Chapter Thirty
Chapter
Thirty
The first day of Preethi’s trial was finally upon them.
Tejas pressed his lips together as he walked up the stairs of the courthouse, Naina and Iqbal flanking him on either side.
They all wore the court-mandated uniform for advocates: a white shirt under a black coat, long black pants, and a white band around their neck.
Ahead of them was Preethi, handcuffed and accompanied by two female cops.
Ramesh Kumble still thought his iffy advice about finding someone else to pin the murder on, regardless of who it was, was the smartest way forward, but Tejas hoped they wouldn’t have to find the killer.
The progress he and Naina had made on the case this past week wasn’t much, but maybe IT could pull through with the hate account and help them get the charges against Preethi dropped.
Everything the prosecution had entered into evidence was circumstantial, which would make it easy for Tejas and Naina to poke holes in the witnesses’ statements when they were on the stand.
They were ushered into the courtroom within minutes. Tejas and Naina greeted the public prosecutor, and he smiled at them tightly before returning to his papers.
“All rise, please,” the bailiff said.
The judge presiding over their case walked up to the bench.
She was an elderly woman dressed in a white saree and a long full-sleeved black coat, her mouth in a thin line.
Tejas exchanged glances with Naina. A female judge would more likely stand for justice without any misogynistic bias clouding her decision.
At the same time, all of Pai’s rabid fans were out for Preethi’s blood and eager to see her sentenced.
Hopefully, the judge wouldn’t let public demands pressure her into making an early decision.
Tejas and Naina probably only had a few sessions in court to prove Preethi’s innocence.
With India abolishing the jury system in 1973, Tejas had never gotten the chance to win a case by convincing the jury to rule in his favor, and he would never know if it was easier or harder than trying to plead his case to a single judge.
They sat back down once the court was in session, and as the charges against Preethi (culpable homicide) were read out, Tejas noticed Naina had turned to look at their client, who sat behind them with Iqbal.
He, too, shifted in place. She was visibly trembling, her eyes closed and her breaths shaky.
Being in court, with its stifling tension and eerie atmosphere, was intimidating in itself; Tejas couldn’t imagine how much more terrifying it was to be the reason the court was in session.
Sighing, he faced the front again, as did Naina.
Slowly, hesitantly, Tejas wound his pinky finger against hers for the briefest of seconds.
When she looked up at him, he gave her a small nod. We’ve got this, he mouthed.
She nodded back, and he smiled. Over the past two days, they’d spent hours together getting coffee and talking about the case, but neither of them had initiated meeting again for…
non-work reasons, having been too caught up in the process of figuring out a defense for Preethi.
Which meant the last time they’d really spent time together was the night he invited her to his apartment, and Tejas was in need of his next fix of Naina Shetty.
He decided that if the first day of court went well, he would ask her out to dinner.
A promising day in court might just show her they made a good team as partners…
and that could maybe extend to a real relationship.
“And how does the defendant plead?” the judge asked, bringing Tejas’s attention back to the present.
Preethi exhaled loudly. “Not—not guilty, Your Honor.”
The public prosecutor, who was a middle-aged advocate with a graying beard, stood and shuffled the papers in his hand.
“Good afternoon, Your Honor, and members of the court. My name is Mohammad Rizwan, and I am representing the state of Karnataka as the prosector on this case of Preethi Acharya v. State of Karnataka. During the early hours of October first, 2026, the defendant, Preethi Acharya”—he shot a glance in Preethi’s direction—“brutally killed Rohith Pai, a man who was not only Karnataka’s most accomplished movie director but also her former lover, who now leaves behind a grieving wife.
This heinous crime of passion must be punished. ”
A woman’s quiet sobs echoed from a few rows behind them. Rohith Pai’s wife was on the witness list, and Tejas and Naina had questions to ask her that would hopefully tip the scales in their favor.
After the prosecution’s opening statement, in which he described the facts of the murder and the witnesses he would call to the stand, Tejas stood.
Naina had wanted to take the lead with their opening statement, but Kumble had suggested Tejas do it, because according to him, male lawyers made better first impressions.
