Bruised But Unbroken
716 Words
We moved into a room above a tailor’s shop. One bed. One window. Thin walls and creaky floors. But it was ours. The tailor didn’t care who we were. He just liked that we paid rent on time and didn’t ask too many questions.
Rohan worked long shifts at a motorbike garage. I took a part-time job at a bakery down the street. The days were short and the nights were longer. We barely had time to breathe sometimes. But we were together. That made it all bearable.
Some nights, we didn’t talk. We just lay side by side, listening to the fan buzz overhead and the city hum outside.
Sometimes we fought. About money. About the past. About fear.
But the fights always ended the same way—his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths tangled, no apology needed.
He was my calm.
I was his fire.
We didn’t need anything else.
Until we did.
---
The bakery owner was kind. Her name was Mala. She wore old saris and smelled like cinnamon. She gave me extra rolls to take home and told me stories about her lost husband.
“You remind me of myself,” she said one afternoon.
“How so?”
“You’ve got the eyes of someone who’s loved too hard and too fast.”
I smiled. “Is that bad?”
“No. But it means you’ll bleed before you break.”
---
Two weeks later, the florist from the town by the sea called me.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but someone came by asking questions. About you two. I didn’t say anything.”
I thanked her. Hung up.
My heart wouldn’t slow down.
Rohan came home covered in grease and dirt. I told him what she said. He didn’t panic.
He just looked tired. Like he’d expected this.
“We’ll move again,” he said.
“To where?”
“Anywhere.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “How long are we going to keep running?”
“As long as they keep chasing.”
---
We didn’t leave.
Not this time.
We were tired of disappearing. Tired of losing pieces of ourselves in every city.
So we stayed.
We showed up to work. We smiled at neighbors. We lived loud.
And then it happened.
We were coming back from the market. It was late. The alley was dark. We didn’t hear the footsteps until they were too close.
Three men. Faces covered.
They grabbed Rohan first. Slammed him against the wall.
I screamed. Tried to pull them off.
One of them shoved me hard. I hit the ground.
The last thing I saw before blacking out was blood on his face.
His blood.
---
I woke up in a hospital room.
Beauty was sitting beside me.
“You’re okay,” she said. “You’ve been out for hours.”
I sat up too fast. “Rohan—where is he?”
She didn’t speak.
“Beauty. Where is he?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“They took him.”
The walls felt like they were closing in.
“Who?”
“We don’t know. But they weren’t random. They knew who he was. Who you were. This was a message.”
I stood. My knees shook. “I need to find him.”
“You need to rest—”
“No. I need him.”
---
I didn’t sleep.
Didn’t eat.
Didn’t blink unless I had to.
Beauty called in every favor she had. We went through back channels, old classmates, people from Rohan’s side of the city who still owed his family debts.
Three days passed.
On the fourth, I got a text from an unknown number.
"Come alone. Rooftop. Midnight."
No location. But I knew.
It was the old willow tree.
Or what was left of it.
---
The air was sharp. My hands were shaking.
He was there.
Bruised. Bleeding. Standing.
And alive.
I ran to him.
He held me like he didn’t believe I was real.
“I thought I lost you,” I whispered.
“You won’t. Not in this life.”
We didn’t ask what happened.
We didn’t need to.
All that mattered was we still had each other.
And we weren’t running anymore.
- Writer
