All of me loves all of you.

He stood frozen in his place, and felt the blood drain off his face.


Another gunshot.


This time it was as if somewhere in his mind a switch was turned on and he made a mad dash for it. He willed his legs to move. The instinct to flee coursing through his being. He could hear his feet pounding on the cement, rhythmically.

All of a sudden, he heard a pair of foreign footsteps, and willed himself to run faster. He was being followed. His lungs were burning, but he did not stop. He could not.

Deftly making his way through the alleys, he worked his way towards the main streets. Crowd. He needed cover.

On reaching the streets he decelerated and continued to walk at a steady pace, merging well into the evening Mumbai rush.
Panic clouded his senses. Fear gripped his nerves. His agoraphobia made it hard to think straight.

The sheer terror of the shooting. The sight of blood. The dread of being discovered. The pain of loosing his friend.The burden of knowing. 

The sound of the gun being fired never stopped ringing in his ears. He could still feel the gravel on his knees from crouching under the ledge, hiding from the unspeakable terror. The image of her getting shot, burned in front of his eyes. 

The guilt of not having done anything to save her weighed heavily on him. A tear rolled down his chiseled jaw. And there was something else too. Was it regret? 

There was this strong urge to tell someone. For the world to know. For justice to be served. But having seen the person who shot her, he was sure they would get away with it. Power and money were the two perils of the Indian society.

He wanted revenge. Justice for her. Something needed to be done. This whole incident had scarred him. He was going to carry this with him for the rest of his life. He wanted to stand up for what was right. This once. No shortcuts. She deserves this. He owed it to her.