Author's POV:

Night wrapped Mumbai in neon and noise—but Veer wanted none of it.

By the time the clock slipped past midnight, the restlessness in his veins had turned sharp, 

unbearable. Sitting still felt impossible. Thinking felt worse.

He stood up abruptly, grabbed his jacket, and made a decision he usually avoided.

Tonight, he would waste himself.

The club.

Rudra didn't even question it. If Veer was spiraling, Rudra followed—always had.

The moment their car pulled up outside one of Mumbai's most high-profile clubs, chaos followed like a shadow.

Flashes.

Shouts.

"VEER—ONE LOOK PLEASE!"

"THIS SIDE, VEER!"

Paps swarmed instantly, cameras clicking like gunfire. Veer slipped on his practiced expression, 

posed briefly, jaw sharp, eyes cold—gave them just enough to survive on.

Inside the car again, the door slammed shut.

Veer exhaled harshly.

"I fucking hate this. Inko pata kaise chal jaata hai har baar?"

Rudra laughed, looping an arm around Veer's neck dramatically.

"Bhai, police ke haath aur media ki aankh se koi nahi bach pata."

Veer shook his head, muttering something under his breath as the bouncers cleared their way 

inside.

The club swallowed them whole.

Music thumped through the floor, lights slicing the darkness, bodies moving in careless abandon. They headed straight to the VIP lounge—privacy behind tinted glass.

Their  drinks arrived.

Time passed.

Glasses emptied.

Rudra didn't know when to stop.

Soon, he was slouched on the couch, words slurring, laughing at nothing, eyes barely open.

Veer, on the other hand, remained painfully sober.

The burn in his chest wasn't from alcohol.

It was from thoughts he couldn't drown.

The girl.

Again.

With a quiet sigh, he stood.

He draped his leather jacket over his shoulders, pulled up the hood, and slipped on his mask. He 

handed the car keys to the driver.

"Drop him home. I'll walk."

The driver nodded, used to this.

Veer stepped out alone.

Marine Drive wasn't far.

And at this hour—

It was peace.

The city had softened. The roads were almost empty. The sea breathed quietly under the 

moonlight, waves whispering secrets only the night heard.

He reached the curve of Marine Drive around 3 a.m.

A few people lingered—some sitting with their backs to the sea, some lost in their phones, some 

simply existing.

One figure sat facing the ocean.

Veer walked to the far end, choosing a spot away from everyone else.

Only one person sat nearby, at a distance.

They wore a hoodie, hood pulled low.

In the dim light, Veer couldn't make out their face.

He didn't try.

He sat down, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the dark water ahead.

The sea calmed him.

Always had.

For a while, he just breathed.

Ignored the world.

Ignored the noise.

Unaware...

That silence was about to recognize silence.

After sometime;

The sea was calm, almost too calm—until a sound broke the silence.

A sob.

Soft. Broken. Barely there.

Veer stiffened.

He wasn't the kind of man who interfered. He had learned long ago to mind his own business, to let strangers carry their pain alone—just like he did.

So he shouldn't have asked.

But something about that sound tugged at him anyway.

"Are you okay?" he said quietly.

No response.

He frowned, glancing sideways. Maybe the person hadn't heard him. With a small sigh, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a napkin, and extended it toward them—slowly, carefully.

The sobbing stopped.

The person turned their head.

And Veer's breath caught.

It was her.

The girl in the white kurti.

Moonlight fell softly on her face, revealing red, swollen eyes and tear-streaked lashes. The night 

was dark, but her face glowed—gentle, fragile, painfully real.

For a moment, Veer forgot to breathe.

He just stared.

She noticed the handkerchief and gently pushed it away, bowing her head instead.

Veer looked down at the napkin... then back at her.

God.

I don't even know her name.

And yet—why did he care?

"Are you okay?" he asked again, softer this time.

She looked up at him.

His mask hid everything except his eyes.

She stared at them for a second... then slowly pulled out her phone and typed something. She 

turned the screen toward him.

"Sorry... I can't hear."

Something twisted in his chest.

Hard.

Unfamiliar.

"Oh..." he muttered instinctively—then immediately realized.

Idiot.

She can't hear.

He pulled out his own phone quickly and typed.

"Sorry."

She read it, then smiled faintly and shook her head, signaling it's okay.

That smile—

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't dramatic.

It was quiet. Honest. Soft.

Veer swallowed and typed again.

"What's your name?"

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then typed and showed him her phone.

"Vani Ahuja."

Veer read it slowly.

His lips moved unconsciously.

"Vani..."

The name settled somewhere deep in his chest.

She noticed and typed again, turning the phone toward him.

"Your name?"

He looked at her face—innocence still lingering behind tired eyes, a tear clinging stubbornly to 

her lashes.

For reasons he didn't fully understand...

He lied.

He erased what he had typed and wrote instead:

"Vivaan Awasthi."

Vani read it.

And smiled.

A real smile this time.

She typed again.

"Nice to meet you, Vivaan."

Veer stared at the screen... then typed back.

"Nice to meet you, Vani."

Something inside him smiled too.

They sat in silence again.

Vani turned back to the sea, her hood slipping down, hair falling freely around her face as the 

wind teased a few strands across her cheeks.

Veer didn't know why—

But he wanted to talk to her more.

Maybe because she didn't recognize him.

Maybe because she hadn't reacted.

Maybe because she didn't know who he was.

Or maybe...

Because for the first time in years, someone felt real.

He typed again and gently tapped her shoulder.

The moment his fingers brushed her skin—

A strange sensation shot through him.

Electric.

Startling.

He pulled his hand back instantly, almost startled by himself.

She looked at the phone.

"If you don't mind... why were you crying?"

Vani studied his eyes for a long moment... then looked down and typed.

"Bas... yun hi."

Veer frowned slightly, then typed again.

"Ajnabiyon se gham baant sakte hain."

She smiled—a small, tired smile—and typed back.

"Bas... zindagi."

Veer read the word.

Life.

He typed again before he could stop himself.

"Zindagi? Jaise ki?"

She sighed, fingers hovering over the screen before finally typing.

"Meri zindagi tum sabki tarah normal nahi hai.

Main chahti hoon normal ho... par—"

She stopped.

Didn't finish the sentence.

Veer felt something tighten inside him.

He typed slowly.

"Normal hone ka matlab perfect hona nahi hota."

She looked at him.

He continued typing.

"Kabhi kabhi... alag hona hi sabse zyada khoobsurat hota hai."

Her eyes softened.

As if the words touched something buried deep.

She typed again, quieter this time.

"Mujhe bas thakawat ho gayi hai."

Veer nodded, understanding far more than he let on.

After a pause, he typed lightly.

"Tum aksar yaha aati ho?"

She read it and nodded slightly before typing back.

"Jab mann heavy hota hai."

Veer exhaled through his nose, eyes softening.

"Samundar sun leta hai."

She smiled faintly and typed.

"Haan... bol nahi sakti, sunn nahi sakti.

Par yaha lagta hai jaise koi samajh raha ho."

His fingers paused over the screen.

For a second, he didn't know what to write.

Then—

"Samajhne ke liye sunna zaroori nahi hota."

Vani looked at him again.

Longer this time.

As if she was trying to read something beyond his eyes.