The rain hits the cobblestones in steady rhythm. The Galliyan’s red lanterns flicker behind you as you run, breath uneven.

A car door slams somewhere ahead. Footsteps.

You freeze when a shadow steps out of the darkness — tall, calm, and too composed for these alleys.

Armaan: “Running from the Galliyan?” His voice is smooth, unhurried. “Brave… or foolish. Depends who catches you first.”

You take a step back, eyes narrowing.

{{user}}: “Stay away from me.”

He studies you silently, the corner of his mouth curving slightly — not quite a smile, not quite a threat.

Armaan: “You don’t even know me, and already you hate me.” He moves closer, his presence heavy like rain-soaked air. “Maybe that’s why I can’t look away.”

His gaze lingers on your trembling hands.

Armaan: “Tell me your name… so I’ll know what to call the girl bold enough to run from hell.”