𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 45

You know how people say, "It's just one bad day, and tomorrow will be better"? Yeah, screw that. My life is basically a Netflix series where every episode gets progressively worse.

The day started with amusement park chaos, which honestly was manageable. Then came the delightful family reunion featuring my mother. And just when I thought I'd checked off all the disaster boxes—bam—attackers.

Fantastic. Truly, I deserve an award for Worst Life Plot Ever.

But the pièce de résistance? My entire family stood there, eyes wide, jaws practically hitting the floor, watching me transform into a blood-soaked assassin.

Lovely family bonding moment, right?

Their faces are a buffet of emotions—shock, disbelief, and a side order of "who the hell are you?" Dad's eyes, usually full of warmth, are hard and unreadable. My brothers? Speechless. Even Rivaan, who had to show up too, is frozen like someone just hit pause on his life.

The stench of blood clings to the air, sharp and metallic. My knuckles sting from where they've split open. The pain doesn't bother me much. What does is the way they're all looking at me—as if I'm a monster they never knew existed.

Dad is the first to break the silence. His voice is low, cold, and sharp enough to cut through steel.

"Let's go home," he said, like I'd just broken a vase instead of, you know, people's bones.

My heart sinks like a stone, and for a split second, I feel like a little kid again—terrified of disappointing him. Does he hate me now? Is this it? The final nail in the coffin of my messed-up life?

Before I could spiral further, Saad Bhai's hand wrapped around my wrist, firm and grounding. His touch was steady, unshakable, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

"Come on," he said quietly, pulling me toward his car. His tone was soft, comforting.

I moved mechanically, my feet heavy as I followed him. The others walked to their cars, the air thick with unspoken words and fractured emotions.

The car door clicks shut behind me, sealing me inside this suffocating space. I fumble with the seatbelt, my fingers trembling. The buckle slips once, twice, before I finally snap it into place.

My breath is shallow, my chest tight. The adrenaline is fading, and in its place, a gnawing ache spreads through my body.

Then I see my hands.

Blood.

Blood smeared across my knuckles, staining my skin. Small cuts dotted my fingers. But the blood wasn't mine.

I exhaled shakily, my chest constricting. My actual injuries were elsewhere, hidden beneath the numbing adrenaline. I was sure they were bleeding by now, soaking through fabric and flesh.