THE NIGHTHAWK

The rain came down hard, relentless, hammering the empty streets under a sky torn apart by thunder. Streetlights flickered, casting long, broken shadows across the glistening pavement. Water dripped in steady streams, blending with the distant roar of the storm. Somewhere in the darkness, a stray dog howled—a low, mournful sound that was quickly swallowed by the night.

Then it came. A scream. A child’s voice, sharp, terrified, cutting through the storm.

The world tilted, blurred with water and panic. From behind a veil of rain, vision distorted, someone staggered through the street—searching, gasping, desperate. Their breath came quick and shallow, every heartbeat drumming against the thunder. The rain smeared everything into shapes without meaning, but one sound cut through it all: the cry of a child.

The woman’s voice cracked, breaking into the storm. “Please… leave my kid alone. I’ll do anything you want!”

She stopped, straining, ears open to the darkness. Hoping. Begging for the faintest sign of life. A whisper. A breath. But the city gave her nothing back—only thunder rolling across the sky, and the distant whoosh of cars slicing down narrow streets far from her reach.

Her face was wet, streaked with rain—or were those tears? She wiped frantically at her cheeks, but the drops came faster, drowning her in confusion. She couldn’t tell anymore what belonged to her grief and what belonged to the storm.

She ran. Faster. Around the roundabout, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, chasing phantoms.

And then it came—a sudden, blinding light, bursting from nowhere, swallowing everything whole. Her scream rose with it, but the storm took it away, leaving only the glare.

Ansh’s eyes flew open. Darkness pressed against the room, thick and heavy, the kind of silence that followed storms. He lay still for a moment, his breath uneven, the echo of something—he wasn’t sure what—still clinging to him.

Beside him, Naina sat upright. Her skin glistened with sweat, her breathing sharp and hurried. In the dim light, she seemed fragile, trembling as though the weight of something unseen still held her.

He reached for her, his arms pulling her gently into his chest. At first, she stiffened, a shudder running through her body, but gradually she eased into his embrace, her breaths finding a slower rhythm against him.

“Another bad dream?” he asked softly.

Naina gave a small nod, her voice unsteady. “Yeah…”

Ansh brushed his lips against her forehead, his hands steady on her shoulders, soothing the tremor in them. “Want to lie down for a while?”

Instead, she turned toward him fully, clinging to him as though he were the only solid thing in the room. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just stay like this… I’ll be fine.”

A faint smile touched his lips. He held her tighter, saying nothing more, his warmth wrapping around her as the night carried on in silence.

After a while, Naina lifted her head from his chest, her voice drowsy. “When did you come back? I didn’t hear you.”

Ansh brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. “Maybe an hour ago,” he said. “You were curled up like a baby, fast asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

A small smile touched her lips, fleeting but real. She turned her gaze toward the window, where rain traced restless paths down the cracked glass. The faint light from the street caught her hazel eyes, making them glow as though lit from within. Yet there was distance in them too, as if her thoughts had wandered someplace far beyond the room.

“Something on your mind?” Ansh asked gently. “Did the nightmare bother you?”

Naina shook her head. “No… it’s just the rain.” Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the sound of water against glass. “In the dream, it was raining exactly like this.”

Just as Ansh was about to speak, a faint vibration hummed from somewhere behind him. He reached under the pillow and pulled out his phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark. Two missed calls from Ren.

He shifted, preparing to rise, but Naina’s arm tightened around him. Her hold was firm, almost pleading, as if willing him to stay.

“Seems like an emergency, Naina. I need to get this,” Ansh murmured, patting her head like puppy.

“It’s Ren,” Ansh said, glancing at the phone again. “If I’ve already missed two of his calls, he should be here any moment.”

Naina’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “You should have married him instead. I’d only have worried if you weren’t straight.”

Ansh chuckled, dialing back as he swung his legs off the bed. “Hah, my taste isn’t that bad. I’m just stuck with him. Sadly, he’s, my partner.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why I keep telling him to get hitched—so at least he’ll leave you alone at nights.” Her giggle bubbled out as she let herself fall back into the pillows, arms spread wide in playful surrender.

Naina kept on chattering in the background, her voice soft but persistent, the looming thunders overshadows her voice. Ansh put the phone to his ear as the call connected.

“Hello,” he said.

“Get down. I’m at the roundabout,” Ren’s voice came, clipped and without greeting.

“That serious?” Ansh asked, his tone turning cold. He moved to the window, sliding it open to stare out at the storm. His brown eyes followed the flickering lights of the passing metro. Tiny raindrops splattered against his face, but he didn’t flinch.

“The rookie’s losing it,” Ren said, smoke curling through his tone. “Can’t blame him, though. I’ve seen the picture of body myself. A sight worth breaking.”

Ansh’s jaw tightened. “I’ll be down in ten, but who’s the rookie?” He shut the window with a hard snap.

“Someone the commissioner, sent before us. Hurry though, you’ve only got until I finish my last cigarette,” Ren warned.

“And if not?” Ansh asked, fastening his shirt, slipping his ID into place.

“Then don’t make me come upstairs.”

“Please do. Naina’s very keen on finding you matches,” Ansh teased, the corner of his mouth twitching.

There was the faintest pause before Ren sighed. “Okay. Just be quick.” The line went dead.

Ansh stared at the phone a moment longer, the smirk creeping in slow. In the reflection of the glass, his eyes caught the storm’s fractured light—calm, unreadable, as if he already knew the night would only get darker.