Crimson Bond of Ravenkot

Chapter 1: THE BREAK VIHAAN'S POV Cutlery clinked. Someone laughed too hard at a joke that wasn’t funny. A blender screamed behind the counter like it was dying slowly. The café was louder than it needed to be. I stood just outside the glass door, my glances stopped over the scene inside—her scene. For one stupid second, I thought I’d imagined it. That she leaned forward to … Too close. Her hand rested on his wrist. Casual. Familiar. Intimate in a way that had never been casual between us. I didn’t step inside. I watched. Because denial is quieter when you don’t interrupt it. Her head was thrown back as laughed , eyes bright. That laugh had once lived against my collarbone. I knew the exact rhythm of it. Knew when it was real and when it was fake. This one was real. The guy across from her—my colleague, my almost-friend—telling something in low to her ear . She brushed his arm. He smiled like he’d already won. My phone vibrated in my hand . Her: Where are you? You said you’d be here by now. The audacity of it stole my breath.I pushed the door open. The bell chimed. Cheerful. Oblivious. She froze with her laugh. His smile died halfway. Every sound dimmed, like the world had decided to be merciful for once. “Vihaan,” she said, too quickly. “You’re early.” Two coffees. One untouched. Her bag hung on the chair beside him, not the empty one across. “Am I?” I asked . My voice sounded normal. That was the strangest part. He cleared his throat. “Listen, man—” “Don’t,” holding up a hand. “You’ll ruin it.” She stood. “This isn’t what you think.” Of course it wasn’t. It never was. I finally met her eyes. “Then explain it to me like I’m five.” Silence. Not awkward. Not confused. Guilty. She exhaled, shoulders dropping. “We didn’t plan this.” I smiled. A reflex. “That’s comforting.” “It just… happened,” she continued her justification “You’ve been distant. busy. Always somewhere else.” Somewhere else. Right. Investigating stories. Chasing ghosts. Pretending sleep was optional. “So you replaced me,” I said calmly, “Efficient.” “That’s not fair.” “Neither is cheating,” I replied. Her mouth opened, closed. She looked—actually looked—at me then. As if weighing something. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” There it was. The lie people told themselves so they could sleep. I nodded. “And yet.” The guy shifted uncomfortably. “Bro, we were gonna tell you.” “Tell me what and When?” I asked, glancing at him. “After dessert?” He flushed. I turned back to her. “How long?” then her mouth was zipped. That was enough to answer. “Okay,” I said. She blinked. “Okay?” “Yes. Okay.” I picked up my phone, slid it into my pocket. even My hands were stead , not My chest . “You’re not angry?” she asked, almost offended. I studied her face—really studied it. The way her brows pulled together, the way she was bracing for an explosion. For raised voices. For drama. For the version of me who begged, or shouted, or broke things. “I was,” I said . “About thirty seconds ago.” Her lips parted. “And now?” “Now I’m tired.” That seemed to unsettle her more than anger ever could. I stepped back from the table. The untouched coffee sat between us like a poor attempt at normalcy. Steam curled upward, already thinning, already dying. “You’re just going to walk away?” she asked. “Yes…?” “That’s it?” I tilted my head. “Did you want an encore?” Her eyes flicked to me —just for a second. Instinctive. Automatic. And that was it. That tiny movement sealed something inside me with a quiet, final click. I looked at the guy then. Really looked. