Author's pov

The humidity of Mumbai was a heavy, invisible weight. A fine drizzle had started to fall, turning the city dust into a slick, grey grime that coated the streets.

Robin stood in a sterile, silent hallway on the fortieth floor of a Worli high rise. He adjusted the straps of his delivery bag, the scent of butter chicken and garlic naan mocking his empty stomach. He handed a bag to a man who didn't even look him in the eye before shutting the door.

Robin walked back to the elevator, his boots squeaking on the polished marble. He pulled out his phone. The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, but the glowing notification was clear. He had exactly six minutes to reach the next location. The weather was worsening, and he knew the elite residents of this neighborhood had no patience for rain or traffic.

Delay meant a formal complaint. And complaint meant a deduction he couldn't afford.

He reached his scooter and kicked it into gear. The engine sputtered, complaining against the damp air. As he turned into a narrow, dimly lit lane that served as a shortcut, a sleek, silver sports car veered sharply, skidding to a halt just inches from Robin’s front tire. He slammed on his brakes, his old scooter groaning under the strain.

Six men spilled out of the vehicle. They were young, dressed in brands that cost more than Robin’s annual rent, and smelled of expensive whiskey and arrogance.

Their laughter loud and jagged against the quiet night. One of them, wearing a watch that glittered under the streetlamps, walked right up to Robin.

"Look at this," the boy mocked, pointing at Robin’s old, rusted bike. "The help is in a hurry. Did we ruin your little timer, delivery boy?" The one who sat in the driver's seat earlier, sneered kicking the scooter’s kickstand.

Robin kept his helmet on, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "Move the car. I have a delivery."

The tallest of the group laughed, stepping forward to swat the phone out of Robin’s hand. It clattered against the pavement. "You heard him, boys. The trash has a schedule."

With a casual, cruel swing of his foot, he kicked the delivery bag off the scooter. The plastic containers burst, spilling the warm gravy onto the filthy asphalt.

Robin stared at the mess. That was his fuel money. That was his survival. Something cold and familiar settled in his chest.

"Oh, he talks." another one chimed in, stepping closer to rip the helmet off Robin’s head.

As the helmet came away, the streetlamp caught Robin’s face. The boys froze for a split second. Robin’s eyes were a startling, unnatural shade of icy grey. They looked like polished stones or the sky before a devastating storm.

In the orphanage, they had called him a demon. In the streets, people crossed the road to avoid that piercing, colorless stare.

"What is that?" the leader whispered, his bravado momentarily wavering before he turned it into a sneer.

"You have ghost eyes. No wonder you’re alone on the streets. Even your mother probably couldn't stand to look at those freakish things."

He reached out and shoved Robin’s chest.

"Now you have nothing to deliver. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, you grey eyed fuck."

Robin didn't move. He felt the familiar, cold rage rising from the depths of his soul. The same rage that kept him awake on concrete floors.

"Pick it up." Robin said. The sound was a low growl that made the youngest of the group take a step back.

"Make us." the leader challenged.

Robin didn't wait. He moved with a lethality that was almost beautiful to watch. He caught the leader’s throat with one hand and slammed him against the car.

The others scrambled to help, but Robin was a whirlwind of bone and shadow. He broke a nose with a sharp elbow and sent another boy sprawling with a heavy kick to the gut.

Suddenly, the passenger door of a black SUV parked nearby swung open. A woman stepped out, her expensive silk suit shimmering in the rain. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a predator.

"You missed one on your left!" she called out.

Robin didn't turn, but he sensed the movement. Before he could react, the woman moved with lightning speed. She grabbed the wrist of a boy who was swinging a heavy chain and twisted it until he screamed. She slammed her palm into his chest, sending him reeling into the trash.

She stood back to back with Robin, her breathing steady. Together, they finished the remaining three in a blur of synchronized violence.

Robin’s grey eyes were glowing with a terrifying light as he stood over the groveling boys.

The woman smoothed her hair and turned to him. She didn't flinch at his eyes. In fact, she looked directly into them, her expression appreciative.

"They aren't freakish," she said, nodding toward his eyes. "They are the eyes of someone who has seen the bottom of the world and survived it and you look like someone who is tired of delivering dinner to people who don't deserve it.”

Robin reached down to pick up his cracked phone, ignoring her.

