2. Outburst

Kriti's POV:

"Ouch!" I cried out, landing roughly on the pavement.

Pain shot through my right knee. The harsh road scraped against the skin, and my ripped jeans did nothing to protect me. My hands stung too from trying to break the fall. I looked up in disbelief.

He pushed me.

That arrogant, entitled jerk pushed me like I was nothing.

"Are you okay?" The girl ran over to me, her voice full of concern.

I had my eyes shut tight, trying to endure the pain shooting through my knee. I felt her hands gently helping me up.

With her support, I slowly stood. My right leg throbbed as I looked down and saw blood was trickling down from the scraped skin. It wasn’t a surprise, but seeing it still made my stomach twist.

"What did you just do, brother? Why would you push her like that?" the girl scolded him, turning sharply toward him. So, they were siblings but they seemed polar opposite in terms of manners.

I couldn't help but glance up at the arrogant man who caused all of this , with tears stinging my eyes.

He wasn’t yelling anymore. In fact, his eyes were locked on my injured knee. And when our eyes met, something shifted.

The anger in his gaze was gone. His eyes... softened. Was I being delusional?

"It’s bleeding a lot. You should see a doctor," the girl said gently. "In case you need help, I can take you if you want."

Her kindness caught me off guard. How could she be so caring when her brother was a walking disaster of ego and coldness?

"No... it’s okay. Thank you for offering," I replied, my voice calm. I had no reason to snap at her. She didn’t treat me badly like he did.

"Aarohi, let’s go," the man interrupted, his voice once again dripping with arrogance. "We don’t have time for her attention seeking drama."

My blood boiled. The girl’s kindness had almost calmed me down, but his words just reignited the fire inside me.

How could someone be so heartless? He pushed me, I got hurt, and yet he acted like I was the problem?

"What do you think?! I’m not—"

"Hey... What’s going on here?" a stern voice cut me off.

A traffic police officer had appeared, clearly noticing the small crowd and the rising tension.

"Why are you blocking the road and yelling at each other?" he asked, looking between the three of us.

Then he turned to the man. "You’re Mr. Abhi Malhotra, aren’t you?" the officer asked, trying to confirm.

"Yeah," the man, named Abhi, replied coolly, his hands slipping into his pockets like he had nothing to worry about.

The officer’s tone immediately shifted. "Is there a problem, sir? Can I help in any way?"

I blinked, confused.

Wait… What?

Did he just call him Mr. Abhi Malhotra like he’s someone important? And why was the officer suddenly so polite?

My curious thoughts swirled as I looked at Abhi Malhotra, now even more confused and a little bit intrigued.

Who exactly is this man? And how do people already know him when I don’t even have a clue?

"Yes, officer, please tell this trash to move her junk car off the road," Abhi Malhotra said with disgust as he threw a hateful look at me.  "She’s wasting my precious time."

Trash.

He now called me trash.

I stood frozen, the audacity of his words hitting me like a slap. My fingers curled into fists as my entire body screamed to slap him for real this time.

"You jerk! How dare you call me—" I started to yell, but the traffic police cut me off.

"Excuse me! You’re the one creating a scene here and blocking the road,"  he barked at me, completely ignoring what the guy had just said.  "It’s a narrow street, so you should’ve been more careful while turning."

I stared at him, stunned.

"What? I’m not creating a scene. He hit my car. He should be the one getting yelled at," I said, my voice rising with frustration.

But the officer clearly had already chosen a side.

"Enough! Judging by your attitude, I’m guessing you drive the same way, recklessly. Accept your mistake. And if you keep arguing, I’ll have no choice but to file a complaint against you."

I stood there, mouth open, completely shocked.

This can’t be real.

"Move your car. Now,"  he ordered, like I was some criminal on trial.

I realized arguing was useless. It was clear that this traffic cop was either scared of the arrogant jerk or secretly his fanboy.

Clenching my jaw, I limped slowly back toward my car, seething in silence. But just as I reached for the door, I heard his voice again.

"Wait."

I stopped and turned around. For a second, I thought… maybe he was going to say sorry.

Instead, he pulled out a small card and walked a few steps closer to me.

"It’s my manager’s contact,"  he said coldly. "Call her and ask for your money. I don’t carry cash for beggars like you  otherwise, I’d have tossed it at you already."

And with that, he threw the card at my feet like it was garbage.

I stared at it, my body trembling. Not with pain but with rage.

I wasn’t wrong calling him a bastard earlier. He was more than that. He hurt me. Humiliated me. And now he was trying to buy me off  like I was some roadside charity case.

I didn’t think. I didn’t care about the pain in my knee or the people watching. I took a step forward, raised my hand, and aimed for his arrogant face, ready to slap him—

But I missed as I lost balance the moment I lifted my hand to slap him. My injured leg couldn’t hold me, and I braced myself to fall again.

But I didn’t.

Before I could hit the ground, I instinctively grabbed the collar of his blazer for support. But even that wasn’t what saved me.

It was him.

He caught me as his one strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me steady , and way too close. My heart skipped a beat, not because of him, but because of the situation. At least, that’s what I told myself.

And then it hit me... His cologne. Expensive. Sharp. Intoxicating. For a split second, I forgot the fight, the pain. If only he wasn’t the same arrogant jerk I wanted to punch minutes ago… I might’ve actually appreciated this moment.

However, I quickly got a grip and pushed him away. He didn’t budge much as he was way too strong for that, but at least I wasn’t in his arms anymore.

"How dare you touch me?" I shouted, even though I knew deep down I would've hit the ground without him.

"Ungrateful,"  he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Please, brother, stop," his sister said, stepping between us. "Let’s not turn this into more drama."

Honestly, I was done, too. I just wanted this day to disappear.

"You know what?" I snapped, my voice steady with rage. "I don’t want your filthy money. If you’ve got that much to spare, go visit a psychiatrist and get your head checked."

That hit him.

I could see it in the way his expression flickered, the surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected that.

Before he could fire back, I turned around and limped to my car, refusing to let him say another word. I took a different route, not wanting to drive behind him, not wanting to see him again.

As I drove, my hands tightened around the wheel. My whole mood was ruined. I checked the time and sighed. I wasted twenty-five whole minutes on that arrogant, heartless jerk. And to make it worse, that biased traffic police acted like his personal bodyguard.

I kept going until I finally reached the highway. The pain in my knee had gotten worse by then, so I pulled my car to the side of the road.

I bent down and slowly rolled up my jeans.

There it was, blood still trickling down from the open scrape, dark bruises forming underneath.

I took out my water bottle and carefully poured some over my knee to wash away the blood.

The cold sting of water made the pain sharper, and I winced as I cleaned the wound. Each drop reminded me of that arrogant jerk who caused all this. I cursed him silently under my breath, biting my lip to stop myself from screaming.

Once the bleeding had settled a bit and it looked somewhat okay, so I started driving again.

At first, I thought about dropping the car off for repair right away, but then changed my mind. It felt like too much for one morning. I decided I’d handle it later, maybe after work, when my brain wouldn't be so fried.