Chapter 23: The Night Everyone Broke

The night carried silence like a curse.

Across the city, two rooms, two men, two truths were breaking open together- both witnessing what they were never meant to, both shattering in ways words could never mend.

On his desk lay Arjun’s laptop, the cloned file pulled out in haste before his heart could betray him. His finger hovered on play longer than he should have, but when he finally pressed it, the screen flickered alive.

Grainy footage.

The hum of static.

And then- the blurred lights of the club, the hollow ring of laughter, glasses clinking, men’s voices dripping with promises too dirty to be spoken aloud.

Miles away, Kabir unfolded the crumpled page, his pulse hammering so loudly he could hear it in his ears. The paper smelled faintly of her- of ink, of tears. The first line hit him like a bullet, and he froze.

“Pathan Lala… The moment I saw him with Nikhil, my heart stopped beating. I told myself I was strong. But I forgot I was stupid too, blinded by the desire to be seen, by people, who I thought never cared. I was stupid to doubt myself and most importantly- to doubt you.”

Kabir’s jaw locked. His knuckles whitened. Rage clawed through his chest, wild and uncontained, the kind he had spent years caging, the kind that could end a man without hesitation.

At the same time, Arjun’s cigarette slipped from his lips, forgotten in the ash tray. Smoke curled uselessly upward as his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. Riya- laughing nervously, disguised, shrinking when Nikhil leaned closer. To anyone else it might have looked playful. To him, it was knives stabbing his lungs.

Kabir’s eyes dragged lower, her shaky words tearing through him again.

“At the club, the laughter, the music… and then the silence. When the jammer cut off my voice, I thought maybe… maybe they had left me. Just like before. Just like always. And the fear? It wasn’t dying. It was being unseen. Unwanted. Replaceable. I wanted to prove myself- to them, to you too- so you would stop seeing me as fragile, so you would stop worrying about me. Because I wanted you to be proud of me… even when nobody else was. I just wanted you to SEE me.”

Kabir shut his eyes. The paper shook violently in his hand. He wanted to roar, to break every bone in his body if it meant erasing those words. He burned with the urge to storm into ETF and shatter every bone of the men who had driven her to such doubt- doubt so corrosive that she turned it inward, carving wounds upon herself that no enemy’s weapon could have matched. Instead, silence strangled him. Silence was worse.

On the screen, Arjun’s throat constricted. He watched her slip into the restricted corridor, determination blazing through fear. His chest caved, his voice rasping into the dark, useless and broken-

“Don’t, Riya…”

Kabir turned the page.

“And then… Nikhil. His hand. The way he touched me- like I was a prize for his master. I wanted to fight, Kabir. God, I wanted to break his face. But my body…it froze. For the first time, I hated myself more than I hated him.”

The words bled into Kabir’s skin like acid. He could see it-her wide eyes, her stillness, her shame. And it gutted him. A soldier who had fought wars, who had stared death down a thousand times, was brought to his knees by a single truth-he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t protected her.

At that exact moment, Arjun heard it. Nikhil’s voice, a sly murmur cutting through the static: “Gift her to Badshaah.”

The frame showed his filthy hands on her. Arjun’s chair scraped harshly against the floor as he shot up. His fist slammed the desk, veins bulging, fury dripping like poison through every nerve. His scars throbbed alive-reminders of battles fought. But none hurt like this.

Kabir’s grip crushed the paper until the edges bent and tore. He wanted to hold her, to promise she’d never feel that way again. But his body wouldn’t move. His fury held him hostage.

Arjun stared at the frozen last frame- Riya fleeing the club. He whispered into the void, his voice venom, his heart ash:

“He touched her.”

Andin another room, Kabir breathed the same truth, a whisper breaking in his throat:

“He dared touch her.”

Two men.

One watching, one reading.

One with a name for his pain, one still shackled by silence.

But both burning, both broken- because of one woman.

--

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Most of the world was asleep, except for a few, one of them in a dimly lit room where papers were scattered like debris after a storm. The glow of the desk lamp pooled over Sameer Rathore, shoulders hunched, brows furrowed, pen scratching across the final draft of the report he had rewritten for the tenth time.

The words blurred, not from fatigue but from the weight of them.

An internal enquiry.

Against his own team.

His own men.

His own family.

And tomorrow, the Commissioner would read this neat, clinical summary of their failures and missteps- failures Rathore still carried like knives in his chest.

