Inside the wrecked Decathlon store, Gana and the girl sat among the scattered shoes and backpacks, catching their breath for the first time in what felt like forever.

The emergency lights flickered faintly above them, casting strange shadows across the walls. Somewhere in the distance, water still dripped steadily from a broken pipe.

GANA

“So… you’re still alive.”

GIRL (grinning slightly)

“Yeah, despite your best efforts to catch me on the escalator.”

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

GANA

“Hey, I did catch you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

GIRL

“And then you fell. Dramatically.”

GANA

“Alright, fair.”

They both smiled—an awkward, flickering kind of smile. A temporary break from all the blood and horror outside.

She stood up, brushing dust off her jeans.

GIRL

“Name’s Payal, by the way.”

GANA

“Gana.”

They shook hands—grimy, scratched, but still human.

PAYAL

“So… what now? World’s basically gone to hell. You got a plan?”

GANA (sarcastically)

“Survive. Avoid becoming dinner. 

She snorted, then pointed toward a pile of semi-intact clothes near the changing rooms.

PAYAL

“Speaking of fashion… I need to change. 

She picked out a few clothes—black cargo pants, a fitted top, and a jacket. As she turned and started walking toward the dressing rooms, Gana followed without thinking, still talking.

GANA

“Yeah, maybe we can grab some canned food after and—”

She stopped suddenly and turned around, eyebrow raised.

PAYAL (teasing)

“Wait… are you following me into the dressing room?”

Gana blinked, confused.

GANA

“Huh? No—I mean yes—I mean no, not like that, I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

He looked down and realized she was holding the clothes.

PAYAL

“You do know what changing means, right?”

GANA (panicking)

“Yeah! Of course! Change clothes, privacy, personal space, I—I’m going—going over there now!”

He turned so fast he nearly tripped on a box of yoga mats.

Payal smirked as she disappeared behind the curtain.

PAYAL (calling out)

“Try not to walk in by accident, hero. Or I’ll hit you with a hiking pole.”

GANA (still red-faced)

“Noted. No peeking. Hiking poles. Got it.”

He muttered to himself as he walked away.

GANA

“Smooth, Gana. Real smooth.”

As Payal changed behind the dressing room curtain, Gana wandered off to the nearby shelves, trying to look busy—and definitely not like a guy who almost walked into a girl while she was changing.

He looked down at his own clothes: torn T-shirt, shoes half-burnt from running through fire, and a hoodie that smelled like something had died in it. Possibly two things.

GANA (to himself)

“Yeah… this is a public embarrassment.”

He grabbed the first pile of clothes he could find. A turtleneck. Then some camo pants—two sizes too big. He shrugged. Survival.

Then, digging further into the mess, he pulled out a fluorescent yellow neon tracksuit with “RUN LIKE HELL” printed across the chest in bold letters.

GANA

“…why is this even a thing?”

But for some reason, he took it.

A few minutes later, Payal stepped out of the dressing room—new outfit, fresh energy, hair tied back in a messy but battle-ready ponytail.

She looked sharp. Fierce. Like someone who was surviving the end of the world with style.

Then she turned and saw Gana standing there… in the neon tracksuit.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

PAYAL

“…You’re joking.”

GANA (dead serious)

“It was this or a ‘Kiss Me, I Do CrossFit’ tank top.”

She snorted so hard she almost tripped over her boots.

PAYAL

“You look like a radioactive traffic cone.”

GANA 

He struck a ridiculous pose.

PAYAL (laughing)

“No, seriously, that outfit’s a war crime.”

GANA

“Hey, fashion died with society. This is art now.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling. For the first time in day—it felt like they weren’t just running. They were human again.

Gana was still standing in his blinding neon outfit when Payal circled him, arms crossed, judging every tragic inch of his “fashion statement.”

PAYAL (mock serious)

“No. Absolutely not. Take that off.”

GANA (grinning)

“But it says ‘Run Like Hell.’ It’s motivational.”

PAYAL

“It’s suicidal. They will spot you from space.”

She turned, rummaged through the shelves, eyes scanning for something halfway decent.

PAYAL (muttering)

“Hmm… pants size… you’re 32, right?”

GANA

“Yeah. Height’s about the same as yours.”

