It all unfolded in an instant. One moment, you were sprinting through the dimly lit alley, heart racing as you pursued the hooded figure who vanished into the night. Ravi was right behind you, adrenaline surging. Then, in a heartbeat, the man reached down a frantic, desperate attempt and hurled the bottle, and everything changed.

Panic gripped your stomach, but Ravi’s instincts kicked in were faster, he didn't think. Just acted. He tackled you to the ground, his body a shield just as a bottle exploded above you, his hand cradling the back of your head from the concrete. The sound of shattering glass filled the air, and you felt Ravi’s weight on top of you, his back taking the brunt of it.

“Ravi!” you gasped, breathless and wide-eyed, trying to process what had just happened.

“You okay, Sarge?” he grunted, wincing as he shifted.

Your heart raced at the sight of him, fear and shock. He was asking you if you were okay? He’s hurt. You reached out, trembling as you assessed the jagged shards that peppered his back. “You’re bleeding!”

He shrugged it off, a grimace flickering across his face. “It’s not that bad,” he insisted, though pain danced in his eyes. . He grimaced as you carefully pulled the glass shards from his wounds, each movement eliciting a low grunt of pain. Blood oozed, but you could see the stubborn determination etched on his face.

You had urged him to go to the hospital, but he shook his head, the idea dismissed as if it were nothing more than a passing thought. Now, the two of you sat on the floor of your home, first aid supplies scattered around you like a chaotic battlefield. The stark contrast of the sterile bandages against the dark stains of blood felt overwhelming.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it with a strained attempt at reassurance. “It’s not that bad,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying wince.