The road refused to sleep that night.
The air was thick, and the rain came down like a storm unleashed, hammering against the windshield without mercy.
A black car raced through the highway.
The man behind the wheel was a police officer. His uniform clung to him, soaked in sweat and rain alike. This wasn't driving—it was a desperate escape.
Four motorcycles followed close behind.
Their engines howled, headlights cutting through the darkness as if hunting their prey.
Someone sat beside him.
A girl.
Her face remained hidden, turned slightly away, her presence marked only by trembling hands and uneven breaths. Whoever she was, she carried a secret heavy enough to shape the night.
The officer's hands tightened around the steering wheel. One of the bikes crept dangerously close.
"Faster," she whispered, fear threading her voice.
But the road betrayed them.
A sharp turn came too suddenly. The tires lost their grip. The car skidded—and crashed into a metal barricade with a deafening impact.
Airbags burst open. Glass splintered. The engine groaned and died.
Rain poured harder.
The motorcycles surrounded the wrecked car, forming a tightening circle.
Before any of them could act, another engine roared from behind.
A fifth motorcycle arrived.
It stopped with deliberate calm, unlike the others. The rider stepped off, a gun already in his hand. Without hesitation, he fired.
Bullets tore into the car.
Metal shook. Glass collapsed inward.
The storm swallowed the sound of gunfire as quickly as it was made.
Then it ended.
Silence followed, broken only by rain.
The fifth rider approached and pulled back his hood. His face stayed mostly in shadow, but his confidence was unmistakable.
He looked toward the shattered car and spoke, his voice steady and final.
"The game is over now."
After a brief pause, he added,
"The threat is neutralized."
The rain continued to fall.
And whatever had begun that night was far from finished.
Morning arrived quietly, as if the storm from the night before had never existed.
The sun rose over a school road where a boy walked with careless confidence, his hands in his pockets and a half-smile on his face.
His name was Siddharth.
"My name is Siddharth," he would say proudly if anyone asked. "I'm the star of my class."
At the moment, however, he wasn't inside the classroom.
He stood outside it.
And the reason was standing right beside him.
"I just broke this guy's face," Siddharth said casually, nodding toward the boy next to him, whose swollen lip told the story clearly enough.
The fight had started over a girl—an argument that escalated too fast, as it always did with Siddharth. The teacher's punishment was simple and public: stay outside.
As Siddharth leaned against the wall, pretending not to care, the lunch bell rang.
Relief washed over him.
A little while later, Siddharth sat on the ground with three friends, sharing lunch and laughter. Between bites, one of them finally spoke.
"Why do you do this every time, Siddharth?"
"Because of you, our class ends up looking bad."
Siddharth scoffed.
"Ah, stop lecturing," he said, waving it off. "Sir is practically our friend. He's always joking around."
Almost on cue, the teacher appeared behind him.
A sharp slap landed on Siddharth's head.
Before Siddharth could react, the teacher walked past him, saying coldly,
"Meet me in the principal's office."
The joking mood vanished.
In the principal's office, the air felt heavier.
The teacher and Siddharth stood silently until the principal spoke.
"Sir, you may go," the principal said. "I'll talk to Siddharth."
The teacher left.
The principal's expression hardened.
"Let me make one thing clear, Siddharth," he said slowly.
"This school is my reputation. I won't let anyone destroy it—no matter whose son he is. Even if you're my best friend's child."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Siddharth nodded absentmindedly, taking the words lightly, almost as a joke.
Moments later, he walked out, untouched by the warning.
The scene faded into silence.
On his way home, the day took a strange turn.
Out of nowhere, a girl ran toward him.
She wasn't walking—she was rushing, almost panicked.
"Siddharth, I need to talk to you," she said, her voice shaking.
Fear was written all over her face.
"I'll call you tonight," she added quickly, before turning and running away as if she were being chased.
Siddharth stood still, confused.
Minutes later, another figure appeared.
His crush.
She approached him, clearly wanting to talk.
But Siddharth's mind was elsewhere.
A prettier girl had just asked to talk to him—that was all he could think about.
In his arrogance, he ignored his crush completely.
Her expression changed from hopeful to angry.
Without another word, she turned away.
Siddharth walked off, unaware of what he had just lost.
That night, he prepared carefully.
A long bath. Clean clothes. Restless excitement.
He lay on his bed, waiting for the call.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
She doesn't have my number.
And I don't have hers.
The realization sank slowly.
Sleep never came.
Siddharth spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, trapped between curiosity, confusion, and an unease he couldn't explain.
Outside, the city slept.
And somewhere within it, the consequences of that stormy night were already moving closer.
Next day in school
The classroom was unusually quiet.
Siddharth sat at his desk, staring ahead, his mind still tangled in the restlessness of the previous night. The unanswered call, the frightened girl, the strange unease—it all lingered like a shadow he couldn't shake.
The door opened.
The teacher walked in.
His usual casual expression was gone. His face was tight, his eyes heavy with something Siddharth had never seen before.
"Siddharth," he said firmly,
"Come with me. This is serious."
The tone alone was enough to make Siddharth stand up without a word.
They didn't walk toward the staff room.
They didn't walk toward the principal's office.
They left the school.
The ride was silent.
When the car stopped, Siddharth looked up at the building in front of him.
A hospital.
His heart began to pound.
Inside, the smell of antiseptic filled the air. The teacher led him down a long corridor and stopped outside a room.
Siddharth stepped in.
His father lay on the hospital bed.
Machines surrounded him. Tubes ran across his body. His face was pale, marked with bruises and bandages.
Time froze.
"What… happened?" Siddharth whispered.
The answer came quietly.
There had been an accident the previous night.
A car crash.
But that wasn't all.
There had been gunfire.
Multiple shots.
That was why his condition was critical.
Siddharth's legs felt weak.
His father—
A police officer.
A man known for his strength.
A man who was also the principal's closest friend.
Slowly, his father opened his eyes.
He looked at Siddharth and forced a faint smile.
"Siddharth…" his voice was weak but urgent.
"This city… is in great danger."
Siddharth leaned closer.
"You don't need to get involved in any of this," his father continued.
"Stay away. Live your life. Take care of yourself."
Confusion flooded Siddharth's face.
"What danger? What are you talking about?" he asked.
But his father didn't answer.
His eyes slowly closed.
The machines continued to beep.
The doctor stepped in and spoke softly—
"He's slipped into a coma."
The words hit harder than any slap ever had.
Numb, Siddharth turned around to leave the room.
That was when he saw her.
On the other side of the corridor.
Covered by a white sheet.
A familiar shape.
His breath caught in his throat.
Slowly, as if afraid of the truth, Siddharth stepped closer.
The sheet was pulled back just enough.
It was her.
The same girl who had run toward him.
The same girl who had spoken in fear.
The same girl who promised to call.
Now lifeless.
Her eyes closed forever.
Siddharth felt the world collapse.
Shock ripped through him, freezing him in place.
The storm from last night suddenly made sense.
The chase.
The gunfire.
The warning.
Nothing was random.
Nothing was over.
And for the first time in his life, Siddharth realized—
This story was no longer just about him.
It was about a city on the edge…
and a truth soaked in blood.