A Stranger Named Rayan

The capital had many faces. In daylight, it was loud and fast — all glass towers and honking cars. But as the sun dipped behind the skyline and shadows thickened across the streets, it became something else entirely. Sharper. Colder. As if it were watching.

Anika waited on the corner of West Marlow Road, her backpack snug against her side. She stood under a flickering streetlamp, heart pounding harder with every minute that passed. Aasha had told her to wait here. That her brother would come.

That was twenty-three minutes ago.

Her phone had died long ago. No way to check if he was running late. No way to call anyone. She chewed her lip and resisted the urge to pace.

She was about to give up and walk back to the dingy lodge when she noticed the motorbike.

It turned the corner in one smooth, silent curve — matte black, sleek, and powerful. The man riding it wore a dark jacket and a helmet that reflected none of the streetlight. He pulled up beside her without a word.

Anika froze. The rider didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he lifted the visor.

Sharp jawline. Dispassionate grey eyes. A faint scar near the right temple. He didn’t smile.

“Anika?” His voice was low, almost too calm.

She swallowed. “Rayan?”

He nodded once. No further greeting. No questions.

“I don’t have a license,” she said awkwardly. “Never rode one of these.”

“I’m not asking you to drive.”

He handed her the spare helmet. When she hesitated, he tilted his head, just a fraction. “You coming or not?”

Something in his voice — not rude, but final — made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.

She put the helmet on and climbed on behind him, arms unsure until he said, “Hold on. Tight.”

The bike roared to life and surged into motion. Wind whipped against her face as they weaved through the late-night traffic like water cutting through stone. Rayan didn’t speak. He didn’t ask why she had run away, or where she’d come from. It was as if he didn’t need to.

They reached his place twenty minutes later — an apartment building tucked between a closed bakery and an unlit bookstore. The building was old, but not run-down. Tall iron gates guarded the entrance, and a keypad buzzed at the door. He keyed in the code without hesitation.

The hallway smelled faintly of antiseptic and dust. Third floor. Room 302.

The apartment surprised her.

Clean. Sparse. Minimal. No family photos, no clutter. A dark couch. A kitchen she suspected hadn’t been used in weeks. A wall full of screens in a room adjacent to the living space, visible only when he didn’t close the door fast enough.

“Your room’s down the hall. Left door. You can lock it from inside.”

She turned. “Aasha said it’d only be for a while. Until college starts.”

“I know.”

“Thank you… for letting me stay.”

He paused. For a heartbeat, he just stared at her — not cruelly, not kindly, just observing. Then: “Rules.”

She blinked.

“No entering my room. Don’t touch anything with wires. No guests. Don’t ask questions about what I do. And keep the noise down after ten.”

“Okay,” she said quickly. “I can follow rules.”

He nodded once, then walked past her to his room and shut the door without another word.

Anika stood there, in the middle of a stranger’s apartment, her body still humming from the ride, her mind catching up with everything.

So this was it.

Her new life had begun.