeti

I glance over at Mukti as she steps in behind me. Her eyes dart around the room, lingering on the flickering candles, the jungle of plants spilling from every corner, and the prayer flags stretched across the ceiling beams. It's obvious she's never been here before.

"You coming in or just going to stand there?" I say, letting the door close behind us.

She blinks, then follows me to a table by the window, her steps cautious like she's walking into a trap. The chair scrapes softly against the wooden floor as she sits, her fingers grazing the edges of the table. She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she's trying to blend in, trying not to seem out of place.

Too late, Mukti. You're like a cat dropped into the middle of a dog park.

I shrug off my jacket and drop it on the back of my chair. "You okay?" I ask, leaning back and watching her closely.

She looks up at me, her face calm but her eyes giving her away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I don't answer, just smirk. She looks like she's bracing for an interrogation.

"Rudra beta!" Jessie's voice carries across the room, and I turn to see her walking out of the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour. She's wearing that same warm smile that makes you feel like you've just walked into someone's home.

("Rudra!")

"You're back again! And you've brought company this time," she says, glancing at Mukti. "Who's this?"

"Mukti," I say. "She's..." I pause, pretending to think. "... shy."

Mukti shoots me a look, but Jessie doesn't notice. She smiles warmly at Mukti instead. "Mukti, it's lovely to meet you. Any friend of Rudra's is welcome here."

"I'm not his friend," Mukti says quickly, her voice sharper than she probably intended.

Jessie laughs. "Well, friend or not, you look like you could use something warm. You've come at the perfect time—I just pre-prepped a fresh batch of gyozas for tomorrow morning. Let me bring some for you, along with dumpling soup. It'll warm you right up. But careful, the dumplings are fresh out of the steamer, so they're as hot as the soup."

As Jessie disappears into the kitchen, Mukti turns to me, her expression equal parts curious and annoyed. "You bring a lot of people here?"

I shrug. "Why? Jealous?"

She scoffs, crossing her arms. "Hardly. Just wondering how she knows so much about you."

"I'm memorable," I say simply, smirking as her eyes narrow.

Before she can retort, Jessie returns with menus, setting them down on the table. "Take your time deciding. I'll get the soup started," she says before heading back to the kitchen.

Mukti picks up the menu, her brow furrowing as she scans it. "What's 'thukpa'?"

I glance at her over my menu. "Soup. With noodles. You'd know that if you ever left your bubble."

She shoots me a glare. "I don't live in a bubble."

"Sure you don't," I say, turning my attention back to the menu. "But if you're feeling adventurous, you should try it. Who knows, you might even like it."

She huffs, setting the menu down. "What are you getting?"

"Thenthuk," I say.

"What's that?"

I glance at her again, my smirk widening. "Also soup. But with hand-pulled noodles. It's better."

She rolls her eyes. "You sound like an expert."

"I am," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Unlike you, I actually try new things."

"Oh, please," she mutters, picking up the menu again. "I'll take the dumplings."

"Predictable," I say under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

She glares at me. "Do you ever shut up?"

"No," I say, smiling smugly.

Before she can snap back, Jessie returns, her tray balanced with bowls of steaming soup and a plate of dumplings. She sets them down carefully, her motherly warmth radiating as she looks between us. "Eat up, and don't let them sit too long. The soup's best when it's hot," she says, patting my shoulder before heading back to the counter.

I grab a dumpling with my chopsticks and take a bite, the heat searing my tongue. I don't flinch, though, because that's not how I roll. "Careful," I say, glancing at Mukti. "They're hot."

She hesitates, picking up a dumpling and blowing on it softly before taking a cautious bite. Her eyes widen slightly, and she lets out a small, involuntary hum of approval.

"Told you," I say, leaning back and smirking.

She chews slowly, clearly trying not to give me the satisfaction of a compliment. "It's... fine," she says finally, though her expression betrays her.

"Efficient and delicious," I say. "You could learn something from it."

She raises an eyebrow. "Efficient? Who describes food as 'efficient'?"

"Someone who values rationality," I say, taking another bite.

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're predictable," I counter, raising my bowl of soup to take a sip.

For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, the warmth of the café wrapping around us like a cocoon. Mukti relaxes slightly, her shoulders no longer as tense as they were when we walked in. Jessie watches us from the counter, her smile softening as she hums along to the faint tunes of classic Hindi music playing in the background.

Jessie is Lata Mangeshkar fan through and through.

"You two remind me of Rudra and Ayaan back in the day," Jessie calls out, breaking the quiet. "Always out late, breaking rules like they owned the mountains."

Mukti looks at me, her curiosity piqued. "Breaking rules, huh? What kind of rules?"

"The fun ones," I say, smirking as I sip my soup.

Jessie chuckles. "Law students causing trouble in the middle of the night—it's almost poetic."

Mukti's gaze sharpens. "Law student?"

"Final year," I say casually, not even looking up from my bowl.

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. "You're a law student?"

I glance at her, my smirk firmly in place. "Why? Doesn't fit the narrative you've built in your head?"

Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything, and I let her sit with it. The faintest hint of amusement flickers in my chest as I watch her try to piece together this new revelation.

She shakes her head but doesn't argue, too focused on savoring the food.

And as I watch her, bathed in the warm glow of the café lights, I realize just how easily she fits into this moment—

Into this place, into this part of my life I've always kept separate.