The door opened softly. He didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He knew that gentle footstep anywhere.

“Sameer…” Sonali’s voice was low, tender, but tinged with worry.

Rathore didn’t respond. He just kept writing, jaw tight, as though acknowledging her would undo the fragile control he still held.

She crossed the room slowly, her eyes falling on the stack of papers, the scribbles, the red marks of corrections. She saw the slump in his shoulders, the exhaustion that went beyond sleeplessness. She saw the man she had married- the officer first, the husband second.

“You’re still awake,” she said softly, placing a hand on his tense shoulder. “It’s past two. You need to rest.”

“I can’t.” His voice was flat, clipped. He didn’t look at her. His pen moved again, forcing coherence into a document that bled with his team’s scars.

“Sameer…” she tried again, her hand pressing gently, “Talk to me. Please. Whatever it is-”

He stopped, finally, the pen halting mid-word. He exhaled sharply, dropping it on the desk, and rubbed his face with both hands. For a moment, he just sat there, silent, before shaking his head.

“You don’t deserve this, Sonali.” His tone was quiet but firm. “You don’t deserve to carry the weight of my work. Of my failures.”

Her throat tightened. She pulled a chair and sat beside him, watching his profile-strong, stoic, yet crumbling at the edges tonight. “I’m your wife, Sameer. If not me, then who? Do you think it hurts me less to watch you break yourself alone?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes finally lifting to meet hers. And in them, she saw it- the storm, the guilt, the helplessness of a man bound to his oath more than his own heart.

“This job…” His voice cracked for the briefest second. “It eats everything. It eats relationships. It eats friendships. Trust. Peace. And I can’t bring it here too. I can’t let it eat you.”

Her chest ached at his words, because she understood. She had always understood. From the day she married him, she knew she was marrying not just a man but his battles. That his silences would sometimes be longer than his words. That his loyalty to the badge would sometimes weigh heavier than his love for her.

And still, knowing all of it never made the nights any easier.

Her hand brushed his. “It already does, Sameer. Every time you push me away, it eats me too. That’s the part no one tells you when you marry a man in uniform-how you share the loneliness without ever sharing the war.”

He stared at her, guilt flickering across his features, but he said nothing.

What could he say?

That she was right?

That every decision he made bled into their marriage even when he tried to keep it out?

Instead, he reached for her hand, squeezed it briefly, and whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes softened, but she smiled faintly, sadly. “Don’t be. This is our life, isn’t it? I chose it with you.” She rose, leaned down, and kissed his forehead, lingering there as though hoping her touch could ease even a fraction of his burden.

She turned away before he could see the tears she refused to shed in front of him. And Rathore, left in the dim pool of his desk lamp, watched her go with a hollow ache in his chest.

The pen was still on the desk. The report still unfinished. But the weight on his shoulders, he knew, would never leave, not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.

--

The click of the door broke Kabir’s trance. He stiffened, but he didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He felt her. He always did.
Her presence slipped into the room like fragile air, gentle, hesitant, but undeniable.

Kabir stood by the window, a soldier carved from stone, staring at the mocking stillness of the city lights. His shoulders were rigid, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached, chest rising and falling too fast. He had read every word. Every wound she had confessed in that letter. And now they weren’t hers alone, they were his, branded into him like fire across skin.

Riya’s footsteps wavered behind him, uneven, betraying fear, longing, and something else she couldn’t name. She stopped just short of him. He didn’t move. How does a soldier look at the one he swore to protect and admit he failed?

But bitterness whispered back, she had failed him too. Failed his trust. Failed the fragile promise between them. Why had she carried the burden alone until it broke her? Why hadn’t she come to him before she shattered them both?

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, gathering courage from the tatters of her resolve. She rose on her toes, her perfume cutting faintly through his storm. She pressed the lightest kiss to his cheek.

Kabir’s breath stilled. His head snapped, eyes widening at the touch.

“Congratulations, Major Kabir,” she whispered, forcing a trembling smile, fighting to wedge mischief into the cracks of her pain. “I read your entry. You got promoted, huh? So… I’m now dating a very rich national hero?”

Her lashes quivered with unshed tears, but she smiled anyway- for him.

Kabir’s chest constricted, sharp and ragged. And in that instant- her innocence, her desperate attempt to patch his wounds while her own bled- split him wide open. But what poured out wasn’t relief.

It was rage.

At her.

At himself.

At the abyss yawning between them.

He turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Don’t. Don’t you dare try to cover this with a smile, Riya.”

The venom cut her, her smile faltering. “Kabir…”

“Do you have any idea what it did to me- reading this?” His fist slammed against the glass, the thud shuddering through the room. His voice tore raw from his throat. “Every word you wrote, every scar you carried in silence- I felt them rip through me. And you…” his voice broke, bitter, “…you didn’t think I deserved to know? You let me find out like this?”

His chest heaved as the words ripped out of him. “And you… you walk into fire like some reckless fool, thinking you’ll come out untouched.”

Her breath hitched. The admission cut sharper than his anger. “Kabir… please… I didn’t want to add to your burden, not when you already…”

“You don’t protect someone by breaking yourself!” he roared, stabbing the air between them. “You don’t bleed alone and call it love. You don’t suffer in silence and call it strength. You don’t keep secrets from me, Riya. Not from me.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean?” His laugh was sharp, bitter. “You panic every damn time I go on a mission. You can’t breathe until I return. And yet you, who have none of my training, none of my preparation, you walk straight into hell alone. For what? Validation? To prove yourself to men who never deserved your trust?”

She flinched as the words hit, because every syllable carried truth.

Her tears welled, but she lifted her chin, her voice breaking but steadying with effort. “And what was I supposed to do, Kabir? Every day in that office, I fight to breathe. Every word, every look from them cuts deeper than bullets. They don’t see me. They don’t want to see me. I am just a liability to them. I thought… if I could prove myself, if I could last one mission without their shadows…I’d earn my place. I had to try.”

Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to belong. You don’t understand what it feels like to be unwanted in the very place you’ve bled to reach. To be told with every look, every word, that you don’t deserve to stand where they stand. I thought if I risked it, if I succeeded, maybe I’d silence them.”

Kabir’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Silence them? You nearly silenced yourself. You think this world cares, Riya? You think this job will reward your sacrifice? No one can protect you. Not your team. Not even me.” His voice broke, his confession raw. “Even I can’t protect you.”

The words gutted her. Her breath hitched. “Kabir… don’t say that…”

He advanced a step, trembling with rage and despair. “You’re not built for this. You’re not meant for this field. And I hate myself for saying it, but it’s the truth.” His voice cracked, agony seeping through. “I love you, Riya, but this job will destroy you. And I can’t stand there and watch it happen.”

Her tears spilled, but her spine straightened, trembling with defiance. “You don’t get to take this from me. You don’t get to erase everything I’ve worked for. I studied, I worked hard, I bled for this. I belong here, Kabir. Whether anybody believes it or not.”

“Belong?” His voice dripped fury. “Belonging isn’t chasing approval until you can’t recognize yourself. And Goddamn, if you know you belong here why do you let their taunts, their bullying, their disdain drive every reckless choice you make? Belonging isn’t running undercover without training, or risking your life on pride instead of strategy. That’s not strength, Riya- it’s suicide.”

The words sliced, because they carried truth. Her knees weakened, but she held his gaze. “I just needed a chance. And you…” her voice trembled but gained steel, “even you don’t trust me!”

His fury faltered, but his voice still tore jagged. “No, Riya. I don’t doubt your heart. I doubt this fight you’ve chosen. I’ve seen war. I know what it takes. And every reckless choice you make, driven not by skill, but by pain, only drags you closer to ruin. And drags me with you.”

Her sob escaped, raw and broken. She sank onto the couch, face buried in her hands. “You’re right. I let them push me too far. I wanted so badly to prove I belonged that I forgot how to protect myself. I forgot us. I am sorry Kabir! I am sorry for whatever I have done… to you! I am really sorry to have hurt you! And I won’t be able to forgive myself for it- ever!”

Kabir’s fury finally wavered. He stood there, chest heaving, watching her break. His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper, his final wound spilling out.
“I can fight the world for you, Riya. But I can’t fight you. Not if you keep fighting me. Not if you keep fighting yourself.”

Her hands dropped, swollen eyes meeting his. She whispered through the tears, “Then help me fight right, Kabir! Please. I know I have made mistakes! I am sorry!”

For a heartbeat, something in him cracked- the soldier and the man colliding. He wanted to reach for her, to gather her broken pieces. But the storm inside him swallowed the impulse. His jaw locked.

Without a word, Kabir turned, walked to the door, and left.

The silence he left behind was louder than his rage.

