
Advait's POV:
The punching bag barely had time to swing back before my fist met it again.
The sound was dull. Violent. Familiar.
My muscles moved on instinctโshoulders tightening, knuckles striking, breath controlled even as sweat slid down my neck and soaked into my shirt.
The workout room was washed in cold white light, steel and glass and shadows. Outside, the city glittered like it always didโunbothered, distant, cruelly alive.
I hit the bag again.












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