The Warning.
679 Words
The next morning at Silverwood College felt strangely quiet.
The usual chaos of Rudra’s gang — the laughter, the noise, the teasing — was missing something.
Someone.
Aanya Kapoor.
She wasn’t there.
No cheerful “good morning,” no teasing remarks from across the corridor, no sunshine in the grey halls.
Rudra noticed it first.
He didn’t say anything at first — he just sat there, tapping his pen against the desk, staring at the empty seat where she always sat during break hours.
Kabir: “She didn’t show up today, bro. Maybe she’s just sick.”
Aman: “Or maybe she’s tired of chasing our moody boss.”
Dev (frowning): “No… she would’ve told one of us. Something’s off.”
Rudra’s jaw tightened.
There was a strange unease creeping up his chest — the kind that didn’t let him breathe right.
Rudra (quietly): “Check her place.”
Kabir: “What?”
Rudra: “I said check her place, Kabir. Now.”
The tone in his voice — sharp, cold — made everyone move instantly.
They’d seen Rudra angry before, but this was different.
This was worried.
Kabir and Aman drove toward Aanya’s neighborhood, the rain starting again — light but steady.
Dev stayed back with Rudra, waiting near the bike stand, both pacing restlessly.
After twenty minutes, Rudra’s phone buzzed.
Kabir’s name flashed on the screen.
Kabir (voice trembling): “Rudra… you need to come here. Now.”
Rudra: “What happened?”
Aman (in the background): “It’s bad, bro. Real bad.”
Rudra didn’t wait for another word.
He grabbed his jacket, eyes burning with fury, and rode off — the bike roaring like thunder through the wet streets.
The Message
When he reached the street, his friends were standing near a wall — pale-faced, tense.
Aanya’s gate was open.
Her brother Ishan was talking to a police officer nearby, worry written all over his face.
And then Rudra saw it.
Right at the main door — a blood-red spray-painted message on the wall.
“SAVE HER IF YOU CAN, RUDRA.”
Below it, a single rose — crushed under a bootprint.
Rudra froze. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.
The sound around him faded — only his heartbeat remained, loud and merciless.
Kabir (softly): “We called her phone. It’s off. Ishan said she left home early morning… and never came back.”
Rudra didn’t reply. He just stared at the message.
The rain trickled down his face, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire building inside him.
Every instinct in him — the fighter, the protector, the man she saw as a hero — screamed one thing: Find her.
He turned to his gang, his voice low, deadly calm — the calm before a storm.
Rudra: “Raghav did this.”
Dev: “But how do you kn—”
Rudra: “Because that bastard’s the only one stupid enough to touch what’s mine.”
Aman swallowed hard.
Kabir: “What do we do now?”
Rudra looked at the crimson words again, his jaw flexing.
Rudra: “We find her. Tonight. And if Raghav laid a finger on her—”
He paused, eyes burning with fury.
Rudra: “—he won’t live to see the next sunrise.”
Somewhere, in a dimly lit warehouse on the city outskirts, Aanya Kapoor sat tied to a chair — her lip bruised, her hair messy, but her eyes… defiant.
Raghav leaned against a table, smirking.
Raghav: “Still think your hero will come for you?”
Aanya lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the fear.
Aanya: “He doesn’t think he’s a hero… but I know he is.”
That night, Rudra didn’t sleep.
He stood on his terrace, rain pouring, looking out into the darkness.
The message echoed in his head — every word fueling the storm brewing inside him.
“Save her if you can, Rudra.”
He whispered to himself, voice like steel
“I’m coming for you, Aanya. No one… touches my girl.”
- Writer
