Avni sat quietly on the chair legs crossed, her eyes casually watching the door swing shut behind him. No emotion, no questions. Just silence.

Her gaze flicked toward the untouched plate of food on the table. He had cooked it himself… but hadn’t taken even a single bite before walking out, answering Sanjay’s call like it was an order.

Before leaving, Guru had already made a quick call to Soori and Jai, telling them to reach the house immediately. He wasn’t about to leave Avni alone—not now, not when danger lurked at every corner.

He drove through dim lanes until he reached the spot Sanjay had mentioned. It was exactly what he expected—one of those dirty, low-lit party halls, crawling with men drunk out of their minds. Loud music, half-dressed dancers, and the stench of alcohol mixed with sweat.

Guru stepped inside calmly, his eyes adjusting to the flashing colored lights and chaos. He scanned the room, ignoring the lewd cheers and whistles, until his gaze landed on Sanjay—relaxing in a plastic chair, glass in hand, watching the girls dance as if he were the king of hell.

Guru took a step forward.

But before he could reach him, one of the dancers suddenly swayed into his path, brushing her fingers against his arm with a fake smile.

He stopped.

For a second, he said nothing.

But when she tried to touch his face again, his hand shot up—tight fingers wrapping around her wrist in silent irritation. His jaw clenched slightly, but his eyes stayed cold, unbothered.

That was when Sanjay laughed.

Loud. Shameless. Like a man watching his favorite circus unfold.

The sight of Guru, standing in the middle of filth, trying to remain unaffected—only made his laughter to grow more.

He simply let go of the dancer’s wrist with a sharp flick and continued walking toward him.

He stopped a few feet away.

"Bhai, apne bulaya...?" (Brother, did you call me?) Guru asked flatly, his tone carrying no emotion—neither irritation nor respect. Just a hollow formality.

Sanjay, still chuckling, leaned back in his chair like a man soaking in power. He didn’t respond right away—he just kept laughing, eyes gleaming with sick amusement as if he had waited all night for this moment.

Finally, the laughter died down. He gave a casual nod and patted the empty chair beside him.

Guru’s eyes flicked to the seat, then back to Sanjay. Without a word, he lowered himself into it, the plastic groaning faintly under his weight. He didn’t belong here, and both of them knew it.

Sanjay raised his glass again, still grinning. With a half-wave toward the stage, he gestured loosely.

He had seen this a thousand times—cheap thrills bathed in strobe lights and desperation. Loud music. Bare skin. Empty laughter. For others, it was entertainment. For him, it was just background noise.

He lived in this world. Grew up in it. Knew its every shade of darkness.

But not everything here thrilled him.

Some men came here to escape. To forget. To feel alive.
Guru? He was just... here. Existing.

His jaw clenched slightly. Breath steady. Eyes distant.

He scanned the far around, his mind already ticking. Sanjay hadn’t dragged him here for this circus. There was always something more. Something darker behind that crooked smile.

"Guru, tujhe inme se koi pasand aayi toh bata de," Sanjay leaned in, his voice loud and crude in Guru’s ear, as he pointed toward the half-dressed women swaying and grinding over drunk men. The lights above flickered like dying stars, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume.

Guru didn’t even blink.

But Sanjay wasn’t done.

"Ya phir woh toh nahi pasand aa gayi jo tere ghar par hai?" (Or is it her you’ve started to like—the one sitting at your place?) he asked suddenly, his words sharp like a knife sliding under the skin.

The question hung in the air for half a second.

And before Guru could say anything—before thought could catch up with emotion—Sanjay burst into laughter.

Sanjay suddenly fell silent, his eyes locking onto the half-dressed women dancing under flickering strobe lights. His gaze darkened—sharp, predatory—as he leaned back with a crooked smirk.

"Agar yaha in sab ki jagah woh ladki ko la diya jaye..." he muttered, his voice low but cutting, "...toh yeh sab toh use kaccha chaba jayenge. Bhook jo bhari hai."