She continued, stepping closer. She pulled a card from her blazer and tucked it into the handle of his scooter.

"I have a sister who needs a shadow. Not just a guard, but a man who can be a ghost when needed and a monster when provoked. You have the rage. You have the skill. And God knows, you have the eyes for it."

“Call the number if you want to stop fighting for crumbs and come fight for a family instead.”

She didn't wait for an answer. She turned and walked back to her car, leaving him standing in the rain with the ruins of his old life at his feet.

The restaurant owner didn’t even let Robin explain. He looked at the ruined delivery bag, the blood crusting on Robin’s neck and knuckles, and the rain-drenched uniform that smelled of failure. To the owner, Robin was just a liability with a violent streak. He was fired before he could even park his scooter.

Robin returned to the Parsi colony in the quiet hours of the night. The PG was a weathered building that smelled of old wood and lavender incense.

Mrs. Batliwala, a woman with a sharp tongue and a heart she hid behind layers of gara sarees, had kept him there when no one else would.

He climbed the creaking stairs to his room, a cramped space that held nothing but a worn wooden bed and his silence.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. The insults from the street echoed in the hollows of his mind.

Freakish things. Ghost eyes.

He looked into the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. His grey eyes stared back, devoid of emotion, like ash over a dying fire. He wasn't shattered by the words. You cannot break something that has already been pulverized into dust.

He pulled the wet card from his pocket. The ink hadn't bled. He memorized the digits before walking down to the communal hall. The house was asleep, saved for the ticking of a grandfather clock. He picked up the heavy receiver of the landlady's telephone and dialed.

Across the city, the atmosphere in the Khanna mansion was thick with a different kind of tension. The room was grand, filled with the scent of expensive sandalwood and the soft glow of designer lamps. Ishika Khanna sat behind her mahogany desk, her face a mask of iron-willed composure.

Tarini paced the length of the rug, her heels clicking like a countdown. Her face was drawn, her eyes bright with a protective fever.

"Why are you hell-bent on getting her a better bodyguard, Tarini? We have the best protection money can buy." Ishika’s voice was a calm tide, carrying the weight of a woman who had built an empire from the red Mumbai dust.

"Only on paper…" Tarini replied, her voice tight. "The veterans retired, and these new recruits are a disaster. I need someone who treats a weapon like a tool, not a fashion accessory. Ridhi needs more than a man walking around with a Glock like it is some magic wand."

Tarini paused, forcing the tremor out of her hands. She looked at Ishika, her tone dropping into a low, aching frequency. "Aunty, you and Ridhi are the foundation. If she breaks, this whole empire cracks. Your current security wing is a sieve, and we both know it."

She saw the flicker in Ishika’s eyes, the silent suggestion to shuffle her own elite guards over to her daughter.

"Aunty, you and Ridhi both are equally important. We both can't handle the reins of this empire you've built. Ridhi needs her mother and you and I both need her safety."

Tarini closed her eyes. The office faded, replaced by the ghost of a nightmare from forty-eight hours ago. She felt the phantom vibration of the phone call that had nearly stopped her heart. She saw Ridhi’s bruised arms.

The memory burned behind her eyelids.

Two days ago, the digital blip of Ridhi’s car tracker had vanished outside the college gates. Then came the call from a sobbing rookie on a borrowed phone.

The masked men had appeared like shadows. The boy had frozen, the fear of death turning his blood to lead while they dragged Ridhi away. They hadn't even bothered to kill him. They just broke his nose and crushed his phone, leaving him as a living testament to his own cowardice.

She stormed out of her office upon getting that call, her heels striking the floor with rhythmic fury.

She remembered the suffocating heat inside her car as she had scrambled to open the secondary tracking panel. This one didn't follow the car. It followed the micro-transmitter embedded in Ridhi’s silver bracelets. As the engine roared to life, the woody scent of the car’s perfume felt like it was choking her. If she could have, she would have shredded the Mumbai asphalt with her bare tires.

Her thumb hit the speed dial for Vikram. Ishika's Elite bodyguard.

"Live location sent. Send your best sniper, Sir. I want him in position before my engine cools."

On the city’s industrial fringe, where the concrete gives way to barren soil and the rusted skeletons of factories, the kidnappers dragged Ridhi toward a derelict warehouse. A heavy chain wrapped around her wrists, biting into her skin with every jagged tug.

