Page 59 of Mrs. Rathore

Silence.

A few exchanged glances. Hesitation. They didn’t want to volunteer but didn’t want to look like cowards.

Eventually, three stepped forward. Big guys. Muscle stacked on muscle. I recognized all of them. They'd faced me before and tasted defeat. The bruises probably hadn’t even faded. But they were back.

Good. Let them come. Let them try.

“Circle up,” I snapped, cracking my knuckles. My eyes locked onto the trio as the rest of the soldiers widened the perimeter, forming a ring around us.

This wasn’t a drill. This was blood therapy.

The first one charged without warning, smart. But not smart enough. His right hook came flying toward my face, and I ducked just in time. I caught his wrist mid-air, twisted hard, and spun him off balance. Before he could recover, I drove my elbow into his ribs and shoved him to the ground.

One down.

The second one was quicker already moving low, sweeping toward my legs with practiced precision. I jumped just in time, landing hard on the balls of my feet, and met his effort with a brutal punch to the ribs. He let out a sharp grunt and stumbled but managed to stay upright.

Good.

I didn’t want this to be easy.

The third came next, charging full force with a guttural yell, trying to tackle me outright like we were back on the field in combat. I met him halfway, grabbed him by the collar with both hands, and used his momentum against him, spinning and slamming him onto the hard ground with a sickening thud.

They regrouped, circling me like wolves.

And then, they all came at once.

Fists flew. Feet stomped. Shouts erupted as they tried to pin me down, to corner me. But I fought like a man unraveling. Like someone whose world was burning down and who had no intention of walking out of the flames.

Because that’s what it felt like.

I wasn’t fighting them anymore.

I was fighting my mind.

Fighting the scream trapped in my throat. The guilt buried so deep it felt like a knife twisting every time I blinked.

Every strike I landed wasn’t aimed at their bones. It was a punishment. For the text I never sent. For the silence I allowed. For the look in Ira’s eyes before she turned away from me like I was poisonous.

And for Avni… for existing. For walking into my life, for shattering the fragile balance I had, for forcing me to feel everything I’d been trying so hard to bury.

Someone shouted “Enough!”

I didn’t stop.

Blood sprayed from a nose. A lip cracked open. Someone wheezed, clutching their side. My fists were locked tight, my breathing wild and ragged. My heart thundered in my ears like drums, and I didn’t know how to stop.

A hand gripped my shoulder. It was firm and commanding.

“Aryan.”

The voice cut through the noise like a blade. Calm. Controlled. Stern.

I froze, my chest still heaving.

I turned my head slowly, vision clearing just enough to see Major Balveer Singh standing behind me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes said it all. He knew.

The remaining soldiers stepped back, bruised and breathless, their eyes on the ground.

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