(Had that girl been dancing here instead of them... these animals would’ve devoured her alive. The hunger in them is unbearable.)

Guru didn’t speak.
But his teeth clenched , stiff shoulder. His fists curled on his lap—tight, trembling.

Sanjay’s words were filth, but the worst part?
They were surrounded by exactly the kind of men who’d do it. Their bloodshot eyes were already peeling the dancers bare with every blink. Lust oozed from their stares like poison.

Still, Guru chose silence. He had to.

Sanjay sipped his drink, then turned toward Guru again, tongue soaked in venom.

"Sunne mein aaya... woh ladki apne baap ko dhoondh rahi hai..."
(I heard... that girl’s been looking for her father.)

Guru’s eyes flickered.

"Par dhoondh nahi payegi," he replied, voice cold and sharp. (But she won’t find him.)

Sanjay chuckled. The sound wasn’t amusement—it was mockery wrapped in malice.

"Sahil se nazdikiyan bhi badh rahi hain..."
(Her closeness with Sahil is growing too.)

And just like that—a flash: Avni’s smiling face beside Sahil. The way she had looked at him. Trusted him. Laughed.

Something inside Guru cracked, even as his face stayed stone.

Sanjay leaned forward now, voice like a knife dragged slow against skin.

"Tujhe lagta hoga... kaise aadmi hain yeh sab..."
(You must be wondering what kind of men these are...)

He waved a hand toward the dancers. Toward the drunken, grabbing hands and vacant stares.

"Par pata hai tujhe? Yeh auratein bohot majboor hain... ki inhe yeh sab karna padta hai. Aur agar hum jaise log inki majboori ka fayda nahi uthaayenge... toh yeh bhookhi mar jayengi."
(But you know what? These women... they’re helpless. They do this because they have to. And if men like us don’t take advantage of that helplessness... they’ll die starving.)

His eyes gleamed as he whispered the final blow.

"Woh ladki bhi mujhe itni hi majboor chahiye."
(I want that girl just as helpless.)

Guru’s chest rose—slow and heavy.

But still, he said nothing.

Sanjay’s wrinkled hand, veins showing under his loose skin, reached out with surprising steadiness as he forced a glass of alcohol into Guru’s hand. His gravelly voice, thick with years of venom and smoke, rumbled low in Guru’s ear—calm, cruel, and soaked in lustful intent.

“Use poori tarah se tod de, Guru… ki yahan se bhaagna kya, woh us ghar se bhi bahar nikalne ka na soche...”
(Break her completely, Guru... so that not only does she stop running from here, but she doesn't even think of stepping out of that house again.)

His lips curled into a half-smile as he took another slow sip from his own drink. The stench of alcohol mingled with his breath, but the words tasted worse.

“Abhi tak shaant the… par ab waqt aa gaya hai—baap beti dono ko rulane ka.”
(We’ve been silent long enough... but now it’s time to make both father and daughter cry.)

He chuckled softly under his breath, the sound almost drowned out by the surrounding chaos. Then, with the same rotten calm, he added, eyes sweeping the drunk crowd like a butcher looking at cattle—

“Jab tera mann bhar jaaye… toh use yahan in logon ke beech fek dena. Waise bhi, in logo ko jhootha khaane ki aadat hai.”
(Once you’re done with her… throw her among these men. They’re used to licking leftovers anyway.)

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was the kind of low, deliberate filth that made skin crawl.

Sanjay stood up slowly, joints cracking slightly as he did, and gave Guru a single heavy pat on the shoulder—almost approving.

"Yaad rakhna us reddy se itni nafrat kyu hai...agar usse badla lena hai toh uski beti ko wahi dard dena hoga jo usne tere apne ko diya hai..."

Then, without another glance, he walked toward the house nearby, his shadow stretching behind him like a dark stain. A few women giggled and followed him inside, their heels clicking on the dusty ground.

Guru sat frozen, completely still—his body motionless, but his blood roaring.

