The Chase Begins

The door creaked open.

Rudra entered.

He was alone... and unbuttoning his shirt.

Jiya’s eyes widened in panic from her hiding spot. She dared not move, not even breathe.

A few minutes passed. Silence.

She slowly peeked over the couch.

He was gone.

She darted out of the room, clutching the edge of the door as if the wood itself could steady her.

She sprinted across the campus lawn, reaching the gate, chest heaving.

Suddenly — she collided with a bicycle.

Both she and the rider tumbled.

Dazed, she looked up.

Noa.

The same boy from the scribbled file.

Pale. Expressionless.

She scrambled up, shaking his shoulder.

Jiya: "Noa! Wait—what are you doing?!"

He shoved her off wordlessly and began pedaling again.

But she wasn’t done. She gritted her teeth and lunged for the cycle’s back wheel, digging her shoes in, trying to stop him.

Then—

A voice, slow and spine-chilling:

"Lady... do you need some help?"

She let go. Her body flinched backward.

A security guard stood a few feet away — smiling too wide, too long.

"Are you looking for someone... at this hour?"

He held out his hand.

His fingers were pale. His nails... slightly too sharp.

And his eyes — they didn’t blink.

The security guard’s smile never faded — it stretched, too wide for his face.

His hand still hung in the air like bait.

Jiya took a step back.

Then another.

The air turned cold. Silent.

The kind of silence where even shadows seem to listen.

Jiya (whispering):

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"You’re not... normal."

The guard’s head tilted. Slowly.

A small laugh escaped his throat, low and hollow.

Then—

He lunged.

“RUN.”

Her instincts screamed louder than logic.

She turned and bolted, her shoe pounding the stone path. Behind her, the sharp echo of heavy steps began.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

He was fast — too fast for someone his size.

He wasn’t just running — he was hunting.

Jiya raced through the deserted corridor between the arts building and the old fountain. Her lungs burned, heart hammering like a drumline.

She dodged through an open courtyard, slipping on the dewy grass, regaining balance.

Behind her — the guard was still coming.

A deep grunt. The sound of keys jingling.

And his boots — now scraping like claws across the tiles.

She didn’t dare look back.

She darted up a staircase — only to find the top gate locked.

Jiya (desperate):

"Come on, come on—"

She spun and slid down the railing instead.

The chase snaked through the dorm alley, past the garden arches, until she saw it — the one place still dimly lit.

The basketball court.

She burst into the open space, breathless, dizzy, her hair clinging to her face.

The court looked abandoned.

Only one floodlight flickered, casting long distorted shadows.

She stumbled to the center and turned — panting.

The guard walked in, slowly now, savoring the moment.

Guard (smiling):

"You students... always curious. Curiosity leads to doors. Doors lead to secrets. And secrets..."

His eyes gleamed.

"Must be buried."

Jiya stepped back — until her shoes tapped against something.

She glanced down.

A bike.

She gasped. Noa’s cycle.

And beside it — blood.

Noa was nowhere in sight.

Before she could scream, the guard surged forward.

But then—

BANG.

A basketball slammed against the pole beside them.

The sound echoed across the court like a gunshot.

Both Jiya and the guard flinched.

From the shadows, a figure stepped out — calm, poised, deadly.

From the shadows, he emerged — his red cloak billowing, black pants hugging his frame, and his white shirt half-buttoned, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest and a few scattered scars like whispered stories of war.

His messy hair danced in the wind, untamed. No glasses tonight — only his sharp, fierce eyes, burning like crimson coals as they locked onto the guard’s — unreadable, cold, dangerous.

Multiple chains hung from his neck, a silver ring gleamed on his thumb, and bracelets clinked faintly with each step — the sound of a man forged in silence and shadow.

His sleeves were rolled up, veins visible, tatoos all over his hands, hands clenched — ready.

Rudra (low, dangerous):

"Touch her again... and I’ll bury your breath in this court."

The night cracked with tension.

The guard snarled, lunging toward Jiya again.

But Rudra moved first.

With a swift step forward, he grabbed the guard’s collar and slammed him onto the ground with raw force. The thud echoed across the court.

Guard (growling):

"You shouldn’t have come here, boy..."

He twisted free, swinging a baton from his belt — but Rudra ducked, swept his legs, and knocked the weapon away.

Jiya stumbled back, eyes wide, heart thudding as she watched.

The guard charged again — this time faster, claws almost showing through torn gloves — but Rudra met him head-on with a solid punch to the jaw, then another to the ribs.

CRACK.

The guard staggered back, coughing, blood dripping from his mouth.

Rudra (through clenched teeth):

"You messed with the wrong girl."

With one final strike, Rudra spun and kicked him square in the chest, sending him crashing against the court fence — unmoving.

Silence.