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Take care of her,” I said flatly. He nodded too fast. “I will.” I almost laughed. Almost. I turned before either of them could say anything else. Before the café noise flooded back in. Before my composure cracked under the weight of all the things I hadn’t said. The bell chimed again as I stepped outside. Still cheerful. Still oblivious. The street felt too bright. Too loud. Delhi didn’t pause for heartbreak. Autos honked. Vendors shouted. Life moved forward with the cruel confidence of something that had never loved anyone deeply enough to be wrecked by it. I walked. I didn't know where. I didn't care. My phone buzzed. Her name lit the screen. I ignored it. Then again. And again. On the fourth call, I stopped under the shade of a neem tree and answered without looking. “Vihaan, please,” she said immediately. Her voice cracked now. Real tears, maybe. Or panic. “Don’t do this.” “Do what?” I asked. “Shut me out. Walk away like I meant nothing.” I leaned my head back against the rough bark. I closed my eyes. “You didn’t mean anything,” I said quietly. “That’s the problem.” Silence. “I made a mistake,” she whispered. “No,” I said. “You made a choice.” “That’s not fair—” “Neither is explaining betrayal as an accident,” I cut in. “You don’t trip and fall into someone else’s life.” She sobbed then. Full, broken sounds. The kind that once would’ve had me crossing cities just to hold her together. Now they just felt… distant. “I still love you,” she said. I opened my eyes. A crow watched me from the power line above. Head tilted. Curious. Judging. “Love isn’t what you say when you get caught,” I replied. “It’s what you protect before things break.” “Can’t we fix this?” I thought about all the nights I’d come home exhausted, still smiling for her. All the half-promises of time. All the ways I’d bent myself thinner trying to balance ambition and affection. “No,” I said. “We can stop making it worse.” I ended the call before she could answer. Blocked the number. The silence afterward was… brutal. Clean. Necessary. I went home and didn’t turn on the lights. The apartment smelled like stale coffee and old ambition. Half-packed camera gear lay where I’d dropped it days ago. A jacket hung over the chair—hers. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I poured a drink. Then another. By the third, the edge inside me dulled enough for thoughts to settle into something coherent. Dangerous. My laptop sat open on the desk. The screen glowed softly, waiting. I scrolled without intention. News. Reports. Half-read headlines. Then it stopped me. RAVENKOT: THE MOUNTAIN THAT DOESN’T GIVE BACK Disappearances. Locals refusing to speak. A trail that erased footprints. A forest people avoided even in daylight. I stared at the images. Fog-wrapped peaks. Dense tree lines. A place that looked ancient and indifferent to human drama. Something in my chest tightened. Not fear. Recognition. I clicked the article open. Read every word. Twice. A place where people went missing or went crazy. A place that swallowed stories whole. A place where no one would ask me how I was doing. Perfect. A knock sounded at my door. I didn’t answer. Another knock. Louder. “Vihaan!” Aarav’s voice. “Open up, man, before I break something expensive.” I sighed and unlocked the door. He took one look at me and winced. “Wow. You look like hell filed a complaint.” “Come in,” He stepped inside, eyes scanning the dark apartment. “You wanna talk about it?” “No.” “Drink about it?” “Already doing that.” He grabbed a bottle, poured himself a glass without asking. “Vani texted. Said you bailed on the café.” “Yeah.” “And?” “And I caught her.” He froze. “Oh.” “Yeah.” A moment passed. He drank. Didn’t push. “What now?” he asked eventually. I turned the laptop toward him. The image of Ravenkot glared back. “I’m going north,” I said. “Tomorrow.” Aarav blinked. “You’re kidding.” “Nope.” “That place is—” “Exactly.” He studied me carefully. “Are you running?” I met his gaze. Didn’t flinch. “I’m choosing not to rot.” He exhaled slowly. Then nodded. “Okay.” “Okay?” “Yeah,” he said. “If you’re going to chase a haunted mountain instead of your feelings, you’ll need backup.” A humorless smile tugged at my mouth. “Call Yash. Call Vani,” I said. “We leave at dawn.” Later, alone again, I packed. Camera. Notebooks. Chargers. Cigarettes. I paused in the mirror. The man staring back looked older. Sharper. Something brittle had hardened into something else entirely. “Don’t get sentimental now,” I muttered to myself. Outside, the city hummed. Inside, something had gone quiet. By morning, I would be on a train heading toward a mountain that didn’t care who I was or what I’d lost. And for the first time all day, that felt like mercy