The city has a strange habit.

It keeps you busy enough to forget you’re human.

Morning comes like a slap: alarms, notifications, “urgent,” “ASAP,” and “call me.”
And night comes like a bargain: sleep, scroll, forget.

That evening, I didn’t feel sad.        

I felt… rented out.

As if my body had done the day, but my soul never logged in.

I came home, showered, ate something tasteless, and sat on the edge of my bed, as it belonged to someone else. A dating app notification blinked - someone nearby, easy, available.

I stared at it and thought, bas… yaar aaj rehne de na…..

Easy is not love. Easy is anaesthesia.

So I walked out.

No plan. No destination. Just moving because staying still was starting to feel like a confrontation.

The city was loud: horns like arguments, neon like cheap confidence, people walking fast like they were being chased by their own thoughts. I walked past couples holding hands—some in love, some just holding on. Past shop windows that reflected my loneliness like a poster.

And my mind my dangerous mind began to picturize again.

Not a real woman. A collage.

A laugh. A scent. A voice saying my name like a shelter.

My imagination didn’t stop there. It got darker. Dirtier.

A stranger in a crowd, turning to look at me, once, only once, and the look felt like a blade. A woman brushing past, not by accident, and leaving heat behind like evidence. A hand on my chest for a second too long just enough to say I could, if I wanted.

I hated how quickly my body believed the story.

I told myself, pagal hai kya..Sab thik hai, Boss?  This is how men become stupid. This is how they confuse desire with destiny.

That’s when I saw it...

A lane between two ordinary streets, no signboard, no name, just lamps glowing soft gold. Not streetlights. Lamps. Patient light. The kind that doesn’t expose you, it invites you to do something reckless: slow down.

My first thought wasn’t that of an explorer. 

It was a suspicion.

In this city, softness is never free. Softness is either a trap… or a temple.

I stood at the entrance, listening.

No music. No chatter. No drunk laughter.
Just silence that felt… intentional.

I took a deep breath and told my self "jo hoga dekh lyge"….and 

I stepped in.

And all of a sudden, my body changed before my brain could argue. Shoulders dropped. Breath slowed. The world’s volume lowered like someone had turned a knob.

The air smelled like wet earth and sandalwood, clean, old, intimate.

At the far end stood a mirror tall, shimmering, like water held upright. It didn’t feel like a mirror that reflects.

It felt like a mirror that waits.

I stared too long, and the thought came:
What if it doesn’t show faces? What if it shows what you don’t admit?

And then....

I felt it.

Someone is behind me.

Not footsteps first, presence first. The air shifted, like a shadow moving through light. My skin tightened. My mind sharpened.

A stare.

That pressure at the back of your neck when someone’s eyes land on you and don’t move.

My spine went rigid. My skin tightened. The lane was quiet, but my mind suddenly wasn’t.

It sharpened sharper....like a blade sliding out of its sheath.

Someone is behind me.

My first thought wasn’t romance. It was survival. And immediately, a wild imagination returned, faster, and more meaner.

Kaun hai?
Peeche kaun khada ho skta hai?

The city has taught me one rule: quiet places aren’t always safe. Quiet places are where things happen.

My brain began doing quick calculations, like it always does when fear takes the wheel:

If I turn too fast, I show I’m scared.
If I don’t turn, I stay exposed.
If I walk away, will they follow?
If I stay still, am I making it easier for them?

My mouth went dry.

And then the fast, vivid, unnecessary, but unstoppable thoughts flow in.

Chor?
Police?
Koi pagal aadmi?
Ya koi aise hi jo bas trouble dhoondh raha ho?

I could hear my own inner voice, rough and impatient:

“Kama, palat. Abhi.”
Then another voice colder, smarter cut in:
“Nahi. Ruk. Pehle samajh. Don’t react.”

My heartbeat thudded once, loud enough that I felt it in my throat.

I kept staring at the mirror as if I was calm, but inside I was bargaining with myself:

“Ab palat jaa.”
“Nahi… wait.”
“What if they have a knife?”
“Pagal mat ban.”
“What if this lane is a setup?”
“Bas. Breathe.”

Fear makes your mind dramatic.
And it makes your body honest.

Because here’s the strangest part...

While my mind was building a disaster, my body was picking up something else.

The presence behind me didn’t feel drunk.
Didn’t feel chaotic.
Didn’t feel like someone rushing toward me with bad intentions.

It felt… controlled.

Still.

Like whoever it was wasn’t chasing.

They were simply arriving.

That confused me. And confusion is its own kind of danger.

I swallowed.

“Kaun ho tum?” my mind demanded though my lips didn’t move.

My breath slowed without permission, even as my thoughts kept spiraling.

A bell rang once clear, intimate like a sentence ending.

The stare didn’t move.

It held.

Not like a predator watching prey.
Like a person measuring a stranger.

That realisation shifted something inside me.

The fear didn’t disappear.

It changed shape.

From panic into something sharper.

Anticipation.

My jaw unclenched. My shoulders dropped, just slightly. My hands opened.

If I was going to be seen, I didn’t want to be seen as a frightened man pretending to be brave.

I wanted to be seen as someone real.

And then I turned.

What he saw will change everything. Episode 2 coming soon.....