Riya sat frozen, tears spilling unchecked. He hadn’t walked away because he stopped loving her. He had walked away because he couldn’t bear the way she was breaking them both.

And in that hollow quiet, realization pierced her: she had been wrong. In chasing validation, she had betrayed the one person who had already believed in her. She had wanted to prove herself to the world, but in the process, she had lost faith in them, and shaken his faith in her too.

And yet, Kabir’s words had crossed a line too. His truth was harsh, brutal, but necessary. Just as hers was. They were both right, and both wrong.

Love had not left the room that night. But trust- trust lay shattered between them, waiting to be rebuilt.

--

Kabir slammed the door behind him harder than he intended. The echo rattled down the corridor, but it still wasn’t loud enough to drown the pounding in his chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, each inhale a burn, each exhale a curse.

He walked blindly, down the hallway, past the elevators, until the walls closed in on him. His fist crashed into the plaster. A dull crack rang out, skin splitting, blood smearing against white paint. He didn’t even flinch. The pain was nothing compared to the storm ripping through him.

“What the hell did I just do?”

He had never spoken to her like that. Never raised his voice until it trembled with rage. The image of her shrinking back, eyes wide and wet, was already burning into him like acid. Guilt slashed across his chest, but so did another truth: if he hadn’t said it, if he hadn’t shattered through her illusions, she would have kept walking blind into fire.

Kabir leaned his forehead against the wall, fists braced, body shaking.

“She needed it,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “God help me, she needed to hear it.”

But then, beneath the harshness of that conviction, another voice tore at him, quieter, rawer.

“And what if she never forgives you? What if she only remembers the cruelty and not the love hidden under it?”

For a soldier who had faced bullets and knives without flinching, the thought of her shutting him out… of her heart breaking away from his… was the only fear that could unravel him.

Inside the room, Riya had not moved from the floor. The silence after his departure was deafening, suffocating. She clutched his hoodie so tightly against her chest it wrinkled into knots, her tears soaking into the fabric. The warmth of him lingered faintly on the cloth, mocking her with comfort she no longer had in her arms.

Her body trembled as sobs racked her. His words echoed mercilessly, every syllable heavy with anger but also with love too fierce for her to bear.

“You broke yourself alone… and in doing so, you broke me too.”

She had thought she was strong. She had thought silence was strength, that swallowing her pain was protection for him. Instead, she had caged herself in lies until he had to rip the bars apart with his fury.

Her heart ached, fear clawing at her ribs. “What if he leaves? What if I’ve pushedhim too far?”

But beneath that fear was another truth, softer but no less devastating: Kabir loved her beyond measure. No matter how much she faltered, no matter how recklessly she had thrown herself into danger, he had always fought for her- even when it meant fighting her. He never could leave her or stop loving her, and she knew that with every ounce of her being. His love for her was infinite, he loved her in a way she could only dream of loving him, he could break in her love.

And tonight, he had finally broken.

Riya pressed her face into his hoodie, whispering into the cloth as if it could carry her words to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to be enough…” Her voice cracked. “But I’ve only made you bleed.”

The enormity of his love drowned her, heavier than the guilt that already suffocated her. He would never leave her- she knew that now with terrifying certainty. He could rage, he could walk out the door, but he would never let goof her completely. And that truth only deepened the shame, because she had gambled with that love, taken risks not just with her life but with their life.

She curled into herself, broken, whispering through tears, “Please come back. Yell at me, hate me, punish me- but don’t leave me.”

Outside, Kabir kept walking on the roads like a lost soul, his fists bleeding, his throat raw. He closed his eyes, and all he saw was her face when she looked at him, not angry, not defiant, but shattered.

Guilt sliced through him again. He hated himself for the way he had spoken, but he hated even more the lies she had forced him to break. He wanted to run back, to hold her, to press her against his chest and promise he’d never raise his voice again. But another part of him, the soldier, the man who had watched too many reckless choices end in graves- knew he couldn’t soften now. Not yet.

“She’ll hate me tonight,” he muttered, voice breaking. “But maybe she’ll live tomorrow.”

The thought didn’t comfort him. It gutted him.

Neither of them knew how long they would stay apart that night. But both hearts bled the same truth in silence:

They were broken.

They were furious.

They were drowning in guilt.

And yet- they were bound by a love too unyielding to ever truly let go.

