Chapter 2: Blood, Bullets, and Cadbury

The alley behind the abandoned mill was soaked in silence—until gunfire cracked through the air.

Veeresh Rathore stood over his rival, Saif Ahmed, blood on his gloves, eyes wild with the kind of rage only betrayal could summon.

> “This city belongs to me,” Veeresh whispered before pulling the trigger.

Saif’s lifeless body crumpled.

But before Veeresh could step back, he felt it—pain. Sharp. Hot. Right through his side.

Bang.

One of Saif’s men had fired from the shadows.

Veeresh spun, shot back, hitting the man in the throat. But the damage was done. Blood gushed from his abdomen. He staggered, pressing his hand to the wound.

> “Call...the boys,” he muttered into his earpiece.

But his vision blurred. Sirens. He had to get out. He couldn’t be found like this.

---

He limped through the back streets of Indiranagar, the rich red of his blood staining the midnight silence. Then he saw it—a small medical clinic, dimly lit. Empty. Almost closed.

He stumbled to the door, shoved it open, and collapsed onto the nearest chair.

> “Sir! Sir!” a soft, worried voice called out.

Veeresh opened his eyes—barely.

She was standing in front of him, wearing a pale blue nurse uniform, hair tied, hands trembling.

Poornima.

She had no idea who he was.

> “What… happened?” she gasped.

“Don’t… ask,” Veeresh muttered, his head spinning.

She saw the blood. The gun tucked under his coat. Her eyes widened—but she didn’t run.

Instead, she took a breath and said the words that surprised even him:

> “I’m a nurse, sir. Please… let me help.”

---

She pulled him into the emergency room with more strength than he expected. Her hands were warm. Gentle.

> “You’ve been shot. Through the side. The bullet's not too deep—thank God.”

Veeresh watched her as she snapped on gloves, pulled out sterile tools, and worked with laser focus. Her hands trembled only slightly when she saw the bullet wound—raw, bleeding, brutal.

> “I have no anesthetic right now. I’m sorry, sir. This will hurt.”

Veeresh nodded once, jaw clenched.

She dug in.

He grunted, gripping the metal table so hard it bent slightly. But he didn’t scream.

Blood spilled. She wiped it.

And then—the bullet clinked into the tray.

> “Got it,” she whispered.

She cleaned the wound, pressed gauze, stitched him up with practiced ease, and finally wrapped the bandage tightly.

> “You’re okay now, sir,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“But you need rest. Please… don’t move too much.”

Veeresh stared at her. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with something unreadable.

No one had touched him like that in years—with care.

She didn’t ask who he was.

Didn’t flinch at the blood.

Didn’t run from the gun.

She reached into her drawer and handed him something, almost childishly sweet.

A small Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate.

> “This helps. I always carry one after a tough shift,” she smiled nervously.

“You look like you need it more than I do.”

Then she turned, not even waiting for a thank you.

---

Seconds later, the heavy sound of black SUVs echoed outside.

His men rushed in, guns drawn, ready to kill—but froze seeing her calmly walk past them.

> “He’s inside. He’s… stable,” she said quietly.

They stared in confusion.

Veeresh didn’t speak. He simply walked out slowly, helped into the car by his guards.

But as he sat inside the SUV, bleeding, broken, bandaged…

He looked down at the Cadbury in his hand.

And for the first time in years…

He smiled.