University of South Asia – Cantt Campus – 25th March – 3:17 PM
The heat clung like static, thick in the air, but it wasn't what made her skin prickle. A breeze drifted lazily across the park beside the Fashion Design department, rustling paper cups, dried leaves, and the thrum of the girl's anxious breath.
She stood alone, fidgeting with the edge of her sketchbook. Her class had just ended. The others had filtered away toward the main gate, laughter echoing faintly behind her. She stayed behind—just five more minutes, she had told herself.
She didn't see the figure watching from the line of trimmed hedges by the sculpture installation.
He was too careful for that.
He never lingered in light. Never long enough for a phone lens or CCTV frame. But she wasn't looking for a lens.
She was looking for a friend who was already late.
What she got was a blur of red.
Not a coat. Not a scarf. Just something—a flash at the corner of her eye.
Then the pain.
A violent, crushing slam against the tree trunk behind her. Her sketchbook fell in a flutter of half-drawn fashion figures. His gloved hand gripped her jaw tight, muffling the scream rising in her throat. Her knees buckled.
A second hand struck her ribs—hard, calculated. She felt it snap.
Her vision swam as something cold and wet bloomed under her blouse.
Blood.
It trickled from her nose, from the side of her mouth, and soaked into the soft earth beneath her.
And then—nothing.
When she came to, she was alone. Curled like a broken mannequin beside the park bench.
Her sketchbook was gone. But a small folded card lay tucked under her limp hand.
Just a number.
16.