"Mohabbat lafzon ki mohtaaj nahi,
Aakhein toh khamoshi bhi
Padh leti hai,
Jo bayan na ho sake labon se,
Dhadkane vo bhi mehsus kar leti hai"

-Vaidehi
(-Fictionflare_)

In a dimly lit warehouse located in a crowded chawl area, five to six rugged-looking men sat around an old wooden table, engaged in a game of carrom. Their rough expressions and intimidating demeanor made it clear that they were no ordinary men, they were goons. The sound of striker hits and occasional grunts of frustration filled the air as they played. Just then, the door creaked open, and Vijaypratap stepped inside, carrying a small bag in his hand. His sharp eyes scanned the room, and the men immediately paused their game, their attention shifting towards him.