Breath 14
The night had turned bone-cold.
The Indian guy took couple more steps into the empty parking lot
He’s pretty sure he heard a voice calling him.
but it was a quiet evening, the only sound comes from the gravel
crunching beneath his worn sneakers.
He checked his phone.
Damn. He forgot to charge it.
The screen was black dead.
But something in him changed.
For the first time in what felt like hours,
he could finally breathe.
His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath fogging out in the chilly air.
He rubbed his hands together,
glancing at the faint streetlights flickering above,
their halos blurred by mist.
It was eerily quiet—the kind of silence that prickled the back of his neck.
He heard the soft sound again and this time it’s coming from behind him.
He spun around, heart thudding.
And there she was.
His wife stood at the edge of the building,
half-cast in shadow,
her sari fluttering slightly in the wind.
Her face was drawn tight with exhaustion,
but her eyes... her eyes shimmered with tears.
He took a slow step toward her, disbelief painting his features.
"You... you waited for me?"
She nodded, silent tears running down her cheeks.
————————————————————————————————-
Meanwhile, inside the restaurant,
Tom shifted closer to Nick, heart pounding in his throat.
They stood in the darkened entrance of the restaurant,
the night spilling cold air around them.
The city outside buzzed low and restless,
sirens howling somewhere far away.
But right here, right now, it was just the two of them — a charged bubble of stillness.
Tom tilted his chin up, searching Nick’s face,
catching the flicker of something tender in his dark eyes.
For a heartbeat, Tom thought this is it.
Nick's hand brushed against Tom's waist, pulling him infinitesimally closer.
Tom leaned in—
—and Nick’s phone exploded with a shrill buzz between them.
Nick cursed under his breath and pulled it out of his jacket.
He glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened.
"I have to go," Nick said roughly, shoving the phone back in his pocket.
"Boss needs me. Another raid — warehouse by the freeway."
Tom blinked, trying to shove the disappointment off his face.
Nick grabbed Tom's shoulders.
His palms were warm even through the thin fabric of Tom's shirt.
"Listen. Lock up the restaurant. Don’t get out of here. Streets aren't safe tonight."
Tom nodded, swallowing the ache rising in his chest.
Nick hesitated a second longer, thumb brushing briefly over
Tom's collarbone in a ghost of a touch — then he turned and jogged across
the street to his waiting car.
Tom stared after him until the taillights bled into the dark.
——————————————————————————————————————
Without thinking, the Indian guy rushed forward,
gathering her into his arms.
She clutched him back, burying her face into his chest.
The Indian guy squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by relief,
regret, love—all bleeding together under the broken streetlights.
“I’m sorry," she whispered against him. "I had no choice."
He pulled back slightly to look at her.
“No choice for what—?"
The knife slid between his ribs so smoothly he didn’t even feel the pain at first.
His eyes widened in confusion. His body stiffened.
Then the burn hit.
He staggered backward, clutching his side.
His wife stared at him—empty, distant—as if she was already somewhere else.
A car engine revved nearby. Tires crunched the gravel.
Through the haze of pain, he saw it: a silver sedan rolling to a stop at the edge of the lot.
The passenger door swung open.
The driver leaned over—it was him. The agent from earlier—the one who
had handed her back the gold bangles.
He whistled sharply, a casual, lazy sound.
"Come on, sweetheart," he called out.
His wife didn’t look back.
She dropped the bloodied knife at her feet like it meant nothing
and ran towards the car.
The door slammed shut, and with a screech of tires,
they peeled off into the night.
The Indian guy crumpled to his knees,
his breath coming in wet, gurgling gasps.
His blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the gravel.