--

Kabir didn’t know how far he’d walked until the neon glow of a secluded bar caught his eye. His lips twisted bitterly. Riya hated when he drank. She had once taunted him mercilessly for his “other Scotch,” swearing the golden retriever had better manners than him after a drink. But tonight, guilt drowned every promise he had ever made her. Tonight, he was nothing but broken.

He pushed the door open and let the stench of alcohol and dim smoke swallow him whole.

“One Scotch,” he muttered, his voice raw. Then another. Then another.

Glass after glass, he tried to drown the memories- the words in her journal, the tear smudges on the page, the phantom feel of her lips brushing his cheek. But her voice haunted him. Her smile haunted him. And every burn of alcohol down his throat only whispered louder: you failed her.

He slammed another empty glass down and ordered again, when movement caught the corner of his eye. A familiar silhouette. Broad shoulders. A face equally ruined by guilt and rage.

Arjun.

Their eyes met across the bar.

No words.

No explanations.

Only recognition.

The kind that comes when two men have seen the same ghost and been scarred by it.

Without a word, Kabir slid into the chair opposite him. The bartender brought another round.

And there they sat.

Two men.

Two drinks.

Two silences thick enough to crush them.

One drowning in guilt for failing to protect her.

The other consumed by fury for not being allowed to claim her pain.

The Scotch kept pouring. The silence never broke. But the storm inside both brewed darker, heavier, threatening to consume them whole.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Just the sound of liquid pouring, of ice clinking, of their shared silence, the kind that didn’t need introductions.

Kabir smirked, head tilted, voice rough.

“Look at us… ACP. What a pair, huh? Defenders of the nation… warriors… and here we are-drowning like… like gutter rats.”

Arjun huffed a bitter laugh through his nose. “At least rats run when it’s on fire. We… we stay. We burn.”

Kabir stared at him for a beat, then clinked his glass against Arjun’s, too hard, spilling a little. “To burning, then. Cheers, Yaar.”

“Cheers,” Arjun muttered, his eyes already glazed, but the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

The alcohol loosened Kabir’s chest, and the words spilled unbidden.

“You know, there’s a kind of… madness. When you love so much… it stops being love. It’s fire. It’s hunger. It’s…,” his voice cracked, then rose louder, “-it’s the kind that makes you wanna rip the world apart if someone touches what’s yours.”

Arjun froze mid-sip, glass resting at his lips. The words sliced him open. He swallowed, slowly, like dragging glass shards down his throat.

Kabir slammed his glass down. “And the worst part?” His laugh was jagged, humorless. “You can fight terrorists, armies, shadows- hell, you can kill without blinking. But you can’t fight your own damn guilt. That’s the enemy that… that sleeps next to you, eats with you, breathes in your chest.” He leaned forward, voice breaking down to a whisper, “That’s the one that wins.”

Arjun didn’t reply. Couldn’t. His fingers flexed around his glass so hard, the veins in his hand popped. He tilted his head back and let the Scotch scorch him raw, but only one face… one laugh… one pair of wide eyes danced in his blurred vision.

A ghost.

A curse.

Kabir glanced sideways, noticed the storm in Arjun’s silence. He chuckled bitterly.“ You get it, don’t you? I can see it. You’ve… you’ve got that look. The look of a man who’d kill a hundred times over, not for himself… but for someone else.”

Arjun finally spoke, voice hoarse, drunk but sharp enough to cut.

“I’d kill a thousand.”

Kabir let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Ha! That’s it! That’s the truth. That’s the only truth left for men like us.” He raised his glass again, words slurring but eyes gleaming with fire. “Not medals. Not promotions. Not… bloody justice. Just the… just the sweet satisfaction of watching the ba****ds who hurt your own… choke on their last breath.”

Something in Arjun’s jaw clenched. His silence roared louder than words.

They drank again, glasses clinking, hands trembling, breaths uneven.

And then, humor slipped in, sloppy but sharp.

Kabir nudged Arjun with his shoulder, smirking. “You know what, ACP? You’re not half as scary when you’re drunk. In fact…,” he squinted, exaggeratedly serious, “I think you’re almost… cute.”

Arjun turned to glare, blinking through the haze, lips twitching. “…You’re drunk.”

“Damn right, I am.” Kabir grinned crookedly, pointing at him. “But so are you. And that’s the beauty of it- we’ll forget all this tomorrow.” He paused, eyes softening unexpectedly. “…Or maybe we won’t. Maybe some things, no amount of Scotch can wash out.”

