With a flash of light that felt like someone had taken a selfie with the sun, I found myself standing smack in the middle of a highway. Not just any highway—a creepy, deserted one that looked like it had been abandoned by civilization and left to the ghosts of road trips past. The place was unfamiliar, yet it had that weird *I've-seen-this-in-a-movie* vibe. You know, the kind where the protagonist wakes up in the middle of nowhere and immediately regrets all their life choices.

The night was so quiet it was almost oppressive. The kind of silence where you can hear your own heartbeat and start wondering if it's plotting against you. The highway lights flickered like they were auditioning for a horror movie, casting long, spooky shadows that danced on the asphalt. Trees lined the road, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, whispering secrets I was pretty sure I didn't want to hear.

I turned around, disoriented and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. One minute I was in my room, holding a magical pen that probably belonged to a wizard, and the next, I was standing on a highway that looked like it hadn't seen a car since the invention of the wheel. The only sign of life was a solitary highway sign that read **NH3**, swaying like it was trying to wave me over. *Thanks, but no thanks.*

I pinched myself hard, because apparently, that's what you do when you think you're dreaming. The sharp pain made me hiss. Nope, not a dream. This was real. I was really standing in the middle of nowhere, wearing my comfy track pants and cotton t-shirt—because, of course, I had to be transported to another dimension in my pajamas. *Great.*

Just as I was contemplating whether I should start walking or start crying, the distant roar of engines broke the silence. I turned around and—oh, joy—three black SUVs were barreling toward me like they were late for a villain convention. Their headlights cut through the darkness like laser beams, and the sound of their engines was deafening.

My brain went into full panic mode. *Move!* it screamed. But my legs were like, *Nah, we're good here.* So there I was, frozen like a deer in headlights, except the deer probably had better survival instincts.

The SUVs were closing in fast, their tires gripping the asphalt with a vengeance. I could see the drivers now—grim-faced men who looked like they'd never smiled a day in their lives. Time slowed down, as it always does in these situations, and I braced myself for impact. *This is it,* I thought. *I'm going to die in my pajamas on a highway. Grandma's going to be so mad.*

Just when I thought my life was about to end in the most undignified way possible, a sleek black motorcycle came out of nowhere, weaving through the SUVs like it was playing a game of *Frogger*. The rider was dressed head-to-toe in black leather, looking like he'd just walked off the set of a badass action movie. Even hunched over the bike, his tall frame was obvious, and his helmet gleamed under the flickering streetlights, giving him an almost superhero-like aura.

The bike screeched to a stop inches away from me, the engine growling like an angry beast. "Get on," the rider commanded, his voice deep and impatient, like he didn't have time for my existential crisis.

"Huh?" I gasped, because apparently, my brain had decided to take a vacation.

"I said, get on. Or do you have a death wish?" he snapped, his tone making it clear that he wasn't in the mood for small talk.

A jolt of fear surged through me, and without thinking, I swung my leg over the bike. My movements were clumsy, like a baby giraffe learning to walk, but I managed to get on. The rider handed me a helmet—small, feminine, and covered in scratches that suggested it had seen its fair share of near-death experiences. I fumbled with the straps, my hands shaking so badly I thought I might drop it. Finally, I got it on, just as the SUVs revved their engines behind us.

The bike roared to life, leaping forward like it had been shot out of a cannon. I let out a yelp, my hands instinctively grabbing the rider's shoulders for dear life. The wind whipped against my body, reminding me that I was still in my pajamas. *Great. Just great.* If I survived this, I was going to have a serious talk with that pen about its timing.

Glancing back, I saw the SUVs in hot pursuit, their headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath, because what else do you say when you're being chased by mysterious black cars on a deserted highway?

As if hearing my curse, the biker leaned forward, urging the bike to go even faster. The scenery around us became a blur—lights, shadows, and the occasional tree that looked like it was judging my life choices. The bike swerved through narrow alleys and took sharp corners at breakneck speed, the tires screeching in protest. 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.

We shot out of the alley into a broader street, the sudden change in terrain making the bike's suspension jolt. The SUVs were still behind us, their engines roaring louder, closing the distance. I opened my eyes, the cityscape flashing by in a series of disjointed images—graffiti-covered walls, flickering neon signs, and the occasional pedestrian who looked like they'd seen this kind of thing before.

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 maneuver, 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.

Finally, we veered off the highway and into a quiet colony at the edge of the road. The SUVs' engines grew fainter behind us, their headlights disappearing into the distance.

