REVA's POV
Reva bolted upright.
Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the bed, but she barely noticed.
"What?" Her voice came out hoarse. "What do you mean his pulse dropped?"
Myra stood near the door, already dressed, face pale but controlled in that terrifying way doctors' kids mastered early. Their mother's voice crackled faintly over the phone from the hospital, words tumbling over each other.
"He's stable now," Savitri said quickly. Too quickly. "But the doctors want us there. Immediately."
Reva didn't wait to hear more.
She was already pulling on her shoes, hands shaking so badly she fumbled with the laces. Aarav slept on, curled on his side, blissfully unaware. She paused for half a second, watching his chest rise and fall.
Then she grabbed her bag and ran.
The night air hit her like a slap. Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.
Her chest burned as she hurried down the street, eyes darting around for a cab. Nothing. Not even a blinking yellow roof light in sight. Her phone screen glared back at her, mocking.
No cabs available.
"Of course," she muttered bitterly.
She started walking faster, heart pounding harder with every step. The road was mostly empty, streetlights spaced too far apart, shadows stretching long and wrong.
That's when she felt it.
Not saw. Felt.
Someone behind her.
Her spine stiffened. She slowed, pretending to check her phone. Footsteps slowed too.
Her stomach twisted.
She turned abruptly.
A man stood a little too close. Hoodie pulled low. Face half-hidden. Watching her.
"What?" she snapped, fear igniting into anger because fear alone was unbearable. "Do you have a problem?"
He didn't answer.
He lunged.
Everything happened at once.
A shove. Hard. Violent.
Reva stumbled, balance snapping, her foot skidding as she was thrown toward the road. Headlights flared blindingly close. A horn blared. Heat. Wind. Terror.
She barely managed to stop herself inches from the moving car.
The man ran.
Just like that. Vanished into the dark like a coward's shadow.
Reva stood frozen, chest heaving, legs trembling so violently she had to brace herself against a lamp post.
She looked up.
And froze again.
Kamyar Malhotra stood there.
Of all people.
Black shirt. Dark eyes. Expression thunderous.
She let out a shaky, humorless laugh. "You've got to be kidding me."
He strode toward her in long, furious steps. "Are you insane?" he snapped. "Do you have a death wish? Who stands in front of a moving car like that?"
Something in her cracked.
She threw her hands up. "Yeah," she shot back, voice breaking. "Maybe I do want to die."
His steps faltered.
She didn't stop.
"Because the last two days?" Her laugh turned sharp, hysterical. "They've been amazing. Truly. First, I get scolded because you decided to punch my friend. Then my father's health collapses. Then my car gets burned." Her breath hitched. "Now his pulse drops again, I can't get to the hospital, I almost get run over, and a creep decides to stalk me."
Her vision blurred.
Hot tears spilled before she could stop them.
She jabbed a finger at his chest. "So yeah. If my life ends tonight, congratulations, Kamyar Malhotra. You're the common denominator."
Silence stretched between them.
Kamyar didn't interrupt. Didn't scoff. Didn't smirk.
He just looked at her.
Really looked.
At the shaking hands she was trying to hide. At the tears streaking down her cheeks. At the fury tangled with fear in her eyes.
Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted, yanking back. "Let go of me!"
He didn't.
He pulled her toward his car instead, firm, unyielding, like he'd decided something and the world could argue later.
"Kamyar!" she struggled. "Where are you taking me?"
He opened the passenger door and practically shoved her inside, buckling the seatbelt before she could protest properly.
She slapped his arm. "Are you deaf? I asked you something!"
He slammed the door shut.
Walked around the car.
Got in.
Started the engine.
Only then did he speak, voice low and dangerously calm.
"To the hospital."
Reva stared at him, breath ragged, heart still racing.
"And don't argue," he added, eyes fixed on the road. "You're terrible at it when you're panicking."
She hated that he was right.
And worse.
She hated that for the first time that night, she felt… less alone.