LOVE AND DHARMA

26. A FEW DROPS OF BLOOD

Vijay lay on the bed, finally feeling the weight lift from his shoulders as the bandages were securely wrapped around his wounds. The day had been long, and all he wanted now was a moment of peace.

Smriti, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, entered the room. She sauntered over to Vijay, her steps exaggerated as if she were a cat on the prowl. "Feeling better, Vijay?" she purred, her voice dripping with mock seduction.

Vijay raised an eyebrow, half in confusion and half in amusement. "Uh, yeah. Much better, thanks."

Without warning, Smriti began an impromptu performance. She winked at him, then turned around and, to his utter bewilderment, gave herself a playful smack on the rear. The slap echoed in the room, and Vijay's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Smriti, what are you doing?" he asked, unsure whether to laugh or panic.

But Smriti was on a roll. She turned back to face him, jiggling her boobs as if auditioning for a bizarre dance troupe. Vijay covered his face with his hand, torn between mortification and the absurdity of the situation.

Before things could escalate any further, the door swung open, and in stormed Vrushali. She took in the scene with one glance—Smriti halfway through an awkward striptease and Vijay looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

"That's enough of that!" Vrushali bellowed.

Smriti froze, mid-strip, her hands halfway to removing the last piece of clothing. Before she could protest or even register what was happening, Vrushali marched over with the force of a hurricane and delivered a well-aimed kick to Smriti's bare ass.

The impact sent Smriti stumbling across the room, and in a slapstick twist, she tripped over the window sill, flailing wildly. With an indignant yelp, she tumbled out the window, her fall punctuated by a loud "Oof!" as she landed in a conveniently placed bush outside.

Vijay stared at the open window, his jaw slack. Vrushali dusted off her hands, completely unfazed by what had just happened.

"You okay?" she asked, turning to Vijay as if she hadn’t just launched someone out of a window.

Vijay blinked, finally letting out a bewildered chuckle. "Yeah... I think so."

"Good," Vrushali said with a satisfied nod. "Next time, lock the door."

And with that, she strode out of the room, leaving Vijay alone to process the most ridiculous series of events he'd ever witnessed.

DCP Argha stood in the dimly lit shooting range, his gaze steady as he adjusted his stance. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder, and the walls echoed with the occasional distant crack of gunfire. Standing beside the shooting board, Riya was entirely at ease, her bare ass pressed against the cold surface. She had discarded her clothes, embracing the vulnerability with a calm that only someone like her could muster.

Argha loaded his gun, his focus unbroken as he aimed at the target just inches away from Riya. She didn’t flinch, her eyes remaining on him, completely unperturbed by the situation. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a trust forged through years of working together, where danger was just another part of the job.

He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet zipped past her, embedding itself perfectly in the board right next to her. Riya remained still, only a slight smile tugging at her lips.