With a flash of light, I found myself standing in the middle of a highway road. The place was unknown yet somehow familiar, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. The night was too dark and quiet, the kind of silence that presses down on you and makes your own breathing seem loud. The highway lights flickered sporadically, casting eerie shadows and making me feel like they might go out any second. The asphalt stretched endlessly in both directions, flanked by dense, shadowy trees that seemed to whisper secrets to one another.

Where am i ? and how did i even ended up here ?

i don't have any memory of coming here by myself then how ? 

what's happening with me and what's this place? 

I turned around, disoriented, trying to figure out what had just happened and how I ended up here. There were no vehicles or route boards to guide me, only a solitary highway sign that read NH3, swaying slightly in the gentle night breeze.

Gulping hard, I pinched myself. The sharp pain that followed made me hiss. This was no dream. It was real. I was truly in an unknown place, utterly confused and lost.

Suddenly, the distant roar of engines broke the silence. I looked around and realised with a jolt that I was standing in the middle of the road. Panic surged through me as the headlights of three black SUVs pierced the darkness, barreling towards me with terrifying speed. Their beams cut through the night like knives, illuminating the stark emptiness of the highway.

My eyes widened, my body froze and my breath hitched. The speed of the approaching cars was insane, like something out of a high-stakes action movie. I could see the details now—the sleek, ominous shapes of the SUVs, the way their tires gripped the asphalt, the slight bounce as they hit a bump in the road.

Time seemed to slow as the SUVs closed in. The flickering lights above cast long, wavering shadows and the rumble of the engines grew louder, filling my ears. My mind screamed at me to move but my legs refused to obey. Fear paralyzed me, rooting me to the spot.

Out of sheer shock, I screamed, the sound ripped from my throat and closed my eyes, raising my palms as if they could shield me from the impending collision. The roar of the engines grew deafening and I braced myself for the impact, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest.

Is this how a roamnce author  is supposed to die ? 

Just when I thought it was the end, I heard the screeching of tires and the roar of a motorcycle engine slicing through the night. I opened my eyes to see a sleek black bike weaving through the SUVs with a deftness that seemed almost otherworldly. 

The rider, clad in a form-fitting black leather jacket, rugged jeans, padded gloves and sturdy boots, moved with a grace as his athletic body sang the language of swag. Even hunched over the bike, his tall frame was evident and his helmet, a glossy obsidian, caught the glow of the streetlights, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.

The biker executed a sharp, precise turn, braking hard and making the tires screech against the asphalt in protest. He stopped just inches away from me, the bike's engine idling like a beast ready to pounce. 

"Get on," a deep, commanding voice came from behind the visor of the helmet, the tone brooking no argument.

"Huh?" I gasped, still in shock, my mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

"I said, get on. Or Do you have a death wish?" The voice was harsh, clipped and dripping with impatience.

A jolt of fear surged through me and without a second thought, I swung my leg over the bike seat, my movements clumsy and hurried. The biker handed me a small, feminine helmet, its surface scratched and worn from use. I fumbled with it, my hands trembling and finally managed to secure it on my head.

No sooner had I fastened the helmet than the bike roared to life again, leaping forward like a bolt of lightning. I let out a yelp, my hands instinctively clutching the biker's shoulders for dear life. The wind whipped against my body reminding me that I'm still in my track pants and cotton t-shirt only, which I wore to sleep after chatting with grandma.

Oh now, she must be worried for me once she learns that I'm not in the room but somewhere, unknown to even myself.

If by god's grace i left alive after all these chasing i must somehow get someone's phone to inform my grandma.

Glancing back, I saw the SUVs in hot pursuit, their headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, the expletive lost in the cacophony of the bike's engine and the roaring cars. As if hearing my curse, the biker leaned forward, urging the machine to go even faster. The scenery around us became a blur, the lights and shadows blending into a dizzying kaleidoscope.

The bike swerved through narrow alleys and took sharp corners at breakneck speed, the tires barely maintaining grip on the slick asphalt. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, each beat a drumroll of adrenaline and terror. I shut my eyes tight, feeling the rush of the chase and the cold wind stinging my cheeks. Every second felt like an eternity as we sped through the night, the roar of the engine our only soundtrack in this high-stakes escape.

We shot out of the alley into a broader street, the sudden change in terrain making the bike's suspension jolt. The SUVs were relentless, their engines roaring louder, closing the distance between us. I opened my eyes, the cityscape flashing by in a series of disjointed images—graffiti-covered walls, flickering neon signs, startled pedestrians.

The biker showed no signs of slowing down, his movements precise and controlled, as if he and the bike were one entity. With each deft manoeuvre, he managed to put more distance between us and our pursuers but the chase was far from over. I clung to him, my grip tightening, my body pressed close against his back, feeling the raw power of the machine beneath us and the unyielding determination of the rider guiding it.

The bike wove through the dark roads with a predatory grace, the roar of its engine harmonising with the wind's howl. The sound of the SUVs grew fainter behind us, a distant memory of danger. We flew past the highway and veered into a colony at the edge of the road. This place was alive, a bustling hive of activity even at this hour. 

The buildings were old but well-maintained, their weathered facades whispering stories of countless generations. Street vendors still hawking their wares, their colourful stalls illuminated by string lights. People ambled about, chatting and laughing, children chasing each other while their mothers gossiped nearby, their voices a comforting hum of normalcy.

The familiarity of the colony gnawed at me, a vague recognition tugging at my mind but I couldn't place it. My thoughts were a tangled mess, overwhelmed by the adrenaline and confusion of the night.

"Get down," the biker commanded, his voice breaking through the haze. He brought the bike to a halt with a smooth, practised ease.

I slid off the bike, my legs unsteady and my mind still spinning. I stood there, dazed, looking around with a question mark on my face, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I removed the helmet, feeling the cool night air on my flushed face. Time seemed to slow as the biker took off his own helmet, revealing a cascade of tousled hair that fell messily across his forehead.

My breath caught in my throat. He was just not handsome but—he was breathtakingly beautiful. His striking eyes, a mesmerising shade of amber, seemed to see right through me. They were framed by thick, dark lashes that made his gaze even more intense. His skin was a warm brown bronze, smooth and flawless, with a natural glow that seemed to emanate from within. His hair, tousled from the helmet, was a rich, deep black with hints of silver that caught the light, falling in effortless waves across his forehead. His lips were perfectly shaped, a tantalising mix of softness and strength, their fullness promising both tenderness and passion.

He wore a fitted black leather jacket that hugged his broad shoulders and muscular frame, highlighting his athletic build. The jacket was unzipped just enough to reveal a glimpse of a plain white t-shirt underneath. His jeans were rugged and well-worn, emphasising his long, powerful legs. Every movement he made exuded a sense of grace and confidence, as if he was perfectly at ease in his own skin.

" Hi, I'm Surya " with that he smiled and it was like the sun breaking through a storm, lighting up the darkest night. That smile reached his eyes, creating an expression that was both welcoming and slightly mischievous.

"H-hi," I stammered, still in disbelief. "I'm Aarushi."

"I know," he replied, his voice a soothing blend of warmth and authority.

His eyes twinkled with amusement and something else, something deeper that I couldn't quite read.

 "Welcome to your story,  Ms. Aarushi Shekhar."

***

Hey Folks ? ready to step in world of fiction?