Athavan stepped out of the AD Tech Building, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. The brown Bentley, owned by Raghavan, was already waiting at the entrance, engine purring like a well-fed panther. The driver—an experienced operative from Raghavan's Unit—gave a small nod through the windshield.
Fifteen minutes left before his promised return home.
Athavan moved swiftly, opening the back door and sliding into the leather seat. Just as he was about to give instructions, he spotted Drona Singh jogging toward him, coat flapping, briefcase in hand.
"Drona, get in. Quickly," Athavan said, calm but firm.
Without missing a beat, Drona slipped into the car. The doors locked, and the Bentley pulled away from the curb, slicing through Kuala Lumpur's night traffic with silent precision.
"You can begin now," Athavan said.
Drona nodded. "The police confirmed it—Navin was behind the sabotage. He hired Muru from Gang Nagas to execute it."
Athavan's fingers tapped against his knee. His face remained unreadable, but his mind churned. Navin was just an entitled brat—but Muru's involvement? That reeked of something bigger. Gang Nagas didn't move unless someone very powerful gave the nod.
"Any ties to Raja Sekaran?"
"Nothing direct," Drona said. "So far, it looks like petty jealousy. I don't think this was part of any deeper plan."
Athavan frowned slightly. "Keep digging into Raja Sekaran's finances. I already know from our previous work that he orchestrated Vasanthan's downfall. I want every connection to Vasanthan's family traced and documented."
His voice was steady, but there was a razor edge underneath.
"One more thing—look into Dhiviya's education funding."
Drona blinked. "Her education? Why?"
Athavan exhaled, his eyes narrowing. "Years ago, after my mother and Dhiviya became close, she wanted to sponsor her education. But it turned out Dhiviya already had a scholarship… from an NGO. That NGO was a front for a human trafficking ring. They offered full scholarships, but after graduation, forced students into cheap labor using hidden contractual clauses.
"My mother asked me to take them down. I did. Everyone was freed, including Dhiviya. The contracts were nullified."
Drona's face turned grave. "Then what's the problem now?"
"At the family dinner, Raja Sekaran claimed he had funded Dhiviya's education. And now he's demanding she work for him to repay that 'debt.'"
Drona's eyes darkened. "He tricked them into believing they owed him?"
"Exactly. He turned their gratitude into a fake obligation. I want to know how he did it. Who helped him. If he has people inside the university system or NGOs, I want names."
"Understood," Drona said, his voice crisp. "I'll begin right away."
The Bentley cut through the city, streetlights flickering past like ghostly sentinels.
Five minutes left.
Meanwhile, at home…
Dhiviya sat curled on the couch, a cushion clutched to her chest, eyes locked on the wall clock.
Five minutes left.
Would he really make it?
Her heart thumped in her chest—ridiculous and loud. She felt like a teenager again. Silly. Giddy. Ridiculously hopeful.
Was this what love felt like?
She'd never experienced anything like it before. And this man… this odd, brilliant, maddening man... was beginning to mean too much to her.
"Stop being silly," she whispered to herself, even as a smile tugged at her lips.
Just knowing he'd be home soon made everything feel… safe.
Elsewhere in the neighborhood…
A group of young men loitered by the entrance, laughing and smoking. Their chatter died as soon as they spotted Athavan approaching.
One of them, a well-known local nuisance, narrowed his eyes. He hated Athavan. That dhoti-wearing, yogi-looking outsider didn't belong here. And Dhiviya—his Dhiviya, in his mind—had married that guy?
"She should've married someone local," he grumbled, watching Athavan rush toward the building.
An ugly idea sparked in his mind.
What if he didn't make it in time?
What if Dhiviya saw that he wasn't as reliable as he pretended to be?
The troublemaker stepped forward, deliberately blocking Athavan's path.
"Oi! You think you can just—"
He never finished.
Athavan moved—no, launched—with supernatural grace.
In a blink, he leapt onto a nearby wall, kicked off, and landed meters ahead. His dhoti barely fluttered. His body was a blur, a phantom streaking through shadows.
He scaled balconies like a shadow, hopping from ledge to ledge until he reached the fourth floor in seconds.
The boys froze, stunned.
One of them stammered, "D-Did you see that?"
The troublemaker stood pale and shaking, his smirk long gone.
That… wasn't human.
One minute left.
Athavan reached the door and rang the bell.
Inside, Dhiviya jumped up, heart skipping.
The bell.
She ran and flung the door open.
There he was—sweat on his brow, slightly breathless… but smiling.
"You actually made it," she breathed, half in disbelief.
Athavan grinned. "I always do."
She smiled and stepped closer, brushing away the sweat on his forehead with her dupatta. Her touch was tender, careful.
"Come in. I'll get you some water."
As Athavan stepped inside, he cast one last glance down at the boys still standing motionless at the entrance.
He smirked.
Then shut the door.
Inside the apartment…
Dhiviya handed him a glass of water, still trying to calm the storm in her chest.
"So… what were you up to?" she asked, casually.
Athavan took a sip and leaned back, his tone teasing. "Just handling a few things."
She narrowed her eyes. "Always mysterious, ah? You think that makes you more attractive?"
He chuckled softly, unreadable as ever.
Dhiviya sighed, but her heart was floating.
"He's… becoming more human," she thought. "Not the same stone-faced stranger I met back then."
No, this was someone warmer. Someone… hers.
The End