It was a horrible thing to say, albeit true in a misogynistic industry like Indian law.
Even Naina had grumbled that Kumble’s point was valid.
Tejas introduced Naina and himself as Preethi’s lawyers, then addressed the court.
“Your Honor, this case is nothing more than that of a well-intentioned person being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like the prosecution said, our client Preethi Acharya was found lying beside Rohith Pai’s dead body by two witnesses.
Her fingerprints were found at the scene of the crime, but only because she is a good person and couldn’t stop herself from trying—and failing—to save Mr. Pai, despite their long-standing conflict.
All she sought was closure, which is what Mr. Pai’s text message promised her.
And since there is only circumstantial evidence that ties her to this crime, the prosecution cannot reasonably meet their burden of proof.
” He adjusted his tie over his collar. “Once we put forth our defense, we ask that Your Honor find our client not guilty, because sending an innocent woman to jail for wanting to close the door on a heartbreaking mistake made years ago and move on to a better, brighter future, at long last, would be a travesty. Thank you.”
A few days ago, when Tejas had run this “seeking closure from a past lover” angle by their bosses, who were wholeheartedly on board, Naina had pulled him aside to say it might not work.
She’d thought people wouldn’t buy it, given Preethi’s reputation as a home-wrecker and her so-called scandalous brand sponsorships, that they’d assume she went there to hook up with Pai and had killed him when he turned her down.
But as Tejas looked around at the faces of the people in court, he knew his strategy made sense.
This approach would not only steer people away from their false assumptions about Preethi, painting her in a more positive light, but also appeal to their vulnerability.
After all, who didn’t want closure from an ex?
Who didn’t want to forgive and forget so they could eventually find the one for them?
Tejas’s angle would get people’s emotions on their side a lot faster—and hopefully, the judge’s too.
Mohammad Rizwan called his first witness: the medical examiner, a thin, nervous-looking man who fidgeted with his hands as he took the stand.
After his oath, the prosecutor tapped on his phone until the screen on the wall came to life with pictures of Rohith Pai’s dead body from the night of the murder.
“Please state your name and occupation for the court,” Mr. Rizwan said to the witness.
The man cleared his throat. “My name is Vasanth Kumar. I work as an independent medical examiner in the state of Karnataka.”
“Mr. Kumar, what can you tell us about the way Rohith Pai was murdered based on these pictures and your findings from the laboratory?”
Kumar pointed out the signs of struggle, the bruising on Pai’s neck, and the fatal knife wound to the stomach.
Mr. Rizwan then read aloud an excerpt from the official forensic report about Preethi’s fingerprints being on the murder weapon.
“Based on these injuries, do you think, in your expert opinion, an altercation could have happened between the victim and the defendant that led to his murder?”
“Yes, it appears the victim was overpowered, despite his attempts to struggle, and then stabbed once, deep in the stomach, which was the fatal wound, and he died shortly after.”
“Specifically,” Mr. Rizwan said, swiping to the next slide, “do you think this woman—Preethi Acharya—could have overpowered the victim, who was a five-foot-eight man with no background or interest in the gym?”
Tejas sighed silently as a soft gasp escaped the room, as he’d expected. The photo was a collage of screenshots from Preethi’s workout footage of her benching and squatting heavy barbells.
“It’s possible,” Kumar said after a moment of quiet pondering. “She certainly has the height, build, and fitness level to do so. It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s possible.”
“Your witness,” Mr. Rizwan said, nodding sharply at Tejas and Naina.
Naina stood, the smallest of smiles on her face.
Tejas gave her an encouraging nod when their eyes met.
The specific way in which Mr. Rizwan worded his questions had given their strategy a great opening.
“Mr. Kumar,” Naina said, “you said you believe it is possible for a woman like Preethi to have overpowered Rohith Pai, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
Naina clicked through to a different picture from the evidence file: Preethi’s mug shot. Her hair and nails, still matted with Rohith’s blood, her eyes red and weary, and her face pale as a ghost. “Can you explain to me what you mean by ‘overpower’?” she asked.