Asma stood rooted in place, eyes still wide in disbelief. Her heart was pounding, and her mind was struggling to process what had just happened. Today had been a real eye-opener—one she could never have expected.
Her best friend, Layla—the girl she had always thought of as weak and fragile, constantly falling sick and needing rest—had just fought off four grown men like it was nothing. Effortlessly. Fearlessly.
Asma's voice was shaky, almost as if she were waking up from a dream. "Wha… What just happened?"
Layla dusted off her skirt calmly, her composure completely intact. She looked at her watch and said, in an utterly normal tone, "You're getting late for your bus. Your mom might get worried."
That was it. No explanation. No dramatics. As if the entire confrontation a few minutes ago had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"What more are you hiding from me?" Asma blurted out, stepping in front of Layla, blocking her path. "You used to act so dumb, so foolish. Weak and fragile, always getting sick, always needing help…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at her friend like she was seeing her for the first time. "And then, out of nowhere, you became the smartest student in school. And now this? Strong enough to handle four grown men like they were toys?"
She threw her arms in the air. "What's your plan, Layla? Are you trying to prove me wrong again and again until I drop dead from shock? Are you really that cruel?"
Layla rolled her eyes, sighing. "Oh, come on, Asma. Stop being dramatic. I never said I was weak," she said, then paused before adding pointedly, "You just assumed I was."
"Bullshit!" Asma snapped. "You've always hidden your strength! If you hadn't, where would Sarah get the courage to challenge you every single day? That girl wouldn't dare if she knew what you were capable of."
Layla went quiet for a moment, then said with a thoughtful tone, "Speaking of Sarah… I have a feeling she's the one who sent those men."
Asma's jaw dropped. "What? Are you serious?"
Their rivalry with Sarah had always been intense, especially because Sarah couldn't stand sharing the title of 'most beautiful girl in school.' Every time someone complimented her looks, Layla's name would come up too—and more often than not, Layla was placed above her. That comparison had fanned the flames of their hostility.
Still, this… this was another level.
"But why would she do that?" Asma asked, clearly disturbed. "I mean, yeah, she's jealous and petty, but this? This is dangerous. I don't think she's that evil. Your grudge with her isn't serious enough for her to send people to harm you."
"Oh, it is," Layla said quietly.
Asma narrowed her eyes. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Something happened… and you didn't tell me."
Layla hesitated, then said vaguely, "Maybe… But I didn't even touch her. It was Lena that I punched."
Asma blinked. "Wait. Lena?"
"Yeah," Layla nodded. "Sarah, Lena, and Meena cornered me in the restroom on Monday. They were trying to start trouble. Lena raised her hand to slap me, so I defended myself. She flew across the restroom floor before she even knew what hit her."
"Oh my God…" Asma whispered. Then it clicked. "So that's why Sarah didn't show up after that day. She was determined to teach you a lesson, but now I see—you already taught them one."
Layla smirked faintly. "Seems like they figured out they can't deal with me themselves anymore. So they sent others to do their dirty work."
As the two friends walked together toward the bus stop, the tension began to settle. The conversation continued quietly, their voices low but intense. When they reached the stop, Asma climbed onto her bus, still glancing back at Layla as if to make sure this was real.
Layla waved goodbye with a small smile, then turned and walked the rest of the way home—alone, but as steady and composed as ever.
---
They were still inside the decrepit building—a long-abandoned warehouse turned makeshift base. Dust hung in the air like fog, the late afternoon light cutting in through cracked windows. Everything was quiet except the sound of Rama's pacing and the occasional creak of aged floorboards.
Suddenly, Rama slammed his fist against a metal shelf, his face flushed with frustration.
"Damn it! Are we really going to let Hobo escape again?" he snapped, his voice thick with anger.
Meher stood nearby, arms crossed, calm but cold. His expression didn't change. He didn't even look at Rama when he responded.
"If you hadn't been so distracted earlier, he wouldn't have had the chance to slip away," he said, each word like ice.
Rama's shoulders tensed. He wanted to argue, but he couldn't. Meher was right, and deep down, he knew it. They'd been chasing Hobo for years. A shadow in the criminal underworld—untraceable, ruthless, and untouchable. Drug trafficking, illegal arms, human smuggling—there wasn't a line he hadn't crossed.
Today had been their best shot. He'd come out of hiding. He'd been vulnerable.
And they blew it.
"So… what now?" Rama asked, voice lower now, guilt creeping in. "I messed up, I know that."
"I don't know," Meher muttered, eyes narrowed in thought. "He'll be on high alert now. Tracking him will be twice as hard. Catching him… even harder."
"Yeah," Rama said, nodding. "That bastard can smell danger a mile away. He slips through the cracks before we even get close."
Then a spark lit in his eyes—an idea, bold and reckless.
"Hey… what about that schoolgirl?" he asked, eyes wide with excitement. "Hobo wouldn't see her as a threat. We could use her. Even if she can't catch him, she might be able to stall him—slow him down just long enough for us to get there. Smart, right?"
There was a long pause.
Meher turned his head slowly, his expression blank at first. Then a look of complete disbelief settled on his face.
"What the hell…" he said flatly. "Are you serious right now?"
He stepped toward Rama, eyes hard. "Now I'm sure your brain's somewhere near your ass."
Rama winced but didn't say a word.
"How could you even suggest something that ridiculous?" Meher continued, now pacing in frustration. "You want to involve a student in a mission like this? No matter how skilled she looks, this isn't some street fight. This is real combat. Real risk. She might be strong, sure, but she doesn't have the experience."
Rama lowered his head, shame heavy on his face.
Meher didn't stop. "You think that girl could actually kill Hobo? She'd hesitate. But him?" He pointed to the alley where Hobo had disappeared. "He wouldn't hesitate for a second. He wouldn't even blink before killing her. He doesn't care if she's a student, a civilian—he'd shoot her in the face without thinking."
He let out a long, tired breath.
"Oh God, just take my soul already," Meher muttered, rubbing his temples. "Working with you is going to be the death of me."
Rama didn't lift his head. He didn't dare meet Meher's eyes.
The silence between them stretched as they walked down the stairs and stepped out into the fading light of day. Their black Hummer was waiting by the side of the building. Without another word, they got in and started the engine, the vehicle rumbling to life as they drove back toward the camp.