Chapter 11

The city lights flickered in the distance as I trudged along the quiet road, exhaustion settling deep into my bones. My first day of work had drained me and all I wanted was to hail a taxi and head to home. But as I swallowed, my throat felt parched.

I needed something cold.

Spotting a small juice stall on the corner, I made my way inside. The air inside was slightly humid, the scent of fresh fruit lingering. A lone ceiling fan creaked above, barely making a difference in the warmth of the night. A few customers stood by the counter, waiting for their orders.

I stepped up and cleared my throat. "Can I have a watermelon juice, please?" My voice came out softer than intended.

The cashier, a young man wearing a stained apron, nodded. "Sure, coming right up." He turned, grabbing a ripe watermelon from the counter, his knife slicing through the fruit with practiced ease.

As I waited, my fingers absently toyed with the strap of my bag. My gaze wandered across the shop, past the glass-fronted fridge stocked with soda bottles and canned drinks. The low hum of traffic outside mixed with the chatter of the customers.

And then--my breath caught.

A familiar face.

Paul.

He stood near the entrance, talking to other men. My stomach twisted into knots. His posture was relaxed, but I knew better. I knew the kind of trouble that followed wherever he went.

I immediately turned away, lifting my hand slightly to shield my face. Maybe --just maybe--he wouldn't notice me.

"Here's your watermelon juice," the cashier announced, placing the cup on the counter.

I snapped out of my panic, fumbling for the money in my purse. "Thanks," I murmured, grabbing the drink and turning to leave.

I stepped outside, inhaling the cool night air. The street was quieter now, the distant honks of cars merging into the background. Taking a sip of my juice, I sighed in relief. The sweetness coated my tongue, soothing my dry throat.

I glanced at my phone. 8:50 PM.

"I have to get a taxi before nine," I muttered under my breath.

Just as I took another step, a sharp whistle sliced through the silence.

Then----

Crash!

A glass bottle shattered against the pavement just inches from my feet.

I flinched, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs. My cup slipped from my grasp, the watermelon juice spilling onto the ground.

What the--?

Slowly, I turned around.

Paul stood a few feet away, a cruel smirk stretching across his face. His two men flanked him, their gazes dark with amusement. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

"Well, well," Paul drawled, titling his head. "Look who we have here."

My blood ran cold.

"Catch her!"

The command came sharp, slicing through my panic.

My instincts kicked in before my brain could process it -- I ran.

The sound of my sandals slapping against the pavement echoed through the empty street. My breath came in short, uneven gasps, my chest tightening with fear. I didn't dare look back, but I could hear them.

Their footsteps. Their laughter. Getting closer.

A second later, another bottle flew past me, smashing against a lamppost. Shards of glass rained onto the pavement.

I let out a strangled gasp.

"I'll kill you!" Paul's voice was laced with rage.

My legs burned, my vision blurred, but I kept running. I had to get away.

Then, it happened.

A small, uneven stone caught my foot.

My body lurched forward.

Thud!

Pain exploded in my knee as I crashed onto the ground. A sharp sting ran up my leg, but I barely had time to register it before rough hands grabbed my arms.

"Got you," one of them sneered.

I trashes wildly. "Let me go!" My voice came out desperate, but their grip only tightened.

One of them laughed. "Feisty, huh?"

Desperation surged through me. I acted on instinct-- I swung my knee up, hitting one of them square in the groin.

"Ahh, f*ck!" He doubled over in pain.

I twisted, my teeth sinking into the arm of the other one.

"You b*tch!" He howled, jerking back.

I broke free, stumbling forward, but before I could run, something hard struck the back of my leg.

A wooden log.

Agony shot through me as I collapsed onto the road. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I barely had time to process the pain before I saw Paul looming over me.

His eyes burned with malice as he lifted another bottle.

I braced myself.

Then----

Smash!

The bottle shattered before it could reach me.

But not because of me.

Someone had stepped in front of me.

My breath hitched.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black. The faint glow of streetlights cast shadows over his sharp feature.

Kathir Rathore.

I could barely believe it.

His head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze meeting mine for a fleeting second before he turned back to Paul. The air around him was thick -- dangerous.

Paul hesitated, his bravado faltering. "Kathir, this isn't your problem," he tried, his voice less confident now.

Kathir didn't respond. His fingers curled into a fist, his jaw clenched. And then, without a word, he reached down and grabbed the wooden log.

Paul barely had time to react before Kathir swung it.

Crack!

The first guy crumpled to the ground.

Paul's eyes widened in horror.

Kathir's jaw tightened. "She's my employee, you f*cking idiot."

Paul swallowed. "Kathir listen we can talk--"

Kathir's glare darkened. Paul didn't wait-- he turned and bolted, his man right behind him. The only one left was the unconscious man on the ground.

Silence settled.

Kathir looked down at him, then at me. I was still sitting on the road, my leg throbbing.

"Get up," he said.

I hesitated before reaching for his outstretched hand. His grip was firm but careful as he helped me stand. Once I was on my feet, he released me and stepped back.

"Go home," he ordered, his tone unreadable.

My eyes flickering to him-- his jacket, the blood stains, the tiny shards of glass. Then, something else caught my attention.

A cigarette dangled between his fingers. He brought it to his lips, lighthing it with a practiced motion.

My stomach twisted.

Kathir smokes?

I couldn't tear my eyes away as he exhaled, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating his sharp feature. My gaze dropped to the torn fabric on his sleeve, the fresh wound underneath.

"Kathir....you're hurt," I whispered.

His brows knitted together. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"But--"

I reached out, wanting to check his injury, but he immediately stepped back, his glare turning sharp.

"I said leave."

His voice was low, firm. A warning.

I pressed my lips together. He didn't want my concern.

Swallowing my words, I nodded. Without another glance, I turned and limped toward the road.

As I finally got into a taxi and reached home, I let out a shaky breath. My body ached, my mind reeling from everything thad had happened.

I stepped through the gate, still trying to process it all.

"I think I almost died today," I muttered.

Then, a sudden realization hit me.

I forgot to thank him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I have to thank him. If he hadn't come at the right time.... I didn't even want to think about what would have happened.

I just hoped he would take care of his injuries.

The moment I stepped inside, Vino rushed toward me and hugged me tightly.

"You're home!" She exclaimed, relief in her voice.

I forced a small smile, hugging her back. The last thing I wanted was not to worry her.

"Yeah, just tired," I said. "I need some sleep."

Vino pulled back, nodding. "Okay, rest well."

As I climbed into bed, exhaustion finally settled in. My body was sore, my mind overwhelmed. But one image refused to leave me.

Kathir Rathore standing in front of me, shielding me without hesitation.

I closed my eyes.

Tomorrow, I would thank him.