The humid Thane air clung to sixteen-year-old Rohan’s skin as he adjusted his backpack straps, kicking a pebble down the cracked pavement. St. Xavier’s boys’ uniform—creased white shirt, navy tie askew—stuck to his chest in the late afternoon heat. He’d taken the back route behind the station to avoid the usual crowds, unaware of the four shadows detaching from the paan stall’s awning.

"Oyeeee, chhote hero!" A husky voice sliced through the rhythmic clatter of a passing local train. Rohan turned just as Neha—thick kohl rimming her narrowed eyes, low-rise jeans slung beneath a crop top that barely contained her curves—stepped into his path. Behind her, Priya’s calloused fingers snagged his wrist while twins Jia and Tia boxed him in, their gold bangles glinting. "Kitna innocent lagta hai," Priya purred, her thumb tracing the vein pulsing beneath his skin.