The rain hadn't stopped.
Armaan stepped inside the house, the floor instantly soaking with the dripping water clinging to his hoodie and pants. His breath came out in low, foggy huffs as he gently shut the door behind him, trying to keep the noise low — maybe quieter than his guilt.
If I'm lucky… maybe she didn't hear me come in.
But fate never really liked Armaan.
She was right there — standing at the hallway near the staircase, arms folded, a chappal already in hand like it was forged just for this moment.
He froze.
The silence was thick. The only sound was the drip-drip of water from his clothes onto the tile.
"I'm a goner," he muttered under his breath. "Thanks for everything, everyone…"
The air cracked.
"ARMAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN!!"
Thunder outside couldn't compete with that.
"Who runs away from school in the middle of the day—and during a downpour like this?! Have you lost your mind?! What were you even thinking?!"
Armaan didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
His hair was soaked and strands clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those stayed the same. Serious. Focused. Drilling through the storm of her anger like they belonged to someone who had just returned from war.
He exhaled, voice steady and calm.
"You already know I'm a Rakshak," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "So it's my duty… that whenever a danava appears, I have to take care of it."
A lie.
But he said it like it was law.
His mother's grip loosened.
The chappal hung awkwardly by her side now — not as a weapon, but as a mere object in the hands of someone suddenly unsure.
She had looked into his eyes.
And for a second, just a flicker of a moment, she had felt the same chill that Farmaan did few hours ago.
Not fear.
But something worse.
Something ancient. Something heavy.
"…What happened to you?" she asked, her voice no longer thundering — just trembling. "You think I'll believe that answer? If a danava had appeared, you'd be all over the news by now."
Armaan didn't respond.
Not a word.
Just silence.
That same, unsettling gaze in his eyes — like he had seen something no one was meant to see.
He stepped past her, water still trailing behind every step he took. No apology. No justification.
Just a ghost walking upstairs.
But before the hallway could swallow him whole, a thought clicked in his head.
"…By the way," he asked suddenly, not turning back, "who brought my bag home?"
A voice replied before his mother could.
"Go to your room, and you'll find out."
It was Sohana.
She had been standing by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
Watching.
Judging.
Armaan squinted slightly. "…What's that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer. Just smirked.
Armaan entered his room, his fingers already tugging at the knot of his soaked school tie.
The rain had left a coldness on his skin… but something else froze him in place.
Someone was there.
Sitting quietly on his bed, legs crossed, arms folded —
Alya.
She had been waiting.
His eyes widened slightly — just enough to show surprise — but his face remained still. Like the muscles didn't know how to react anymore.
"…So you're the one who brought my bag home, Alya?"
Alya gave a soft smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yeah," she nodded. "I figured you might need it… especially after running off like that."
Her smile faded though —
Her eyes caught his.
And she saw it.
That same look.
That same cold silence that didn't belong to the Armaan she knew.
"…Did something happen?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. "You just ran past everyone today… even ignored me in the hallway."
Armaan paused mid-step.
Then continued calmly, walking toward his chair, picking up a towel from the side rack. His fingers moved methodically, drying his dripping dark brown hair, which only made it look more unruly.
"…No. It wasn't anything important," he said softly.
He sat, leaning back, elbows on his thighs —
Then turned his head and met her gaze again.
"But… sorry that I ignored you. It's not like I was trying to avoid you."
His voice didn't change. His tone was serious, calm — like ripples under still water.
But the apology was real. That much was clear.
Alya's cheeks flushed red.
Her heart skipped a beat — or maybe five.
There he was, soaked in rainwater, hair a mess, eyes as cold as winter, voice as gentle as a whisper…
Yet somehow—
"How can someone be this handsome?"
The thought crashed into her like thunder.
She looked away, flustered, trying to hide the shade of crimson painting her face.
But Armaan had already noticed.
And yet, like always — he said nothing.
The room fell quiet.
Only the soft ticking of the wall clock…
…and the faint thunder outside.
But even that silence felt like it was holding its breath.
Armaan finished drying his hair, tossing the towel onto the back of his chair. He leaned back slightly, his gaze moving toward the window. The sound of rain still drummed steadily against the glass — no sign of stopping.
"…It's still pouring," he muttered.
