The call came just after sunset.
Arav was halfway through pretending to study when his phone vibrated once, sharply, like it didn't want to be ignored.
Unknown Number.
He hesitated.
Then answered.
"Malhotra," a voice said. Male. Calm. Too calm.
"You don't know me. But you will."
Arav straightened. "Who is this?"
A pause.
"Someone who noticed you when you weren't supposed to be noticed."
The line stayed open.
No background noise. No traffic. No wind.
"Where did you get this number?" Arav asked.
"From a place that records patterns," the voice replied. "You triggered a few."
Arav's grip tightened.
"You shouldn't be making calls like this," he said carefully. "They don't like loose ends."
A soft laugh.
"That's the difference between us," the man said. "I don't like closed ones."
The call ended.
The screen went dark.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the pressure returned — not heavy, not sharp — but directional.
As if something, somewhere, had turned its head.
The city felt different at night.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Sharper.
Arav crossed the road near the metro line, senses tuned outward. The streetlights flickered, one by one, like they were syncing to a rhythm only he could feel.
Someone was nearby.
Not hiding.
Waiting.
He spotted him near a shuttered tea stall — tall, broad-shouldered, leaning casually against the metal frame as if this were a planned meeting spot.
The man didn't look supernatural.
That was what made him unsettling.
No distortion.
No pressure waves.
No entity resonance.
Just presence.
"You walk like someone who expects resistance," the man said without turning around.
Arav stopped a few steps away. "You called me."
The man finally faced him.
Dark jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Faint scars along one knuckle, old and deliberate.
Eyes that didn't blink often.
"Rudra Dhawan," he said. "And before you ask — no, I'm not here to recruit you."
Arav didn't relax.
"Then why are you here?"
Rudra studied him openly. Not judging. Measuring.
"Because when most people look away," he said, "you look closer."
"That's a bad habit."
"Only if you survive long enough to regret it."
The streetlight above them flickered once — then steadied.
"You've been flagged," Rudra continued. "Not as a threat. Not as an asset. As an anomaly."
Arav felt the word settle.
Anomaly.
"I didn't ask for attention."
"No one worth watching ever does."
A bus passed nearby, briefly breaking the silence. When it was gone, Rudra's voice dropped.
"You think the system is there to protect people," he said. "It isn't."
Arav met his gaze. "Then what is it for?"
Rudra smiled, thin and humorless.
"To decide who gets to keep existing as they are."
A chill crawled up Arav's spine.
"You're testing me," Arav said.
"Yes."
"For whom?"
Rudra didn't answer immediately.
Then: "For myself."
He stepped back, already disengaging.
"You'll be contacted again," he said. "Or you won't."
"That's it?" Arav asked.
Rudra paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"One piece of advice," he added. "If someone ever tells you your visibility is being reduced… ask who's allowed to see you."
Then he was gone — merging into the city without haste, without secrecy.
Just absence.
Arav stood there long after the street returned to normal.
Inside his chest, something shifted — not a warning, not a command.
A confirmation.
Pattern Recognition : Expanded
External Variable Identified : Non–Institutional
No recommendations followed.
No restrictions.
The system didn't interfere.
For the first time, Arav realized why.
Some threats weren't meant to be contained.
They were meant to collide.