Chapter 16: The Distance Between Two Heartbeats

Paris never slept.

It only pretended to rest—its streets breathing danger under golden lights, its silence heavier than gunfire. Kabir Rathod stood near the tall glass window of the hotel suite, blazer discarded, sleeves rolled, phone pressed against his ear.

"Confirm again," he said, voice calm, dangerous.

"No mistakes."

On the other end, one of his men hesitated. That hesitation was answer enough.

"He's here, bhai. Rafael. Same network. Same signature."

Kabir closed his eyes for a brief second.

Ten years.

Ten years since that name had last bled through his life. Ten years since betrayal had cost him blood, loyalty, and something far more precious than territory.

"Location?" Kabir asked.

"Near the docks. Old industrial zone. But..."

"But what?"

"He knows you're here."

Kabir cut the call.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. This trip had never been about business deals or shipments. Paris was not an accident. It was a battlefield he had walked into knowingly—alone.

And Ishita didn't know.

That was the part that hurt the most.

⸻

Jaipur – Ishita's Apartment

Ishita stood near the kitchen counter, staring at her phone.

No reply.

She had messaged him three times since morning—nothing clingy, nothing emotional. Just normal.

Did you sleep?

Had breakfast?

Text me when free.

The blue ticks had appeared hours ago.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing the familiar worry curling in her chest. She knew Kabir. When he went silent, it wasn't because he was busy—it was because he was carrying something alone.

She hated that.

Her hand unconsciously went to her abdomen. A small, instinctive gesture she hadn't fully understood yet, but her body seemed to know something her mind hadn't accepted.

"Focus, Ishita," she whispered to herself.

She had surgeries lined up. Patients waiting. Lives depending on steady hands, not distracted hearts.

Still, as she tied her hair into a neat bun and slipped into her white coat, her thoughts stayed in Paris—with a man who never asked for protection but deserved it more than anyone.

⸻

Paris – Night

The warehouse smelled of oil, rust, and old blood.

Kabir walked in without hesitation, boots echoing against concrete. Only two of his men followed—far enough to protect, close enough to die if needed.

And then—

Slow claps echoed from the shadows.

"Rathod," a voice drawled.

"Still arrogant. Still alone."

Rafael stepped into the light.

Older. Sharper. Crueller.

The man who had once been family. The man who had sold Rathod secrets to enemies. The man Kabir had spared once—out of misplaced loyalty.

"Paris suits you," Rafael continued. "I thought you'd bring an army."

Kabir smirked faintly. "Didn't want to scare you."

Rafael laughed. "Still the same. Power in silence. Weakness in emotions."

Kabir's jaw tightened—just for a second.

"You shouldn't have touched my shipments," Kabir said.

"You shouldn't have survived," Rafael replied.

Gunshots shattered the air.

Chaos erupted.

Kabir moved like instinct—controlled, lethal. He fired, ducked, advanced. His mind was sharp, but his body carried wounds not yet healed, bullets from weeks ago still stitched beneath skin.

A shot grazed his side.

Another hit his shoulder.

Pain exploded—but Kabir didn't fall.

He never did.

Until the third shot.

Everything blurred.

⸻

Jaipur – Late Night

Ishita woke with a sharp intake of breath.

Her heart was racing. Sweat clung to her skin despite the cool air. She sat up, clutching the bedsheet, chest tight as if something had snapped inside her.

"Kabir..." she whispered.

She grabbed her phone—still no message.

Fear, raw and unfamiliar, wrapped around her spine.

Doctors weren't supposed to panic. Surgeons trusted logic. Evidence.

But wives—wives felt things logic couldn't explain.

She typed again.

Ishita:

Please tell me you're okay.

The message sent.

No reply.

⸻

Paris – Somewhere Between Life and Death

Kabir came to consciousness with the taste of iron in his mouth.

Lights flickered above him. A safehouse—not a hospital. He knew that instantly. His body screamed in pain, every breath burning, but he was alive.

Barely.

Veer's voice reached him next—furious, tight with fear.

"Don't you ever do this alone again," Veer snapped.

"You hear me? Ever."

Kabir tried to speak. Failed.

"You were out for six hours," Veer continued. "Rafael escaped. But you made your point."

Kabir's fingers twitched.

"Bhai..." Veer's voice dropped. "You should tell her."

Kabir's eyes closed.

Ishita.

Her face appeared instantly—angry, worried, soft, fierce. The woman who scolded him for skipping meals but stitched gunshot wounds without shaking hands.

"No," Kabir rasped. "Not yet."

"She deserves—"

"I know what she deserves," Kabir interrupted weakly. "And it's not fear."

Veer said nothing.

Some battles weren't won with arguments.

⸻

Jaipur – Dawn

Ishita stood in the hospital corridor, pale, exhausted, eyes red from a night without sleep. She'd finished a twelve-hour shift running on caffeine and stubbornness.

Her phone buzzed.

Her breath caught.

Kabir:

Busy. Network issues. I'm fine.

Three words.

I'm fine.

She closed her eyes, relief crashing into her so hard her knees almost buckled.

But something felt wrong.

Kabir never lied to her outright. He twisted truths, hid details—but I'm fine felt rehearsed.

She typed back.

Ishita:

Come back soon.

This time, the reply came slower.

Kabir:

Soon.

She stared at the screen long after it went dark.

⸻

Paris – Final Scene

Kabir lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.

Painkillers dulled the agony, not the guilt.

On the side table lay his phone—open to Ishita's contact. Her photo. A candid one Veer had clicked without her knowing. She was laughing, eyes bright, life in her smile.

He whispered, barely audible,

"Forgive me."

Outside, Paris glowed indifferent.

And somewhere in the shadows, Rafael watched, waiting.

Because this war was no longer just about power.

It was about the woman Kabir Rathod loved—and the child neither of them yet knew existed.