The elevator doors slid open with a metallic clang, revealing the dimly lit expanse of Parking Lot A. Zeeshan’s grip on Zoya’s wrist was firm, almost predatory, as he dragged her out into the cool evening air. His focus was laser-sharp, his eyes darting around the lot as if expecting danger at every corner. He didn’t look at her, didn’t even seem to register her presence beyond the need to move her quickly and silently.

Zoya stumbled slightly under the force of his pull, her delicate bangles jingling softly against her wrist. Her breath hitched as she felt the pressure of his fingers digging into her skin. “Dard ho raha hai,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a plea for attention, for him to notice her pain, but it came out more like a whimper. She winced, trying to adjust her grip on his hand, but he didn’t loosen his hold.