The four rowdies pushed through the café doors like they owned the place. At the front was the man from the black SUV—broad-shouldered, towering, his tight black shirt stretched over a bodybuilder's frame. Gold chains glinted under the soft café lights, and every heavy step he took echoed power and arrogance.
His crew followed close behind—laughing too loud, bumping into chairs without apology, and flashing smug grins at every table they passed. They made a beeline to the largest empty cabin in the corner, sprawling into the seats like kings without thrones.
Their voices carried across the room—boisterous, crude, completely indifferent to the quiet ambiance.
Rohit glanced at them, then turned to Sathya, his brow furrowed. "No class at all, right?"
Sathya didn't look away from the group. "No," he said casually, "I think it's good to have personality."
Rohit raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. "Personality? Mate, they're disturbing everyone."
Sathya glanced around the café. A middle-aged couple had stopped eating, their eyes darting nervously toward the rowdies. A pair of college girls whispered with furrowed brows. Even the waiter had slowed his steps near them.
Sathya's tone remained cool. "If people let their own fear ruin their peace, is that the fault of the loud ones? Or the timid?"
Rohit stared at him, eyes wide. "What happened to you, man?"
Sathya met his gaze with a small, cryptic smile. "Just a change of mindset. In the right direction."
Rohit leaned back, folding his arms. "You've really changed."
Sathya gave a soft nod. "Thanks."
Trying to ease the mood, Rohit reached for the laminated menu and slid it across the table. "Alright, philosopher. What do you want to eat?"
Sathya barely glanced at the menu. "Margarita pizza."
Rohit chuckled. "Really? I thought someone as evolved as you would order something flashy. Throw in some olives and rainbow peppers—something Social app-worthy."
Sathya smiled, eyes flicking to Rohit. "Today, I want the real thing. Maybe when pizza was first invented, it looked just like that—simple. Pure."
Rohit raised a hand and called the waiter over. He gave the order, and the two of them dug into their food once it arrived, the sharp tension from earlier easing into something warmer. They spoke about old memories, old friends, half-forgotten jokes, and the strange journey from college days to adulthood.
But peace, like most good things, didn't last.
When they finished, Rohit stood and turned to head toward the counter to pay. His hand dipped into his back pocket for his wallet, but before he could move, Sathya's voice called out—
"Look out!"
Too late.
Rohit collided straight into someone.
A cold splash hit his chest.
He stumbled back, blinking at the liquid dripping down his shirt. A soft drink cup lay on the floor. In front of him stood one of the rowdies—slim, sharp-featured, with dyed brown hair and a sneer already forming.
Rohit's hands went up in surrender. "I'm so sorry, brother. That was completely my fault."
But the guy didn't respond with words.
He grabbed Rohit by the collar.
The café went silent.
Rohit froze, caught in the man's glare. His breath hitched, limbs rigid with uncertainty. The man yanked him slightly, just enough to rattle his nerves.
That's when Sathya stood up.
Calmly. No rush, no panic.
He walked over and reached for the rowdy's wrist. His grip was firm—not aggressive, but decisive.
"Let him go," Sathya said, his voice low and clear. "You're the one at fault here."
The café watched, silent and tense. All eyes were on them now.
The guy didn't move. But his friends were already rising, leaving their booth to stand behind him—posturing, puffed up, waiting for an excuse.
The rowdy spat back, "Are you blind like your friend? Didn't you see him crash into me?"
Sathya's expression didn't change. He simply turned his head, gesturing toward a nearby booth. "I saw you walking toward that girl over there—your eyes weren't on where you were going. You weren't paying attention. That's why this happend. Own it."
The girl in question quickly looked away, embarrassed. But she knew what happened.
The rest of the gang joined in now, flanking their friend.
Then, the leader stepped forward.
It was him—Mohit, the man from the black SUV. Muscles bulging under his black shirt, gold chain bouncing slightly with each heavy step.
He smirked. " Name's Mohit. And I just have one question." His eyes narrowed at Sathya. "You were watching all this happen, yeah? Then why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"
Sathya stepped between Rohit and the group, shielding him without making it obvious. "I did say something. I told him to stop. Your friend wasn't listening—he was too busy checking out that girl."
Mohit's eyes narrowed, amused and irritated. "You talk smooth. But maybe you don't understand how this works."
He turned his gaze to Rohit, still caught in the first guy's grip.
"Maybe your friend needs to learn manners. And maybe you need to learn when to shut up."
Sathya's voice dropped a notch colder. "Let go of his collar. Now."
The rowdy still holding Rohit tightened his grip, his jaw flexing.
Mohit tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. "And what if we don't? What if I like things just the way they are?"
Sathya looked him dead in the eye.
"Then I'll make you let go."
The silence in the café shattered into electric tension. A few customers quietly slipped out. The waiter froze, tray in hand. Even the soft background music felt distant now.
Mohit's smile twisted. "Oh? You gonna fight us?"
Sathya's fingers twitched slightly at his side. Rohit could see it—something simmering beneath the surface. Not fear. Control.
"I won't start it," Sathya said softly. "But I promise you—I'll end it."