Blindfolded, Ridhi’s world became a map of sounds. The dry crunch of dead leaves, the heavy smell of salt and old oil, and the uneven, rocky ground beneath her feet.

Tarini pulled the SUV to a halt a hundred yards out. A massive fence of razor-sharp steel mesh blocked the path, its wires secured with heavy industrial bolts.

"Will the car take the gate down?" Tarini whispered into her Bluetooth earpiece.

From a camouflaged position in the bushes, the sniper adjusted his scope. "The car might survive, but we need a clean exit vehicle."

"I have a backup unit five minutes out." Tarini snapped.

"Then do it. Now. You have one shot at the gate. They are nearing the main building. If they get her inside that concrete shelter, I lose my line of sight."

The SUV’s engine peaked into a mechanical scream. Tarini floored the accelerator, her knuckles white against the leather. There was a deafening, metallic shriek as the bumper met the razor-wire mesh. The steel resisted for a heartbeat before the bolts sheared off like plastic buttons. The car plowed through, the mesh wrapping around the hood and slicing into the radiator like a serrated knife.

As the vehicle skidded to a halt inside the perimeter, the engine groaned one last time and died. White steam hissed violently from the mangled front, a hot, opaque cloud swallowing the world. Tarini sat in the fog, the scent of burnt coolant and ozone stinging her nose, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Through the thinning mist, she emerged. She didn't run. She walked with a casual, swaying gait. Her silk white top shimmered like a pearl against the wasteland grime, and her black trousers moved like liquid. She looked like she had taken a wrong turn on the way to a gala.

A silly, disarming smile played on her lips.

"Abey!" the leader barked, his voice like gravel.

"Andar kaise aayi re tu? Raasta band tha, dikhta nahi kya?" (Hey! How did you get in? The road was closed, can’t you see?)

"That mosquito net back there?" Tarini pointed her index finger over her shoulder without breaking her stride. The sound of her voice hit Ridhi like a splash of cold water.

"It was in my way. So I deleted it."

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his weapon.

"Mazak sujh raha hai?" (Think this is a joke?)

"Arrey nahi ji." Tarini said, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

"I just really needed to get through, and my car doesn't like being told 'no.' It’s a bit of a brat, honestly."

The men weren't buying the act anymore. The leader yanked Ridhi back against his chest, the rusted blade of his knife pressing into her throat.

"Zyaada dhed-shaani mat ban…" the man spat. "Ek kadam aur aage badhaya, toh iska gala yahin kaat ke phek dunga. Kaun hai tu? Kaun bheja tere ko?" (Don't act too smart. Take one more step and I'll slit her throat and toss her aside. Who are you? Who sent you?)

Tarini stopped. The "silly girl" mask didn't just slip, it evaporated. Her eyes turned into twin shards of flint. She reached into her pocket, her thumb grazing the key fob.

"You're asking the wrong questions." Tarini said, her voice now a low, dangerous vibration.

"The question isn't who I am. It’s whether you’ve said your prayers today."

She clicked the panic alarm.

As the SUV’s siren wailed, a sharp crack echoed from the treeline. A bullet tore through the air, finding the leader’s bicep with surgical precision. He screamed, the knife clattering to the dirt as his grip failed.

Ridhi reacted instantly. Sensing the shift in weight and the direction of the voices, she pivoted on one foot. She launched a tornado kick, her body rotating in a blur of motion. Her heel connected squarely with a second man’s jaw with a sickening thud, knocking him unconscious before he hit the dirt.

She knew she couldn't win a prolonged brawl alone, but with Tarini there, the fear had a ceiling.

"Wohoooo. Look at you,I was worried you’d forgotten everything from our Tuesday sessions." Tarini called out, her voice sharpening as she stepped into the fray. Moving with cold, raw aggression. She caught a third man by the throat, her arm strength pinning him back while a muffled shot from the sniper punctured his thigh.

Within minutes, the wasteland was a choir of groans. Tarini smirked, stepping over the writhing bodies to reach Ridhi. She snapped the chain link and pulled the blindfold away. Ridhi collapsed into her arms, shaking.

"Arey... itni mehnat kari thi chhori pe…" one of the men wailed in a thick, pained Haryanvi accent, clutching his shattered arm.

