A Small Tea Stall — Early Evening
Khushi sat at a corner table, both hands wrapped around a warm clay cup.
The steam drifted upward in soft curls, but her mind was far from the little stall, far from the crowd of people ordering chai and biscuits.
Her thoughts were tangled—slow, heavy, refusing to settle.
She replayed the scene again…
Yuvaan's raised voice.
Kiaan's startled eyes.
Her own helplessness.
A quiet guilt crawled into her chest.
"He scolded him because of me…"
The whisper formed in her mind before she could stop it.
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
She had seen the way Kiaan's shoulders had shrunk when Yuvaan ordered him to go to class.
She had seen the raw pain in Yuvaan's eyes—hidden beneath the anger, buried under responsibility.
Khushi drew a long breath, letting it fill her slowly.
"Maybe I really did make things harder for them…"
Her throat tightened.
A small wind brushed past her; a few strands of hair fell across her cheek. She tucked them back absently, eyes distant, thoughtful.
She took a sip of tea, but it tasted faintly bitter tonight—maybe because her mind wasn't here.
"I should've handled it differently," she murmured in her thoughts.
"I shouldn't have dragged Kiaan into my mess."
For a moment she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of everything.
The lies.
The fear.
Her past chasing her.
And then… this stranger's judgement.
But Yuvaan's harshness hadn't felt cruel.
It had felt… protective.
As if every word he said came from some place deep, wounded, determined.
Khushi sighed softly.
"I have to fix this," she thought, her resolve forming slowly but firmly.
A gentle nod to herself.
"Tomorrow is Saturday… no school."
She inhaled deeply.
"I'll go to their home. I'll meet Kiaan properly… apologize to him."
A longer pause.
"And I'll apologise to Yuvaan too."
Her heartbeat fluttered.
"He deserves that much. I made his son lie… even if it was unintentional."
She stared at her cup for a moment—silent, thoughtful—before setting it down.
Her voice in her mind softened, almost hesitant:
"He may be grumpy. And stubborn. And… impossible to talk to."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"But… he was right. And I should tell him that."
Her eyes lifted toward the evening sky as the lamps around the tea stall flickered on.
A sense of quiet determination settled in her.
"Tomorrow," she decided.
"No running. No hiding. I'll face him… properly."
The wind brushed past again—soft, almost reassuring—as if fate itself was nudging her forward.
Out at Sea — Night Deepens
The waves grew restless long before the storm broke.
Varun stood near the railing, cloak tugging violently in the rising wind, eyes narrowed at the dark horizon where thunderheads gathered like an army of shadows.
The ship creaked, groaned, and swayed—not in fear, but in warning.
Something was coming.
A low hum shivered through the water first… almost delicate… almost beautiful.
Varun's breath stilled.
The siren song.
Slowly, he pulled the enchanted headset over his ears.
A soft thrum of counter-melody filled them, drowning out the hypnotic pull that had already begun twisting its way across the sea.
Around him, the other passengers—werewolves, witches, shadow elves—stiffened as the first eerie note sliced through the air.
Then came the storm.
Thunder split open the sky.
Waves crashed over the bow.
Rain fell in sharp, slanted sheets.
And out of the water, rising with the foam, came screams.
The sirens.
Ferocious.
Wild-eyed.
Emerging from the storm like nightmares given flesh.
One climbed onto the side of the ship, her long wet hair clinging to her pale cheeks, her mouth stretched into a sharp, hungry grin. Another launched toward the mast, shrieking.
Chaos erupted.
Supernatural beings armed themselves—claws extending, spells crackling, amulets glowing.
Varun exhaled slowly, blocking out everything except the rhythm in his ears and the beat of his own pulse.
His hand reached back…
fingers grazing the bow…
drawing a single arrow from the quiver.
A storm of sound, wind, and screams whirled around him, but Varun's gaze remained steady.
He notched the arrow.
Pulled the string.
A breath. A stillness.
He fired.
The arrow sliced through the rain, glowing faintly with the protective sigil etched along its shaft. It struck the siren climbing over the railing, sending her tumbling back into the churning sea with a hiss of rage.
Another siren lunged toward him.
Varun rolled across the deck as her claws slashed the wood where he had been standing.
The ship pitched violently, spraying seafoam into the air.
Varun rose to his feet again, water dripping from his hair, his bow already drawn once more.
All around him supernatural travelers fought with instinct and desperation, but Varun's movements were calm, deliberate… hunter precise.
The storm raged harder.
The sirens grew more frenzied.
But Varun only whispered in his thoughts:
"I have no time to fall here. Dilruba… I'm coming."
To be continued....