Alya didn't respond. She was still a little pink in the cheeks, staring down at the floor like it suddenly held secrets.
Armaan stood up.
"You should have dinner with us," he said, looking over his shoulder. "If the rain slows down after that, I'll drop you home."
Alya blinked, slightly startled by the casual offer.
"And if it doesn't stop…?" she asked quietly, almost testing him.
Armaan didn't flinch, didn't hesitate.
"…Then you can stay here tonight."
His voice was neutral. Just a plain, calm suggestion — like offering an umbrella. But for Alya, it felt like a lightning strike.
Her heart was going off again.
Stay… here? With him… under the same roof…?
She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Then nodded — quickly, a little too quickly.
"O-okay."
Armaan turned his eyes back to the rain.
He wasn't blushing. He wasn't nervous. Just calm.
But deep inside that calmness — somewhere far in the silence —
Even he wasn't sure why he made that offer so naturally.
Dinner was silent.
Armaan sat at the table, surrounded by the soft clatter of plates and the faint crackle of rain dying outside. But he said nothing.
Not a word.
He kept his eyes low, chewing slowly. As if his mind was far away… drowning in something no one else at the table could see.
Alya, seated just opposite, kept glancing at him.
Even his silence felt heavier than usual tonight.
By the time the plates were cleared, the rain had faded into a light drizzle… then stopped altogether.
"I'll drop you," Armaan said, standing up from his chair.
Alya quietly followed him out.
The road was wet and slick, glistening beneath faint streetlights. Their footsteps echoed against the puddles, side by side but wordless — until something shifted.
Armaan stopped.
His brows furrowed slightly.
"…Stop."
Alya blinked, confused. "What—?"
But he was already closing his eyes.
And then — fshhhhhh—
A gust of faint golden particles blew from his body like a whisper. The next second, his clothes shimmered and vanished into the air… replaced by a black and silver uniform that hugged tightly to his frame, sleek and majestic.
At his left waist, his Aethar Blade had appeared — glowing faintly, the hilt resting in its sheath, the chain from its back swaying with gravity.
Alya's breath hitched.
She couldn't speak.
This wasn't the Armaan she had seen on TV, standing tall after clearing the Kalambhaar Cave, surrounded by flashing cameras and headlines.
This was Armaan here, right in front of her.
Real.
Breathing.
Radiating a different kind of pressure… a calm but dominant aura that almost made her step back.
Although it was the second time she was watching him in this form, it was different from last time.
Last time, it was in the metro station, when Advika had to save them when Armaan almost died while fighting the danawa.
"…It's a Shaitaan," he said coldly, looking into the distance. "Stay here."
She wanted to say something — anything.
But all she could do was watch.
And somewhere in her chest… her heart raced again.
But this time, not from admiration…
From fear.
The Shaitaan revealed itself from the misted alley.
Tall. Unnaturally tall.
Its form was grotesquely slim, as if someone had stretched a human body beyond nature's limits — skin tar-black and shining like wet leather. Its eyes were sunken voids of glowing red, and its limbs dangled longer than they should, twitching in short spasms as it moved.
Its mouth wasn't just a mouth — it was a vertical split, running from under its nose down to its neck, parting open like a flower of blades when it screeched.
Alya's eyes widened. Her body locked in place.
She couldn't even scream.
Armaan, meanwhile, just narrowed his gaze. Calm. Focused.
"I don't have time for the likes of you," he said coolly, stepping forward, his voice slicing through the night air.
"So I'll finish this… in a few seconds."
The Shaitaan flinched.
Then suddenly it leapt — unnaturally high — flipping into the air with its arms thrown back, screeching as a stream of flame burst from its throat and surged toward them like a tidal wave.
Alya froze.
But Armaan moved.
He held her by the waist gently — and then vanished.
From the Shaitaan's perspective, it was as if they had never been there.
Just empty ground where the flame crashed and exploded, incinerating the pavement.
Moments later, in a quieter street, Alya felt her feet touch the ground again. Her cheeks burned from his touch still lingering on her waist.
He hadn't noticed.
"You shouldn't show your back to your enemy," he said, now standing behind the Shaitaan.
It turned instantly.
And for the first time, it panicked.
It had sensed it — this human, this boy… no, this Rakshak was on a whole different level.