PAYAL (finding a pair of dark cargos and a fitted hoodie)

“Then this should work.”

She tossed him the clothes.

PAYAL

“Try these. And burn that radioactive outfit.”

As Gana caught them, he glanced over.

GANA

“Payal… what do you think is really going on? People were killing each other out there. Like, literally tearing each other apart.”

Payal stopped, looking over at him, her expression shifting—lighter moments gone in an instant.

PAYAL

“You’ve seen enough to get the idea, right? This… whatever this is… it’s not normal.”

GANA

“You mean… zombies?”

PAYAL

“Yes. And just so you know—it’s not just happening here.”

GANA (stunned)

“What do you mean?”

Payal pulled a folded black T-shirt from the rack and handed it to him.

PAYAL (calmly)

“I mean, it’s happening everywhere. Not just in this city. It could be global.”

GANA (voice low)

“My parents…”

He looked away, a sudden tightness in his chest.

PAYAL

“Have hope. Maybe they reached a safe place.”

GANA (frustrated, voice rising)

“How can you talk like that? So calmly. Don’t you care about your parents too?”

Payal stopped. Her eyes hardened just slightly, but there was no anger—just something deeper.

PAYAL

“I care, Gana. As much as you do. But freaking out won’t help them. Or you. Right now, the only thing that matters is surviving. You can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”

There was a silence. Heavy. Real.

Then Payal’s tone softened again.

PAYAL

“Listen… focus on staying alive. That’s step one. When was the last time you even spoke to them?”

GANA (quietly)

“Yesterday. Outside the mall. I was on a call… but then my phone slipped and I dropped it in the chaos.”

PAYAL (gently)

“Then don’t give up hope. But first—put this on. You’ll move faster, quieter.”

She handed him a clean black T-shirt, a grey hoodie, and the cargo pants.

PAYAL

“You’re not surviving the apocalypse in a yellow circus tent.”

Gana took the clothes, his hands lingering for a moment.

GANA

“Thanks.”

Payal gave him a small nod, eyes steady.

PAYAL

“Don’t thank me yet. This hell’s just beginning.” Just change out here, Gana. No one’s watching.”

GANA (nodding)

“Alright.”

Gana turned his back, slipping off his ruined hoodie and pulling his T-shirt over his head. As the fabric came off, the emergency lights caught his frame—and Payal, even from a distance, paused slightly.

His body was no accident of genetics or vanity. Broad shoulders led into a V-shaped torso, each muscle line defined and functional. Not a bodybuilder’s bulk—but that of an athlete, a fighter. Core tightened with discipline, forearms sinewed like someone who’d spent years in brutal training. This was the body of someone who moved, who fought, who survived before survival became the world’s currency.

Payal wasn’t staring. Just… observing.

She already knew from his composure under pressure that Gana wasn’t just a regular civilian. But now she saw it. He wasn’t just strong—he was trained. A survivor even before the outbreak. Still, his quiet, respectful demeanor hadn’t once made her feel threatened.

That made all the difference.

She let her guard down just a little more, stepping away to browse through shoes while he finished changing.

Gana pulled on the clean black T-shirt she’d handed him, followed by the grey hoodie. The cargo pants fit snugly and matched the stealth look Payal had picked for herself. He adjusted the sleeves, brushing his messy hair back with one hand, then looked toward her.

GANA (with a faint grin)

“So… how do I look now?”

Payal looked up from the row of boots and froze for a second.

He looked… different now. Clean lines. Controlled energy. He stood tall, hoodie half-zipped, jaw sharp in the dim light, his posture naturally confident without trying to be. The chaos of the mall flickered behind him in blue emergency hues, but he looked like he belonged in the middle of it—like a lead character in a survival film.

PAYAL (holding his gaze a little longer than she intended)

“…You look good.”

Then she quickly looked away, pretending to study a pair of combat boots that were clearly the wrong size.

Gana raised an eyebrow, amused.

GANA (teasing)

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

PAYAL (not looking up)

“Don’t let it go to your head, glowstick.”

They both smiled, a rare warmth between them in the cold, crumbling world.

TO BE CONTINUE 

Author’s Note:

I’d be really happy if you shared your feedback in the comment section. Let me know what you liked or what I can improve—I want to make this story even better for you.

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