The mission had led Aisha to an abandoned shipyard at midnight. She wasn’t Aisha Khurana here — not the sweet, clumsy employee Arhan saw every morning — but a ghost in black, gun steady, mask hiding her face.
She moved silently, tracking whispers and footsteps. Her target was close.
Then suddenly — a sharp click behind her.
The sound of a gun being cocked.
Deep, husky voice (mocking): “Not very wise, darling… walking into the lion’s den.”
Her pulse raced. She turned sharply, gun aimed — and froze.
The man stood tall in the shadows, his face half-covered by a black mask, his stance confident, dangerous. His voice… felt familiar. Too familiar.
Aisha (firm): “Step back.”
He chuckled, low and amused.
Masked Man: “Bold. Pretty. Dangerous. But tell me… do you even know who you’re pointing that gun at?”
Her heart pounded. Something about the way he said it tugged at her. She forced her voice steady.
Aisha: “I don’t care. If you’re in my way, you’re the enemy.”
He stepped closer, until the barrel of her gun pressed against his chest. Instead of fear, he leaned in — daring her.
Masked Man (whispering): “Shoot, then. Let’s see if your hands obey your heart.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger — but it shook. For a split second, she hated herself for it. Why couldn’t she fire?
Their eyes locked through the masks, electricity sparking between them. Neither of them moved, neither backing down.
Finally, footsteps echoed nearby. Both of them turned instinctively, realizing the mission was bigger than this standoff. In that moment of distraction, he grabbed her wrist and twisted the gun away.
Masked Man (low, intense): “You’re playing a dangerous game, angel.”
She pushed him back hard and vanished into the shadows, heart racing, breath uneven.
And as she disappeared, the masked man — Arhan — stood rooted, watching her. He touched the spot on his chest where her gun had been aimed and muttered to himself:
Arhan (dark smile): “Whoever you are… you feel too much like her.”
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