Arjun met his gaze. For a second, a fragile second, they weren’t Major and ACP, weren’t officers, weren’t strangers bound by shadows. They were just two broken men, bleeding in silence, finding company in each other’s ruin.

Arjun finally muttered, almost to himself, “You talk too much.”

Kabir smirked, leaning back against his stool, eyes half-shut but voice steady. “And you… don’t talk enough. Maybe that’s why the universe put us on this barstool together. Balance, Yaar. Balance.”

Their laughter, bitter, slurred, cracked, spilled into the empty bar.

But beneath it, two truths throbbed unspoken:

Both carried the same ghosts.

Both burned with the same fire.

And though neither knew it yet, they were no longer carrying it alone.

--

The bar had grown silent. The jazz had long since died, the bartender half-dozing, but the two men remained- Kabir and Arjun, hunched over the counter, shoulders heavy with liquor and shadows.

Empty glasses stood like fallen soldiers before them, the last dregs of amber clinging to the rims. The room spun slow, their voices blurred, but the truths in their chests. those refused in daylight, now came tumbling out, carried by the poison in their blood.

Kabir’s head lifted, eyes glassy but burning. He let out a laugh, loud and broken, before slamming his palm against the wood.

“Damnit all- I love her! Do you hear me? I love her with… with everything I am! With the kind of madness that chews you alive and spits you out, but you crawl back anyway because you can’t breathe without it!” His voice rose, echoing in the near-empty bar, as though daring the walls, the world, the gods themselves to deny him.

“I’d fight death itself, I’d kill the sun if it ever burned her! I’d bleed, I’d burn, I’d drown-because that’s what love is for me. It isn’t… gentle. It isn’t soft. It’s a war. And I-” his chest heaved, fists trembling, “I am losing it every damn day, and I’d still choose it again!”

His words cracked, his shout dissolving into laughter, then into silence, then into a groan as he pressed his forehead against the counter, chest rising and falling like a man still at battle.

Beside him, Arjun sat still, the weight of Kabir’s words carving into his ribs. His lips parted, his throat dry, his gaze unfocused on the shimmering pool of Scotch in his glass. For a long time, he said nothing.

And then, softly, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for the hum of the fan overhead, he whispered.

“I don’t love!”

Not a shout.

Not a claim.

Just a lie forced past the bars of a man who had never allowed himself weakness. His voice was rough, cracked, like rusted iron.

“I don’t know… Maybe… because I don’t have the right. Not the strength. Not… not the fate. So I bury it here…” he tapped his chest with a shaking hand, “…like a wound that won’t close. And it eats me alive every night.”

Kabir stirred at the sound, lifting his head, eyes heavy but trying to focus. He wanted to laugh, to tease, to say something crude- but something in Arjun’s tone, that whisper torn from marrow, silenced him. For a fleeting second, theyl ooked at each other- two men drunk out of their senses, two men confessing to the void.

Kabir’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You’re worse than me, Yaar. At least I shout it. You… you bleed it quietly. That’s suicide.”

Arjun let out a dry laugh, his head finally bowing onto his folded arms. “Maybe that’s what I deserve.”

Kabir snorted, tried to lift his glass again, but his grip slipped. “To hell with deserving. Love doesn’t care about… deserving.” His voice slurred, fading, words tripping over one another. “It just… devours you. Until there’s nothing left but ashes… and madness.”

His head slumped against the counter, cheek pressed against the wood, still murmuring half-coherent declarations into the air.

Arjun, eyes already closing, whispered into the silence that followed:

“And I will carry it. Even if it kills me.”

The bartender glanced over, shook his head at the sight- two warriors collapsed over their glasses, one who had shouted his love to the world, one who had whispered his into oblivion.

And as sleep dragged them under, the night held their truths gently, like secrets carved into smoke and Scotch- raw, burning, unspoken.

--

The night stretched endlessly, every tick of the clock digging deeper into her nerves. The hotel room felt too large, too cold, without him. Kabir’s phone had been dead for hours now, every call slipping straight into silence.

Riya sat curled on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, drowning in the oversized hoodie he’d left draped on the chair. It smelled of him- faint traces of cologne, gun-powder, and something that was just him. She tugged it tighter, burying her face in the fabric as though it could answer the questions that clawed inside her.

Her eyes burned, but sleep refused to come. Every time she closed them, her thoughts circled back- her recklessness, her desperation to prove herself, her doubts… and above all, the look in Kabir’s eyes when he had walked away. That quiet storm, that pain she knew she had carved into him.

