The ambush came at midnight.
Kabir’s convoy was headed to the docks, three black SUVs slicing through the rain.
Meher had insisted on coming. He told her no. She came anyway.
They never saw the second car.
Didn’t hear the bullets—until they were inside the glass.
Kabir pulled her down as the back window exploded. Gunfire lit the night like fireworks from hell.
“Stay down!” he shouted, shielding her with his body.
But Meher wasn’t listening.
She grabbed the gun from the floor, kicked open the door, and fired back. Her hands shook, but her aim was deadly.
Two men fell.
One got back up.
He rushed toward Kabir—and Meher stepped in front of him, pulling the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
The man raised his knife—
And slashed.
Meher screamed as the blade tore across her arm, blood spilling fast.
Kabir tackled the attacker, smashing him to the ground with brutal force. The man didn’t get up again.
“Meher!” Kabir knelt beside her, eyes wide with panic. “You’re bleeding—”
“It’s fine,” she gasped. “Just a cut—”
“You’re not fine!” His voice broke, hands trying to stop the blood.
She looked at him then—his trembling hands, the way he wouldn’t stop touching her like she might vanish.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered.
“I almost lost you,” he said. “And that… terrifies me.”
She didn’t cry.
But when he kissed her forehead with blood on his lips—
It was the first time it didn’t feel like war.
It felt like love, dressed in fear.
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