CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY WHO DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS DEAD YET
798 Words
Andheri West — 9:42 PM
Anirudh Pathak was having a great night.
Which, in hindsight, was unfortunate.
Music blasted through the open windows of his friend’s apartment, cheap cologne mixed with cigarette smoke, and half-finished beer bottles lined the balcony railing like trophies of bad decisions.
He laughed loudly, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulder.
“Bro, I told you, she was too emotional. Always crying about small things.”
“Two years isn’t small,” his friend muttered.
Anirudh rolled his eyes. “Please. Girls cry, they move on. She’ll be fine in a week.”
He didn’t notice the silence that followed.
Didn’t notice how the night air felt heavier.
Didn’t notice the black SUV parked across the street with its headlights off.
Inside the SUV
Three men sat in the vehicle.
Quiet. Focused.
One of them watched the apartment balcony through a camera lens, zooming in slowly.
“That’s him,” he said into the phone. “Confirmed.”
A pause as the person on the other end listened.
Then a single response came, calm and cold:
“Make it look like an accident.”
The call disconnected.
No names were used.
None were needed.
Back on the Balcony
Anirudh checked his phone, smirking at a message from another girl.
“See?” he said, waving the screen. “Life moves on fast.”
His friend didn’t laugh this time.
Below them, on the street, a bike engine started.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Then speeding.
Anirudh leaned on the balcony railing, still texting, still smiling.
“Hey, I’m heading down to get more drinks,” he called over his shoulder.
“Don’t be long,” someone replied.
He grabbed his keys, still typing, still distracted, still completely unaware that somewhere across the world, a man who had never met him had already decided his fate.
Parking Lot — 9:58 PM
The night was humid, streetlights flickering.
Anirudh walked toward his car, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder now.
“Haan, baby, I just left. Yeah, I know it’s late…”
He didn’t see the bike turn the corner too fast.
Didn’t hear the shout from across the road.
Didn’t look up in time.
Headlights.
Screeching brakes.
A violent impact.
His phone flew from his hand, skidding across the asphalt as his body hit the ground.
People screamed.
Someone ran forward.
“Call an ambulance!”
“Is he breathing?!”
The biker lay a few feet away, helmet cracked, not moving.
It looked tragic.
Random.
Unfortunate.
Exactly how it was meant to look.
Inside a Private Office — Somewhere Above the City
Rurik Morozov stood by the window, Mumbai’s skyline glowing beneath him.
His phone buzzed once.
A message.
“It’s done.”
He didn’t reply.
Didn’t ask for details.
Didn’t need confirmation.
His gaze drifted to the city lights, distant and indifferent.
Somewhere out there, a girl was probably sitting in her room, trying to be strong. Trying not to cry again over a boy who didn’t deserve even one of her tears.
Rurik’s jaw tightened slightly.
Balance had been restored.
He told himself that was the only reason he’d acted.
Not because her pain had bothered him.
Not because the image of her trembling hands wouldn’t leave his mind.
Certainly not because he already felt something dangerously close to possessiveness.
No.
This was just… correction.
A man hurt what was his.
And Rurik Morozov did not allow damage to things he claimed.
Even if she didn’t know yet…
She had already been claimed.
Next Morning — Divya’s Bedroom
Sunlight filtered through the curtains.
Divya sat cross-legged on her bed, staring blankly at her phone. She hadn’t slept much.
Her chest still ached, but the tears had stopped. Now there was just a hollow feeling. Quiet. Heavy.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
A message from a college friend.
“Divya… did you hear about Anirudh?”
Her stomach dropped.
Her fingers trembled as she typed back.
“What happened?”
The reply came too fast.
“Accident last night. Bike crash. He… didn’t make it.”
The room went silent.
Completely. Terrifyingly silent.
Divya’s breath caught in her throat.
She didn’t know what she felt.
Shock. Sadness. Guilt. Confusion.
She hadn’t wished him dead.
She had just wished the pain would stop.
Tears filled her eyes again, but these were different. He had hurt her deeply… but he had once been someone she loved.
“I didn’t mean…” she whispered to the empty room.
Miles away, in a world of power and blood-stained decisions, a man stood by a window, watching over a city that would never know what he had done for a girl who didn’t even know his name.
And fate, silent and patient, tightened the thread between them.
- Writer
