Arohi brushed the sleep from her eyes before dawn, nerves on edge from last night's warnings. She stared at the seminar card Aarav had given her, fingertips tracing the embossed letters. There was no escaping it now—she needed new skills, not just resilience.
After a nod from Shruti—wordless trust, fear barely hidden—Arohi changed into workout gear, tying her hair tight.
The "private security seminar" wasn't flashy. It was rugged, all rubber mats and battered lockers in the back of a community center. Inside, a dozen men and women paired off, eyes sharp, movements confident.
Kritika Singh, her knife trainer, greeted her with a nod—not warmth, but approval.
"Back for more?" Kritika asked.
Arohi nodded.
"This is Vikram," Kritika motioned to a broad-shouldered man with quiet eyes and a bandaged knuckle. "Police tactical team. You'll work with him today."
They started with drills: tackling grabs from behind, defusing basic chokeholds, blocking with wrists and elbows. Every time Arohi hesitated or flinched, Vikram slowed, explaining step-by-step, pushing her to dig deeper, not give up from pain or embarrassment.
"You're small, but speed counts more than strength here," Vikram told her after a taxing round.
An hour passed. Sweat poured. Arohi struggled through a scenario where she had to break free, scramble for a fake handgun, and make an escape.
Only on her third try, with Kritika and Vikram shouting encouragement, did she finally burst through, disarm her 'attacker,' and get out the fake door.
By the end, her forearms throbbed. Bruises bloomed beneath her sleeves.
But she stood upright, jaw squared, chest heaving with pride.
**[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Tactical Escape Unlocked. Hand-to-Hand Survival (Beginner) — 50% Mastered. Adrenal Response improved. Emotional Fortitude +1.]**
As she drank water on the sidelines, Kritika clapped her on the shoulder.
"You're not a victim; you're a fighter—if you keep showing up," Kritika said.
Arohi let herself smile—small, but real.
She returned home with new soreness and greater confidence. As she showered, the city's chaos sounded less threatening, more like background noise she was learning to ignore.
Shruti wrapped her in a towel, fussing over her bruises.
"You really don't scare easy, do you?" Shruti teased, tone gentle.
"Not anymore," Arohi replied.
But just as they sat down to breakfast, her phone flashed with another message from an unknown number.
*"Last warning. The city isn't yours yet. Choose wisely—or lose everything."*
Arohi's hand trembled—not with fear, but with anticipation. She scribbled in her diary:
*"The stronger I become, the louder they bark. Next time, I'll bite back."*
Tomorrow, she'd head to the café—ready for whatever storm, business or otherwise, threatened her new hard-won peace.