The bike slowed down, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

This place was neither alive nor dead. It hung in a strange, in-between state, like a forgotten memory that had lost its color. The buildings around me stood tall, but they didn't feel grand or comforting. They were old, worn down by time, their walls cracked and faded into dull shades of gray and brown. There was no charm here, no warmth but just a heavy, tired feeling that seemed to seep into everything.

Street vendors were still at their stalls, but their voices were flat, lacking the usual energy that made you want to stop and buy something. The string lights above them flickered weakly, as if they were too tired to shine properly. It felt like even the lights had given up.

People moved around, but there was no hurry in their steps, no joy in their laughter. A group of men stood outside a closed shop, talking in low voices. Every now and then, their sharp eyes flicked toward me, and I felt a small shiver run down my spine. It wasn't just curiosity in their gaze, it was something sharper, more guarded.

A little further ahead, a woman in her forties was packing up her vegetable stall. Her face was lined with exhaustion, her movements slow and deliberate. She stuffed wilted greens into a sack, her lips pressed tightly together, as if holding back words she didn't have the energy to say. I couldn't help but wonder what had drained her so much. Was it the place? The life she led? Or something deeper, something she carried inside her?

At the corner, a small tea stall stood under a flickering bulb. The owner, an old man with silver hair and deep wrinkles etched into his face, poured tea into glasses without any real interest. Beside him, a boy who seems to be no older than ten sat cross-legged on the ground, counting coins in his small hands. His fingers trembled slightly as he whispered numbers to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The sound of the coins was soft, almost soothing, but it didn't last. Suddenly, the old man's hand came down hard on the boy's head. The boy winced but didn't make a sound.

"Count properly, idiot," the old man snapped. "How many times do I have to teach you?"

The boy ducked his head lower, his small hands scrambling to rearrange the coins as if that would fix everything. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line, and his shoulders hunched like he was bracing for another hit.

My chest tightened, a strange ache spreading through me. I wanted to step in, to tell the old man to stop, but I felt stuck, like an outsider who didn't belong here. The boy's quiet suffering felt too familiar, too raw, and it left me with a hollow feeling I couldn't shake.

Just then, a teenager on a bicycle zipped past, moving too fast for the narrow lanes. His face was dark with anger, his eyes fixed ahead like he was running from something. He skidded to a stop in front of a small house, kicking up dust as he jumped off the bike. Without a second thought, he shoved the gate open with so much force that the rusted hinges groaned loudly. He disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him with a bang that made the windows rattle.

The sound echoed in the quiet street, and for a moment, everything felt even more still, more heavy, I couldn't shake the thought that something here was deeply, deeply wrong.I stood there, watching the dust settle, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

The boy at the tea stall, the woman with her vegetables, the angry teenager.....it all felt familiar, like I'd seen it before.

But where?

Before I could grasp the thought, a voice broke through the haze.

"Get down."

The biker's command pulled me back to the present. He brought the bike to a halt with a smooth, practiced ease.

I slid off the bike, my legs unsteady. My feets hit the uneven pavement, and I took a moment to steady myself. The cool night air brushed against my flushed skin as I removed my helmet and looked up.

Time seemed to slow as the biker took off his helmet, shaking out a cascade of tousled hair that fell messily across his forehead. My breath caught in my throat. He wasn't just handsome—he was the kind of beautiful that makes you question every life choice that led you to this moment. Like, why was I standing here in my pajamas, looking like I'd just rolled out of bed, while this guy looked like he'd stepped out of a high-budget action movie?

His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of amber, the kind of color you'd expect to see in a fancy whiskey ad. They were framed by thick, dark lashes that made his gaze even more intense, like he could see right through my soul and was mildly unimpressed by what he found. His skin was a warm bronze, smooth and flawless, with a natural glow that made me wonder if he moisturised with actual sunlight. His hair, tousled from the helmet, was a rich, deep brown with hints of gold that caught the light, falling in effortless waves across his forehead. It was the kind of hair that made you want to run your fingers through it, but also the kind that made you feel like you'd need to ask permission first.

His lips were perfectly shaped, a tantalizing mix of softness and strength, their fullness promising both tenderness and passion. I mean, who even has lips like that? It's not fair. 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, which, let's be honest, was doing a lot of work. His jeans were rugged and well-worn, emphasizing 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. Meanwhile, I was over here trying not to trip over my own feet.

"Hi, I'm Raghuvaran, but you can just call me Raghu tho," he said, his voice smooth and deep, like melted chocolate. 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. It was the kind of smile that made you want to trust him, but also made you wonder if he was about to sell you a timeshare.

"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. It was like he knew a secret I wasn't in on, and he was waiting for the perfect moment to drop the bomb.

"Welcome to your story, Aarushi,"