Everyone thought they knew who Arpan Patil was.
Backbencher. Dreamer. Quiet type.
But there were versions of him hidden between the lines. Truths no one saw because they never looked hard enough. Not even Samruddhi.
Especially not Samruddhi.
He stared at the note again. I wish I could.
Four words. But they carried a thousand knives.
He hadn't told anyone—not even his closest circle—that he'd started catching feelings. That she had started looking at him differently. That the world had gone soft around the edges when she was beside him.
And then, just like that, she disappeared.
Something inside him shifted. A snap. A click. Like a lock finally turning.
That night, Arpan didn't go home.
He went underground.
Literally.
A small back alley behind the bakery near Ganesh Chowk led to a basement café—an abandoned game parlour turned hangout for those who lived outside the rules. A place where people spoke in whispers and deals were made with eye contact alone.
He walked in without a word. The others looked up, then nodded.
Because here, Arpan wasn't the backbencher.
He was Ghost.
The strategist. The fixer. The boy with the silver tongue and the mind sharp enough to carve kingdoms from chaos.
"Didn't think we'd see you again," said Rudra, leaning back in his chair, cigarette balanced between his fingers. "You've been soft lately."
"I was distracted," Arpan said, sliding into the seat across from him. "But that's over now."
"You want back in?"
Arpan smirked. "I never left."
He pulled the note from his pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table. Rudra scanned it, then raised an eyebrow.
"Girl trouble?"
"Maybe," Arpan said. Then his voice dropped a notch, smooth and cold. "Or maybe someone thought they could use her to get to me."
Rudra leaned forward, serious now. "You think it's connected?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Arpan said. "Find out where she went. Who pulled her out. I want every name, every number. Anyone who even breathed in her direction."
There was silence.
Then Rudra grinned. "Damn. That girl really messed with your head, didn't she?"
Arpan didn't smile back.
"She opened a door," he said. "Now I'm burning the whole hallway."
—
Three days passed. Clues surfaced.
A transfer request with no signature.
A school report wiped clean from the database.
A teacher who flinched when her name was mentioned.
And then, a whisper.
From a second-year kid who owed Arpan a favor.
"She didn't transfer. She was taken."
That night, Arpan stood on the rooftop of his building, the city stretching out before him like a chessboard.
He pulled out his phone. Dialed a number saved under no name.
The voice on the other end was sharp. Tired. Dangerous.
"You said you'd never call again."
"I lied," Arpan said. "I need you."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going hunting."
There was a pause.
"Who's the target?"
Arpan's eyes narrowed.
"Whoever took Samruddhi Bhakre."
The line went dead.
And Arpan smiled.
But down in a hidden room, far from the city lights…
Samruddhi sat on a steel chair, wrists bound, lip split.
A voice in the dark whispered, almost tender.
"He'll come for you, won't he?"
She looked up, eyes filled with quiet fire.
"He's not who you think he is."
The voice chuckled.
"Oh, I know exactly who he is. And that's why you're bait."