It began to run.
Fast.
But not fast enough.
Armaan sighed softly and extended his left arm. The chain of his Aethar Blade unraveled, links clinking through the air.
He spun the blade in a perfect arc — once, twice — and then released.
Shiiiing—
The blade tore through the sky like a comet, piercing clean through the Shaitaan's chest mid-air. Its body arched backward from the force, pinned in the air, its limbs writhing.
Alya gasped, still frozen in place.
"I'll be back in a moment," Armaan said quietly, not even looking back. "Stay there."
Then in a blink, he was gone.
He appeared mid-air, right above the suspended Shaitaan.
He gripped the hilt of his blade, eyes burning with icy purpose.
With one fluid pull, he yanked the blade out — then slashed diagonally across the Shaitaan's chest.
A second later — another flash of silver — and its neck was cleaved.
The creature didn't even cry.
It just crumbled — its entire body turning to black ash, scattered into the moonlight wind.
Alya was still watching.
Still stunned.
Still blushing.
But something else had changed now — her heartbeat wasn't just flustered anymore.
It was racing from something deeper.
Something new.
After Armaan landed back beside her, his breath steady and his blade already sheathed, he glanced at Alya.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice calm as ever.
Alya nodded quickly, trying to keep her blush hidden, even though her cheeks were burning. "Y-Yeah…"
He didn't notice. Or at least, didn't say anything about it.
Without a word, his Rakshak uniform dissolved into light, pieces of it fading like glowing dust around him, revealing his casual, rain-damp school shirt and tie once again. His dark brown hair clung slightly to his forehead, strands wet and wild — not that he was concerned with fixing them.
Then he turned and began walking.
She blinked, startled at first, then hurried to match his pace.
The silence stretched for a few moments before Alya finally spoke up.
"You were… different from last time," she said, quietly. "You were even faster. And stronger. Like a whole new version of yourself."
Armaan didn't stop walking, but his eyes flicked sideways toward her for a second.
"That's because I am," he replied, his tone steady, not prideful — just stating the truth. "I've been training since Kalambhaar. Every single day."
Alya looked at him, heart quietly beating faster, not just because of what she'd seen… but because of what she felt while watching it.
"It wasn't just strength," she said, her voice softer now. "It was the way you moved. Like you knew exactly what the enemy would do before it even tried."
Armaan exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Observation," he muttered. "Prediction. Instinct. It all becomes sharper the more you're exposed to danger. That Shaitaan was loud. Predictable. Weak."
"You say that like it wasn't terrifying," she said with a nervous laugh.
He didn't smile. Just looked ahead.
"…I don't have the luxury to be scared," he said. "Fear wastes time."
They walked further, the sound of their steps echoing faintly in the cool, post-rain silence. The sky was still overcast, but the wind had calmed.
Alya wrapped her arms around herself slightly. Not from cold. Just from the lingering tremor of what she'd just witnessed.
"You're still just a high schooler, you know," she murmured.
Armaan didn't respond right away.
Then he said, "Not really."
That answer made her heart squeeze a little. She glanced at him again — his face serious, unreadable as always.
"Doesn't it ever… feel heavy?" she asked. "Carrying all of that? Fighting those things… living in both worlds?"
He looked up for a moment, at the grey sky.
"It's not about what it feels like," he answered after a pause. "It's about what needs to be done."
Alya fell silent after that.
They reached her house not long after. Her gate was still wet, a trail of raindrops leading up to it.
She stopped and turned to face him.
"You could've let someone else handle it tonight, right? Another Rakshak?"
"I was closest," Armaan replied. "And besides, I didn't want it reaching your neighborhood."
Alya's breath hitched.
He said it so naturally — like her safety was just part of his routine.
Her heart thumped in her chest, harder than before.
"You're impossible," she whispered with a small smile.
"Goodnight, Alya," he said, already turning to go.
"…Armaan."
He paused and looked over his shoulder.
"You looked different today," she said. "Not just stronger. But more distant. More… alone."
He didn't reply.
Just stared at her with those drilling, unreadable eyes.
And then… he gave her a small nod.
And walked away.
Leaving Alya standing there, under the faint glow of her porch light, her hand gently pressing against her chest as her thoughts began to spiral once again — not about the fight.
But about him.