Nasty Nights

The man from the app was already at the bar when Rukhsana arrived.

Thirty-five.

Salt-and-pepper beard.

Corporate casual, a linen shirt, and an expensive watch, the kind that told time differently for different people.

Nasty Nights pulsed above the doorway in red neon, flickering like a wound that refused to close.

“You must be Rhea,” he said, standing up too quickly. “Arjun.”

She smiled. A practiced thing. Soft. Harmless.

“Rhea,” she confirmed. That name was easier to carry tonight.

Mumbai pressed against the windows, traffic snarling, laughter spilling from footpaths, the city alive in a way that made what she was about to do feel obscene.

They talked. Work. Travel. Loneliness disguised as ambition.

Arjun leaned in. “So what are you looking for?”

Rukhsana paused. Just a beat too long.

“Something honest,” she said.

Her phone vibrated in her bag.

Once.

Twice.

She didn’t check it. Behind her eyes, something stirred.

She had discovered the truth three nights ago.

Aarav, her boyfriend of two years, had started forgetting words. Simple ones. Names. Roads he’d driven a hundred times.

Then came the headaches. Then the whispering.

On the fourth night, she woke to find him sitting upright in bed, eyes open, unmoving. And from his shoulders, shadows. Long. Coiling. Hungry.

He spoke without moving his lips.

“I am Zohak,” the voice said. “And I am starving.”

Back at the bar, Arjun laughed at something she said. She didn’t remember what.

“Another drink?” he asked.

She nodded.

The neon sign flickered again.

NASTY went dark. NIGHTS stayed lit.

Her phone vibrated a third time.

UNKNOWN: Tonight. Or he suffers.

Rukhsana closed her eyes. When she opened them, she smiled wider.

“Want to get out of here?” she asked.

Arjun grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Mumbai swallowed them whole.