𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-71

Rudraksh stood where he had been for the last few minutes, unmoving.

The straight, dark blue jeans sat easy on him, while his white shirt clung faintly to his skin from travel and humidity, its sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A brown leather watch circled his wrist, catching the light every time he shifted his grip on the trolley handle. His light brown boots rested firmly on the pavement, dusted from hours of roaming an unfamiliar city.

A half-empty water bottle dangled from his other hand, fingers loose around the plastic; he hadn't realised when he had last taken a sip. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the moving mess in front of him.

Vardhaman paced back and forth like a trapped current, phone glued to his ear, words tumbling over their mother's urgent voice. He looked like a younger, more unsettled version of Rudraksh – same jeans, nearly the same tall height – but dressed lighter, in a white hooded T-shirt, the cap pushed back as his hand repeatedly raked through his hair.

Rudraksh watched him in silence.

Then, realising he had been absent-mindedly swirling an empty water bottle for the past few minutes, he shifted his weight and turned toward the dustbin standing across the pavement, near a tree.

"STEP ASIDE!"

Something moved at the edge of his vision.

A bike tore down the pavement itself, slicing through the narrow space meant for people.

Without thinking, he crossed it in a single stride.

The bike swerved. Brakes screeched. The front wheel twisted—and the balance gave way.

The rider went down with it.

"Careful!" a couple of pedestrians shouted, rushing forward on instinct.

Rudraksh stood frozen near the boundary wall, pulse hammering, eyes locked on the fallen rider. One step closer, one second later, and it would have been blood and bone torn open on the pavement.

He snapped out of it and moved. The anger came quick and sharp, riding on the back of what could have happened. His jaw clenched as he stopped beside the fallen bike, his gaze dropping first to the girl, then to the machine lying on its side.

"What the hell do you think you're you doing?" he lashed. "This is a pavement. Not a road."

The girl tried to sit up, wincing as she shifted her weight, one hand braced against the ground, the other hovering near her shoulder. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, helmet nowhere in sight.

"Are you hurt?" he asked immediately after, the anger ebbing as quickly as it had come. He crouched slightly, eyes scanning her arms, her side, her face – searching for blood, for something worse than the sharp pain drawn tight across her expression.

His jaw was still clenched when he added, more harshly than he meant to, "Do you realise how close that was?"

The girl didn't answer. Her teeth were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as she shifted again, a sharp breath escaping her as her hand moved to her lower back.

Around them, the space began to close in.

People gathered, drawn by the fall, by the noise. Glances turned into stares. Whispers thickened into opinions. Judgement travelled faster than concern ever did.

"These teenagers," an elderly man muttered, shaking his head slowly. "Till today, only these reckless boys were pulling stunts. Now even these girls are following their path."

"True, sir," a woman joined in at once. "Just this morning, the newspaper was filled with road accident and death reports." She scoffed, gesturing sharply toward the girl. "There's no fear of losing life in these teenagers' eyes. Only thrill and adventure."