She whispered into the darkness, voice breaking, “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” but the room gave nothing back.

A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, until her pillow carried the weight of her guilt. She clutched the hoodie tighter, rocking slightly, as though the motion could soothe her racing heart.

Somewhere between guilt and longing, her body sagged in exhaustion, but her mind stayed wide awake. The clock ticked, and Riya remained as she was- wrapped in Kabir’s hoodie, alone, waiting for footsteps that never came.

--

The first thing that broke the stillness was a golden streak of dawn slicing through the dusty blinds. It fell directly on Kabir’s face, making him groan like a man struck by divine punishment.

“Who the hell… switched on the sun?” he muttered, trying to bury his head against the table.

Beside him, Arjun stirred, his usually immaculate self now… absolutely wrecked. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled at different lengths, his stubble catching the light of the sun. His head lifted lazily, eyes narrowed into slits.

“God’s revenge,” he rasped, voice hoarse from both whisky and words he would never have uttered sober.

For a second, neither moved.

Then almost in sync, they blinked, sluggishly registering the emptiness of the bar around them.

Chairs stacked.

Tables wiped.

Shutters down.

Kabir squinted. “…are we… locked in?”

Arjun stared at the door, then at Kabir, then back at the door. “…We passed out in the bar.”

A beat of silence. Then Kabir snorted. “That’s… one way to get free night stay.”

Arjun glared- or at least attempted to. But it came out more like a confused squint. “You’re an idiot.”

Kabir groaned as he staggered up.

They tested the door.

Solid.

Locked tight.

Both men exchanged a look.

“Not a problem,” Kabir muttered, cracking his neck. “We’re not ordinary men.”

Five minutes later, two highly trained officers were halfway out of a narrow bar window. Kabir shoving, Arjun cursing.

“Push, dammit, you’re stuck!”

“I’m not stuck; the window’s biased against army men!” Kabir grunted.

With one final shove, they tumbled out into the alley, collapsing on the ground like rag dolls. For a moment, both just lay there, staring at the blue sky, bruised but alive.

And then Kabir suddenly frowned. “…Wait.”

Arjun, still catching his breath, groaned. “What now?”

Kabir sat up, rubbing his temple. “Did we… pay? Is that why the bar tender had locked us?”

Arjun froze. The two stared at each other. Then, almost on cue, they scrambled up, stumbling back inside through the same ridiculous window.

The sight that greeted them-

Dozens of empty glasses. Some toppled, some still with amber traces.

Kabir blinked. “Are you sure… we did this… just the two of us?”

Arjun rubbed his forehead. “No. Just our livers.”

For a second, both just stared. Then, Kabir chuckled, low and shaky. “This… this is gonna cost a fortune.”

Arjun’s lips twitched, dangerously close to a smile.

That set Kabir off. He laughed, head thrown back, until his sides hurt. Arjun only shook his head, but the faintest smirk betrayed him.

Arjun was about to pull out his wallet when Kabir stopped him. He finally pulled out his wallet, dug out enough notes to cover what looked like a mini wedding bar bill, and slapped them on the counter.

“Zada toh nahi hain?,” Arjun muttered.

“Kam to nahi hain, I wonder!”, Kabir chuckled.

As they stepped back into the morning light, still half-drunk, half-sober, Kabir stopped suddenly. Without a word, he pulled Arjun into a crushing hug.

Arjun stiffened at first- then let out a slow breath, not returning it, but not pulling away either. There was a strange warmth in his chest. Something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

When Kabir finally let go, grinning faintly, Arjun muttered, “Don’t tell anyone.”

Kabir smirked, straightening his shirt. “Wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”

The two men walked away in opposite directions, the weight in their chests a little lighter, their bond forged in whisky, rage, and silence.

For the first time, neither felt alone in their ghosts.

--

The dawn was cruelly bright. The kind that did not soothe but mocked sleepless nights.

Arjun pushed open the door to his staff quarter, its hinges creaking into silence. The room greeted him with nothing but emptiness. Four walls. A desk scattered with papers. The stale smell of cigarettes. No warmth. No voice waiting. No soul to belong to.

He dropped his keys onto the table, the metallic clang echoing too loud in the hollow air. His chest clenched as his eyes lingered on the barren bed- sheets tucked neatly, untouched, cold. Loneliness wasn’t new, but that morning it pressed heavier, almost cruel in its weight. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring into nothing. Haunted by a face, a voice, a presence that wasn’t his to hold, yet refused to leave him.

