It was a normal day.
A little too normal.
I was tightening my gloves before practice, my race suit zipped up to the neck, when my phone buzzed. A single message from a number I didn't recognize.
"Shabd Heer died in an accident last night."
I blinked.
Read it again.
No punctuation. No context. Just that one sentence.
Like someone had thrown a grenade into my chest and walked away.
I froze.
Everything slowed. My heartbeat, my breath, my fingers. Even the world outside the locker room felt distant—like a dream that had suddenly turned inside out.
"No," I whispered.
I called the number. No answer. Called again. Nothing.
I ran through my contact list. No mutual friends to confirm it. My hands were shaking, but I couldn't stop them.
Couldn't breathe.
He couldn't be gone.
Not him. Not my Shabd.
He wasn't allowed to leave without even knowing how loved he was.
Without even saying goodbye.
Coach yelled my name from the track. "Vashti! Let's go! Final practice lap before qualifiers!"
I stared at the phone screen one last time.
Maybe if I raced hard enough, the truth would change.
Maybe if I hit every turn right, fate would reverse.
Maybe… just maybe… I could escape the pain roaring in my chest.
I got in the car.
Started the engine.
Drove like I was chasing a ghost.
And for the first time in years…
I didn't want to win.
---