The glass in his hand trembled. His knuckles whitened, jaw clenched. And then—with no warning—the glass cracked and shattered in his grip. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance at his bleeding palm. His hand hung loosely off the chair’s edge, hidden behind him, where no one noticed the blood trickling down his wrist.

He stood up without a word, without a sound.

The air around him reeked of smoke, sweat, and perversion—but more than anything, it reeked of something he couldn’t stomach anymore.

He walked out.

Each step outside that filthy circle of hell felt heavier, louder. The suffocation didn’t lift. It grew worse.

And somewhere between the blur of honks and distant music, his heart was pounding with something he couldn’t name. Something far more terrifying than orders, violence, or Sanjay’s venom.

He knew what Sanjay wanted.

Guru walked out of that suffocating place, his steps heavy, his heartbeat louder than the filth he had just left behind. His fingers were still bleeding from the shattered glass, but he didn’t care. The night air hit his face, cold and raw, but it wasn’t enough to cool the storm inside him. He climbed into the jeep, turned the ignition with trembling hands, and drove off.

The roads were mostly empty, lit only by the dull glow of passing streetlights. His grip on the steering wheel was tight—too tight. His mind was spiraling, collapsing under the weight of Sanjay’s words. The man’s voice still echoed in his skull, cold and commanding, a poison that had already begun to rot something inside him. He had married Avni for revenge… but this? What Sanjay expected? It was something else. Something he wasn’t sure he could live with. And yet… how could he not?

His foot eased off the accelerator.

He couldn’t drive home.

He couldn’t face her.

His hand shifted to the side and he abruptly pulled the jeep over, the tires grinding against the roadside gravel. The sudden stop jerked him slightly forward. And then—he exploded.

He stepped out of the jeep, kicked the front bumper hard with the edge of his foot, the pain splitting through his leg, but even that wasn’t enough to let it out. He hit the metal again, with his fist this time, his knuckles already wounded, blood mixing with dust and sweat. The jeep stood still, but Guru was unraveling.

He stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide, lost. His thoughts were crashing into each other. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he was supposed to do, or who the hell he even was anymore.

And then his eyes landed on it.

Across the road, under a flickering neon sign, stood a small local liquor shop. Cramped. Dim. Forgotten. But at that moment, it stood like an answer. Or at least… a pause.

His gaze locked onto the bottles lined up behind the counter, as if they held the power to silence his chaos. A place to drown, even for a while.

Without thinking twice, Guru crossed the street, his steps uneven, his breath shallow, the wound in his hand throbbing with every heartbeat. The night had never felt darker.

And he walked in.

He took one of the bottles——just the strongest thing his hand could grab. He slapped the money on the counter without looking at the shopkeeper. The old man behind the counter had recognized him instantly—who wouldn't? Guru’s face was one that brought fear or reverence, depending on who was watching. But tonight… tonight he looked like a man on the edge, burning from the inside, and the shopkeeper, wise enough to see that storm, didn't say a word. He simply stepped back, silently letting the man be.

Guru walked out again into the night, bottle clutched in his bruised hand.

Yaad rakhna… uske baap se itni nafrat kyun hai? Agar usse badla lena hai toh uski beti ko wahi dard dena hoga… jo usne tere apno ko diya tha."
(“Remember… why do you hate her father so much? If you truly want revenge, you must give his daughter the same pain he once gave your own.”)

That sentence. That one line was still ringing in his head — louder than the crowd, sharper than broken glass, heavier than the world.

He had married her for revenge. That was true. But what Sanjay had suggested… was something else entirely. Something he couldn’t bring himself to do.

The first swig burned his throat like acid, made his eyes sting. The second was worse. But he didn’t stop.

He had promised himself he’d protect her dignity. That he wouldn’t let Sanjay touch her, even in thought. But now that very man had handed him the weapon — himself. Told him to break her. To ruin her.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was an order dipped in filth and cruelty—and the worst part? It was the truth that broke him. Guru had agreed to this marriage for revenge. He had promised himself he would make her pay. But not like this. Not like this.