"Mota paisa kamate... tera aana jaruri tha ke? Haddi aur chatka di mhaari..." (Man, we worked so hard on this girl. We would've made big money... Was it necessary for you to show up? You've even snapped my bones.)

Tarini squatted down next to him, a devious, low laugh echoing in the hollow space. She grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Shukar kar sirf haddi chatkayi hai." she whispered, her face inches from his. "Zyaada bak-bak kari toh teri saanson ki ladi chatka dungi. Samjha?" (Be glad I only snapped your bones. If you keep yapping, I'll snap the thread of your breath. Understand?)

The police arrived soon after, moving like ghosts under strict orders. No logs. No names. No paper trail. Everything to protect Ridhi Khanna's dignity out in the public.

Tarini moved Ridhi to the backup car. The sniper sat on the bumper, pulling back his mask to reveal a face etched with the lines of a dozen shadow wars.

He handed Tarini a first-aid kit, his wrinkled eyes full of fatherly concern. Tarini sat on the pavement, dabbing cream onto Ridhi’s raw wrists.

"Tell me if it stings okay?" she whispered, blowing softly on the skin.

"Thank you, Uncle," Ridhi managed to whisper to the sniper. She turned to Tarini, her voice breaking.

"I know this isn't the first time. But I wasn't scared back then... because I always knew you’d come. Now? Now I’m just scared of what happens when you're not there."

The memory shattered. Tarini was back in the mansion, the heavy silence of the office pressing in on her. She looked at Ishika, the desperation in her gaze finally laid bare.

"If her parents have built this life of luxury for her, why should Ridhi be the one to pay the price for it?"

Ishika didn't argue. She simply uncovered a glass of water and pushed it toward Tarini. It was a silent admission that Tarini’s fear was justified.

A sharp ringtone broke the silence. Tarini pulled the phone from her trouser pocket, glancing at Ishika before answering.

"Hello?"

Silence stretched across the line for a heartbeat. Then, a voice came through. It was deep, raspy, and carried the coldness of a winter night.

"What will be the job?"

Tarini’s posture shifted. The tension in her shoulders vanished, replaced by a sharp interest. She tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

"Oh, so you're interested. It’s a simple job. You will be the bodyguard for Ridhi Khanna. The daughter of Ishika Khanna, if the name means anything to you."

She waited, but Robin offered no reaction. He was a void on the other end of the line. Tarini looked at Ishika. "Aunty, are you free tomorrow morning?"

Ishika exhaled a defeated sigh, leaning back in her leather chair. "You will do what is in your mind anyway, Tarini. Free or not. Go ahead."

Tarini’s smile widened. "Tomorrow, ten a.m. My office. The address is on the card. You’ll be interviewed, and if you’re selected, you can finally start earning real money."

The line went dead. Robin stared at the receiver for a long moment before hanging up. He went to slide the card back into his pocket when a cushion struck the back of his head with surprising force.

"Again you lost the job, you halkat!" Mrs. Batliwala stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her voice booming through the quiet hall.

"You haven't paid the rent in months! If you don't work, where will the money come from? Do you think the walls will feed you?"

Robin turned and looked at her. His face was a blank slate. He didn't defend himself or apologize. He simply let her scolding wash over him like the Mumbai rain. He knew she would have a plate of hot food waiting for him in the kitchen despite her yelling.

He touched the card in his pocket. Tomorrow at ten, he wouldn't be delivering food. He would be delivering himself into a world of gold and glass, a world that had no idea what kind of ghost was coming for it.

Robin didn't eat the food Mrs. Batliwala had left out for him. Instead, he sat by the small window of his room, watching the Mumbai rain wash the blood from his knuckles. He wasn't thinking about the money or the Khanna Empire. He was thinking about the woman’s words.

‘Come and fight for a family instead.’

In the dark, his grey eyes remained wide open, searching for things he wasn't sure he was allowed to have.

First of all, A big Thank you and a warm hug to Cherylauthor & Ashkachu akka 💗✨ If not for these two constantly lifting my spirits up, this idea would never come to life. Ever. You are making it all possible through me.

And to our readers, the current and the future ones. I hope this chapter was worth your time and I hope you got to see our characters in a different shade.

Thank you so much for reading 🩷