Veeresh Deewan didn’t believe in fate.

He believed in choices — cold, calculated, merciless. The kind that made men powerful and the world bow.

But tonight… fate had walked straight into him. Literally.

He stood there under the neon haze, the city’s chaos humming in the background, holding a girl who didn’t belong in his world. Her tears soaked his shirt, her fingers clutching him like he was her last anchor in a storm.

He didn’t even know her name.

But her voice — broken, trembling — echoed in his mind like an old wound reopening.

You’re my first kiss…”

Her confession hit him harder than any bullet ever had.

She looked up then, her eyes red and glassy, her lips trembling with words that wouldn’t come. She was beautiful — not the kind of beauty Veeresh was used to, not painted or practiced — but fragile, almost innocent.

“Why are you crying for a man who doesn’t deserve you?”

The words slipped from him before he could stop them. His tone was rough, his voice low, like gravel and smoke.

She blinked, dazed. “Because… I loved him,” she whispered.

Veeresh almost scoffed. Love — that useless, dangerous illusion people used to justify their pain.

He looked at her again. She was shivering, hugging herself now, mascara smudged, eyes full of hurt.

“Come,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “You’ll get sick standing here.”

She hesitated. But something about his presence — that calm dominance, the strange safety in his danger — made her follow. He led her to his black car parked nearby, the kind of vehicle that screamed power without trying.

He handed her his coat. She took it without a word. It smelled of rain, smoke, and something sinfully expensive.

They sat in silence. The city outside kept moving, but inside the car, time stopped.

Poornima finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

Veeresh glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

“You did,” he said simply. “But I didn’t stop you.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Why?”

A small smirk curved on his lips — one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Because for once, someone touched me without fear.”

Silence. Heavy. Unfamiliar.

He started the engine.

“Where do you live?”

“Near Marine Lines…” she murmured, fighting sleep as exhaustion took over.

He drove her home, every muscle in his body strangely tense. When they reached, she turned to him — eyes half-closed, voice soft.

“Thank you… whoever you are.”

He didn’t answer.

He just watched her go — this small, broken girl who had no idea she had just collided with the devil of Mumbai.

As she disappeared into the night, Veeresh’s gaze lingered.

Something about her — her innocence, her pain, her defiance even in weakness — unsettled him.

> “Poornima…” he repeated softly after overhearing the guard call her name.

He leaned back, eyes dark.

> “The girl who kissed the devil.”

For the first time in years, Veeresh Deewan couldn’t stop thinking about someone.