That line—it was salt in a wound that had never healed.

Without waiting another breath, he tilted the bottle and drank. It burned his throat, scorched his insides, but he didn’t stop.

Guru’s jeep screeched slightly as it halted outside the house. The headlights dimmed, engine silenced. He didn't wait, didn't glance around. His eyes were heavy, footsteps slow, uneven. The gates creaked open, the air was thick, heavy with the night’s sins and silence.

He didn’t even try to see if anyone was around. His gaze was lowered, face hollow, blood dried over his knuckles, and a near-empty bottle left behind in the jeep.

As he stepped into the house, his legs almost gave way. He didn't look toward Avni’s room. He was too numb to remember. His only instinct was to collapse — and he did. Her door was ajar. The lights off. The faint splash of water from the washroom inside the room was the only sound.

Guru staggered in like a man possessed. He didn’t even notice whose room it was. He fell forward onto the bed, face-down, breath labored, cheek pressing against the pillow as if seeking some quiet grave.

His leg accidentally hit someone.

Startled, Avni turned on the light, her eyes widening in horror at the sight.

“Guru?” she said, almost instinctively. Her voice cracked with surprise — and something she didn’t want to name.

The sharp sting of alcohol hit her nose first, and her face twisted in instant disgust. Soori had told her — he doesn’t drink. But tonight… he did.

She took a step back, wanting to walk away. But then her eyes caught the blood. His hand — the one hanging off the bed — was smeared in red. Dried, cracked, with shards still clinging into his skin like angry thorns.

Her breath caught. She hesitated. And then slowly — carefully — she stepped closer.

“Guru…” she said softly, crouching beside the bed.

No answer. His chest just rose and fell like dead weight.

She opened the drawer silently, pulling out the first aid box they had bought together during some forgotten errand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for his hand, turning it gently. The angle was all wrong — twisted in a way that might hurt him more if left like that.

As she tried to clean the wound, a small sliver of glass embedded deep in his palm made her hiss under her breath. “What the hell…” she muttered.

But suddenly, his body tensed. Guru jerked his hand back with unexpected force and pulled it close to his chest like a stubborn child, eyes half-shut but lips moving.

“Ayee… haath nahi lagane ka… apun shaadi-shuda aadmi hai…” he slurred, brows furrowed, voice gravelly, drunk and wounded — but holding on to something deeply broken.

Avni froze for a second, staring at him, baffled and speechless.

And then, just as quickly, her eyes narrowed. Her hand reached forward again, stronger this time, catching his wrist.

“Mooh band karo. Tumhari biwi hi hoon… chup chaap so jao,” she snapped under her breath, irritation laced with an emotion.

She placed his arm back gently and started tending to his wound again trying to thing which he heard.

She sat silently at the edge of the bed, unsure if he was even aware of her presence. But as if his body could still sense her nearness, he stirred slightly—and then, without warning, his head shifted and dropped into her lap.

Her entire body froze.

Her breath hitched. One hand hovered in the air, unsure of what to do, while her eyes widened in shock. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His weight wasn’t heavy, but the moment was.

She closed her eyes for a second and let out a slow, shaky breath. Gently, she tried to move him, to lift his head off her lap and place it back on the pillow—but he wouldn’t budge. He clung to her unconsciously, like some desperate anchor, and something about that made her stop trying.

So she gave in. She let him be.

With careful fingers, she began cleaning the wound on his hand, trying not to disturb him. Her movements were precise, quiet… almost reverent. The scent of alcohol still clung to his breath, sharp and bitter, but oddly, it wasn’t that which overwhelmed her senses.

It was the stillness. The peace.

Somewhere in that drunken haze, he hadn’t found solace in the drink—but in this. In her lap, in her presence, in this quiet closeness he probably wouldn't even remember tomorrow.

And somewhere that alcohol didn’t give him peace, but this surely did.