(Coffee shop)

  I had been sitting there long enough for the place to forget me.

  When Vijay finally walked in, I didn’t even look up.

  “About fucking time,” I said. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been sitting here? Even the chai’s gone cold.”

  He dropped into the chair like his body had given up before his mind did.

  “Your area’s been quiet,” he said flatly. “Mine wasn’t.”

  He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag.

  “Been up all night finishing a case report. This is my sixth cigarette since morning.”

  I shook my head. “You planning to die on duty or from cancer?”

  He looked at my hand. “Says the bastard smoking right now.”

  “This is literally my first one today.”

  “Don’t get me started,” he said sharply. “You watched your father rot from cancer and you still smoke.”

  I leaned back. “Yeah. And he never smoked a day in his life. Didn’t stop it, did it?”

  I crushed the cigarette halfway. “So, what’s the case?”

  “A Pandit in Shaba Bazaar,” he said quietly. “Burned alive. Two nights ago.”

  I felt my jaw tighten.

  “Four men broke into his house. Beat the family. Dragged him outside. Set him on fire. Said it was jihad.”

  “Fucking savages,” I said. “Every last one of them.”

  “And in front the world,” I added, “some asshole on TV will call it a ‘local dispute’ just to keep things calm.”

  “We caught two yesterday,” Vijay continued. “Family says there were four. The other two escaped. Took shelter in Mansoor’s area.”

  “And you can’t touch them.”

  “Not without turning the whole district into a headline,” he said. “And God forbid someone in Delhi has to answer questions.”

  He slammed his cup down.

  “So tell me, DSP—what the fuck do I even write in the report?”

  He leaned forward. “That only half the murderers existed? Or that we knew exactly where the rest were and still did nothing because we are just too fucking incompetent?"

  “Mansoor and Malik are working together,” I said finally. “That’s what’s going around.”

  “Maybe,” he nodded. “No proof yet. But Mansoor’s boys have new weapons—automatic rifles, better gear. That kind of supply doesn’t come from prayers.”

  “Funny how intelligence dries up the moment it points upward,” I muttered. “How the hell is Malik getting his hands on so much firepower?”

  “That’s what I have been thinking about too,” Vijay said. “Briefed the MLA during the Public Safety Review Ceremony last week.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He snorted. “One look at his face and I knew—no interest. None. The government’s actively choosing not to show any interest in such matters.”

  “They want stability,” I said. “Not justice. Stability photographs better.”

  I slammed my fist on the table.

  “This fucking special status—every time, it protects everyone except the people living here.”

  Vijay stared at the street outside. “I’ve seen this place burn my entire life,” he said. “Soon there’ll be nothing left. Just ashes and reports no one reads.”

  “And graves no one visits,” I said.

  We finished our drinks in silence.

  Then we stood up, paid the bill, and walked out—two men carrying more weight than either of us would ever admit.

  (Amrendra’s house)

  The house was silent in a way that pressed against the ears.

  My mother was folding clothes when I walked in. She paused, holding a new shawl in her hands.

  “You didn’t have to buy this,” she said.

  “I wanted to,” I replied. “You’ll need it.”

  She placed it aside. “You keep bringing things I never asked for.”

  I took off my jacket. “Because you shouldn’t have to ask anymore.”

  She looked at me, uncertain. “I was managing.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I won’t let you do it alone now.”

  She didn’t argue. Just sighed.

  “You stopped me from working,” she said quietly.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Because you’ve worked your entire life.”

  “That work was mine.”

  I stepped closer. “And now it’s my turn.”

  She was silent.

  “I didn’t choose this job for comfort,” I continued. “I chose it because someone had to carry the responsibility.”

  I hesitated. “When my brother died, I made him the promise to take care of you. Not someday. Always.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “I even gave up the army,” I said. “That was my dream. But I was forced to give in to your decision."

  After a moment, she spoke again—quieter now.

  “I never wanted to be the reason you gave something up.”

  I looked at her. “You’re not a reason. You’re my responsibility.”

  She nodded once. Slowly. Guilt sat in her eyes, unspoken and heavy.

  Neither of us said anything more.

  Then the phone rang.

  The sound cut through the room—sharp, urgent.

  I looked at the screen.

  Vijay.

  I picked it up

  “Amrendra,” Vijay said. His voice was raw. Stripped. “Get here. Now.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  There was a pause. Just long enough to scare me.

  “It’s a fucking massacre,” he said. “Rithinagar. Main chowk. Come urgently.”

  The line went dead.

  I was already moving.

  Rithinagar was chaos when I reached.

  Sirens. Shattered glass. The smell of gunpowder hanging thick in the air, mixed with blood and burning rubber. The main chowk—the busiest marketplace in the area—looked like a battlefield frozen in time.

  Bodies lay everywhere.

  My mind refused to count them.

  Then I saw the uniforms.

  Two police officers from my own station. Dead. Lying a few feet apart. One of them still had his rifle strapped across his chest, useless now.

  Something inside me snapped.

  I found Vijay near the barricades. His face was pale, eyes hollow.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked.

  “Broad daylight,” he said. “Crowded market. Malik gang opened fire like they owned the place."

  “Injured?” I asked, already knowing the answer would hurt.

  “Too many,” he said. “Hospitals are overflowing.”

  “And the dead?” My voice didn’t sound like my own.

  Vijay swallowed. “Twelve.”

  I nodded slowly. Twelve sounded unreal. Like a statistic.

  “Eleven men and one woman,” he added, "but I would consider it thirteen."

  I looked at him. “Thirteen?”

  “One woman was pregnant,” he said quietly. “With her husband killed too.”

  I turned back toward the bodies.

  That’s when I saw her.

  She was lying on her side, one hand resting over her stomach. Blood soaked through her clothes. Her face—still, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten before my mind could catch up.

  I took a step closer.

  Then another.

  No.

  The bangles.

  The curve of her jaw.

  The way her hair fell across her cheek.

  Disha.

  My breath collapsed inside my lungs.

  Nine years. A lifetime apart. And this was how she came back into my world.

  Not alive.

  Not smiling.

  Not making her nose crinkle the way she used to.

  Just another body on the street.

  Vijay stood behind me, silent. He didn’t need to say anything.

  And in that moment I knew—nothing after this would ever be the same again.