HE HEARD THE cocking of the gun, and muttered silently, "Fucking hell."

So the Gods above were conspiring against him even when he was visiting his dead wife's grave. He bade another silent goodbye to Tara, and turned around to take a clear look on the miscreant.

He gasped when he realized who he was robbing, but it didn't affect his intentions much. "The ring, Sir. Give me the ring."

A very respectful robber, indeed.

"I have better things to offer than the ring. This is very precious to me." It was his wedding ring, the ring which he still wore after three years of Tara's demise. It had little star-shaped diamonds on the gold band, and it had all her light and love trapped inside. Virat would bloody well die than to give the ring to this low-born thief to be pawned off to some shop.

"I checked your wallet in the car. You don't have money, and I'm not a fool to not take something that precious. Also stealing from you, something so precious has a kick of its own, Sir." His eyes shone with a sadistic glint which clearly informed him that he didn't care if he had to kill for the ring. He would take it, no matter what.

"What if I give you money stead? Lots of it."

"Where's the sadness and adventure in that? I want to be remembered when I steal from you. Money is of little consequence to you. And to me as well, Sir." The mad man ravaged.

Virat wanted to strangle him by his neck. "Then just kill me, if you please." Of course, he was bluffing, hoping that it would prick his conscience, or that sanity would return and he would simply change his foolhardy plans.

"Okay." His hold on the gun tightened when Virat heard sound of rustling leaves nearby. He saw a woman in black looking at the ground where they stood. 

The very last thing Virat wanted was a lady to be trapped with him in such a precarious situation. Brokenhearted he was, but still a gentleman, of some sorts. "Run! Go away, woman. He is armed." He warned.

The woman looked right into her eyes for a moment—just a moment—her light colored eyes glinting as if she knew everything, omniscient of some sorts. A moment later, she flicked her gaze away, and walked closer to where they stood, her lips straightened with determination.

"Fucking hell." He mentally facepalmed. He could sacrifice his life for the ring, but the thought of someone else losing their life because he couldn't let go seemed selfish. Not much like the person Tara had fallen in love with. 

He was about to hand over the ring to the robber when he saw the woman shrug with such cold demeanor, then she bowed her head down to retrieve something from her . . . boots? Then everything happened in fuzzy, hasty, filmy scene. The miscreant winced and shrieked and cursed and fell on the ground, in the most peculiar fashion.

The robber realizing he had no hold over their lives, with his gun in the hands of the woman, got up and took a sprint through the forest with obscenities being hurled at the both of them about the gun costing a fortune.

All buster, the guy was. Virat felt a little embarrassed.

He swallowed, taking a better look at the damsel who was rescuing the knight in distress. Her face was impassive, as if kicking robbers and rescuing world famous cricketers was a part of her regular schedule.

A small part inside him wanted to be part of her schedule, and he had no idea where did that part come from. He shrugged that part away, looked at her, totally and utterly nonplussed. "I gather, I should say . . . thank you for saving my life. Thank you. Thank you so very much!"

She didn't say anything, just presented him the ring that had fallen from his hand. His prized possession. "Doesn't look worth your life, but here you go."

He hadn't even realized he had dropped, when he was left flabbergasted by her moves. 

Virat took the ring back in his hands, his hands lightly brushing hers in the process. "It belonged to my late wife. I would have given my life for it because it is priceless to me. It is a symbol of her love." And the parchment inside his pocket of his blazer—the one which said find your star, Virat.

Her eyes flickered an emotion which Virat couldn't quite decipher. Something inside him told him, one might spend a lifetime with the woman, and still would fail to figure her out. She was hard, like a statue of marbled stone of some Greek Goddess—so very unlike Tara—but here she was.

And Tara was oceans away now.

"You loved her, very, very much." She gave him an amused smile. Like she found something intangible as love amusing.

Well, they had met. She had saved his life. If this was any romantic story, then he might take it as a challenge: to tell her love was real. Not some passing fancy which someone would find only amusing. But he had stopped believing in destiny long before. 

Love had only pain. And he was incapable of loving and falling in love. One time with Tara was fulfilling but exhausting too.

Apparently, it didn't bother her much. She sauntered closer to him, and pressed her lips against his, and he felt her feverish warmth. Several moments later, she pulled away, her lips curling upwards ever so slightly that it couldn't even be qualified as a smile. She shook her head, as if she was amused by the kiss too.

Like it was a passing fancy. An entertainment of sorts. Rescuing men from robberies and kissing them at the darkest hour of night.

Then a moment later, she walked away robbing away an eventful kiss from Virat, along with the air in his lungs.

"Mad woman," he muttered again, dusting his blazer with a wistful smile involuntarily forming on his lips.