The silence seemed to mock him, pressing sharp against his ribs. Lowering himself onto the mattress, he let the springs creak under his weight. The cold fabric offered no comfort. His chest ached with a dull, nameless longing- for a hand that wasn’t there, for a voice that never called him home. He stared at the ceiling, darkness still clinging to the corners, and let the heaviness suffocate. Nights ended the same as they began for him- lonely, cold, hollow.

Across the city, another door creaked open.

Kabir slipped inside quietly, each step weighted with the stench of alcohol and guilt. His head pounded, his throat burned, his body weary, but none of it matched the ache in his chest. He had stormed out the night before with fury, with words sharper than knives, and now the silence of their room felt like walking into a graveyard.

And then he saw her.

Riya.

Curled on the couch, head tilted awkwardly against the armrest, wrapped tightly in his hoodie as though it were the only shield, she had left. Her lashes rested against tear-stained cheeks, her face pale from exhaustion. She looked fragile, heartbreakingly so, like she had battled shadows all night until sleep had dragged her under.

Kabir froze at the doorway, his heart squeezing hard. Relief and shame collided in his veins.

Relief- because she was here, waiting, even if she hadn’t meant to.

Shame- because he had left her to fight her demons alone while he drowned in a bottle.

He stood there too long, staring, lips twitching into a tired, bitter smile that never reached his eyes.

His first instinct was to let her rest. She deserved it after what he had put her through. But as he leaned against the wall, the weight of memory hit him- Rule No. 13. The one she had drilled into their so-called “relationship manual”: no going to bed angry, no sleeping apart after a fight. Ever.

It had sounded childish when she first said it, laughing as she scribbled it down in her messy handwriting. But she had meant it. She always did. And now, standing there, the sight of her sleeping alone on the couch hit him like betrayal- not hers, but his. He was breaking their rule. He was the one undoing the thread she had so carefully tied between them.

The fight drained out of him. Defeated, he moved forward, crouching down to scoop her into his arms. She stirred faintly, murmuring in her sleep, resisting as though even in dreams she hadn’t forgiven him. But he held her steady, carrying her gently towards the bed. His breath was unsteady, laced with the bitter tang of alcohol, but his touch was careful, almost reverent.

He laid her down on the mattress, meaning to pull away, to sleep on the edge in silence. But when he tried to peel his hoodie from her grip, her fingers clung tighter, refusing to let go even in sleep. He let out a dry, broken chuckle, shaking his head. “Stubborn even now,” he whispered, though the words were more to himself. With a sigh, he surrendered, sliding under the covers beside her.

For a long moment, he lay stiff, staring at the ceiling. The pounding in his head, the bitterness on his tongue, the sting of everything he had said- it all churned inside him.

He was angry.

She was reckless.

He was guilty.

She was hurting.

And yet, the warmth of her body just inches away tugged at him.

Defeated again, he let his arm drape across her waist, a hesitant touch at first, then firmer, pulling her into the curve of his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips brushing her hair in a sigh that was part apology, part surrender.

And Riya, though her lashes stayed shut, was awake. Her heart pounded unevenly as his weight pressed against her, his warmth enveloping her. The sharp sting of alcohol clung to him, a scent she despised, yet tonight it twisted her heart differently. He had gone to it because of her. Because of their fight. Because she had broken them both.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she kept them sealed, pretending to sleep. She could feel the tension in his body, the guilt in his uneven breaths. He was holding her as though she were all he had left, and in some cruel way, she believed it. He was drunk, angry, guilty- but he had come back. He had chosen not to leave her alone.

Her own chest tightened. She wanted to push him away, scream at him for vanishing, for drinking, for hurting her. But the weight of his arm across her waist, the sound of his breath at her neck, it told her he needed this as much as she did.

And so she lay there, torn between suffocation and solace, pain and relief. Her eyes tightly shut, tears refusing to fall. He held her as though she were all he had, and she let him believe she slept, drawing comfort from the one thing they could still manage despite the wreckage of the night: staying.

In that moment, Kabir felt something Arjun would give anything to feel.

Not loneliness.

Not emptiness.

But home.

And somewhere across the city, Arjun closed his eyes against the cold silence of his own bed, longing for what Kabir already held in his arms.