CHAPTER 50! CLOSE THE FILE
The fluorescent lights of the police station buzzed overhead, washing everything in a cold, unforgiving white. Around them, the midnight shift moved in a blur of routine friction.
A drunk man argued slurringly with a constable near the lockup doors; a wooden chair scraped loudly against stone as an officer hauled a stack of yellowing files across the desk; the harsh, clanking rhythm of an ancient typewriter filled the far corner.
A young woman near the counter wept quietly into a handkerchief over a missing bag.
Aadhira sat on a steel bench outside the investigation room, utterly blind to all of it.
A thin medical bandage was wrapped around her forearm. Dried, rusty streaks of blood stained the cuff of her kurta, flaking off every time her body shuddered.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"I didn't mean to..." she whispered for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Main... maine jaan-bujhkar nahi kiya..."
(I... I didn't do it on purpose...)
Kashvi crouched in front of her, both hands wrapped around Aadhira's ice-cold fingers. "Aadhi... look at me."
No response.
"Aadhira."
"I didn't want him to die..." Aadhira's voice broke, a violent shudder tearing through her chest. "He was trying to kill us... but I... I didn't want him to die..."
Tears streamed down her face, cutting clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks.
"I killed someone..."
Kashvi pulled her into a tight, desperate embrace. "It was self-defense. Listen to me. You saved both of us."
But Aadhira wasn't hearing her. Her breathing came in short, uneven gasps that barely filled her lungs.
"I killed someone..."
The words had become a prayer. Or a punishment.
A constable approached, holding a clipboard and a cheap ballpoint pen. He tapped the wooden board impatiently against his thigh.
"Madam, final statement complete karni hogi," he said, his voice flat, exhausted by an eight-hour shift.
"FIR draft ho gaya hai. Aapko thumb impression aur signature-"
(Madam, the final statement needs to be completed. The FIR has been drafted. You need to give your thumb impression and signature-)
"Not right now," Kashvi snapped, rising slightly to physically shield Aadhira, her eyes flashing with fierce authority.
"Can't you see she's in shock? She hasn't stopped shaking. Don't ask her another question."
"Madam, procedure is procedure," the constable insisted, stepping closer, his boots heavy on the tile. "Incharge saab bullet points read over karenge. Aap chalo-"
(Madam, procedure is procedure. The Incharge sir will read over the bullet points. Come on-)
The station quieted one person at a time.
An inspector stepped out from the main cabin, buttoning his holster with an irritated glare. "Kya nautanki hai-"
(What kind of drama is this-)
He stopped dead. He squinted at the tall, dark-suited figure moving past the desk, a sharp lag hitting him as his mind tried to reconcile the face from political news and corporate boardrooms with his small precinct.
Behind him, Vivaan moved with practiced efficiency-quietly taking the ledger from the desk officer, silencing a local reporter attempting to raise a camera, and gesturing for the precinct's medical officer to stand down.
The inspector hastily pulled at the hem of his uniform, swallowing hard. "Sir... if there was anything you needed, you could've called us. We would have sent someone..."
His voice didn't carry anger. It was soft, even, and absolute.
The inspector's jaw slackened. His gaze slowly flicked from Aryav to the steel bench, then to the bloodstained cuff of the traumatized girl sitting there.
The color drained from the officer's face in a visible wave.
On the bench, Aadhira's stomach dropped.
Not him.
Please.
Not him.
She didn't look up. She didn't need to. She knew the heavy, suffocating shift in the air that always preceded him.
A cold weight settled in her gut, making her nauseous. Her crying stopped, trapped in her throat.
She tracked the sound of his shoes across the tile until they stopped somewhere in front of her.
She gripped her own knees, refusing to lift her head, terrified to let him see her like this-ruined, shaking, covered in blood.
The front doors banged open again, shattering the quiet.
Shaurya crossed the station in long, frantic strides, shoving past a standing officer without looking back.
"Aadhira."
The moment she heard her brother's voice, the control she'd been forcing on herself disappeared.
She stumbled to her feet and threw herself into his arms.
"Bhai..."
(Brother...)
Her voice shattered. "Maine jaan-bujhkar nahi kiya... main usse maarna nahi chahti thi..."
(I didn't do it on purpose... I didn't want to kill him...)
Shaurya wrapped both arms around her, holding her so tightly her feet barely touched the floor. "It's ok."
"He wouldn't stop... woh ruk hi nahi raha tha... maine bas..."
(He wouldn't stop... he just wouldn't stop... I just...)
"I killed him, bhai..."
"Listen to me," Shaurya interrupted, his voice fiercely grounded, rough with emotion. He pulled back slightly, cupping the back of her head, forcing her to look at him.
"If you hadn't done it, we'd be identifying your body tonight. You hear me?"
"You survived."
He guided her carefully back down onto the bench and knelt in front of her, his hands framing her jaw, his thumb brushing away her tears.
"Breathe, Aadhi. Just look at me and breathe."
Footsteps came to a halt right behind Shaurya.
Shaurya didn't rise. But as Aryav stepped closer, Shaurya shifted his body-a single, instinctual half-step sideways, placing his shoulder squarely between Aryav and Aadhira.
"Stay away from her," Shaurya said, his jaw set hard, his voice low and dangerous as he stared straight ahead. "She's already shaking, Aryav."
Aryav's gaze flicked to Shaurya for a fraction of a second. He didn't answer. He didn't order Shaurya to move.
He simply stepped around him, effortlessly rendering the boundary meaningless, and crouched down in front of her.
Aadhira flinched, shrinking back against the hard metal backrest.
Aryav ignored the reaction. He reached out and gently picked up her shaking right hand, turning her palm upward.
For a fleeting second, his fingers tightened over hers, his eyes dropping to the blood on her sleeve-a delayed, uncharacteristic blink breaking his impenetrable mask before his rigid composure locked back into place.
Noticing how violently she was shivering in the air-conditioned draft, Aryav unbuttoned his heavy dark coat, slid it off his shoulders, and quietly draped it over her trembling frame.
The moment the heavy fabric touched her, carrying his distinct scent, Aadhira violently flinched away, pulling her arms tight to her chest.
Aryav's hand hovered in the air for a single, agonizing beat before he slowly withdrew it.
"Look at me," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft.
Aadhira squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away completely, refusing to give him even that.
Aryav's throat worked once. He stood up slowly to his full height.
"Whose?" he asked softly, looking down at her hands.
Aadhira's chest heaved. The image flashed behind her eyes-the knife, the slick handle, the sudden sickening drop of weight.
Her throat worked, but nothing came out.
"His..." she choked out finally, her voice barely a whisper.
Her thumb kept compulsively rubbing against her fingertips, over and over, as though trying to scrape away blood that was no longer there.
Aryav turned slightly toward the inspector. He didn't look at the officer's face; he looked directly at the constable's clipboard.
"How long has she been sitting here?" Aryav asked.
The inspector cleared his throat, forcing a stiff, professional posture.
"Approximately twenty minutes, sir." He paused, his gaze dropping to Aryav's impassive face, his official composure cracking as his voice faltered. "Just... waiting for the statement-"
"Did I ask?"
The tone hadn't raised, but the quiet edge in it stripped the room of whatever warmth was left.
The inspector swallowed hard, taking an involuntary step back.
Aryav adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, his dark eyes shifting back down to Aadhira's trembling frame.
He didn't give an order. He didn't say a word. He simply stepped back, leaving an open, oppressive void.
The inspector waited for a second, sweating under the absolute silence, before frantically motioning for the constable to resume.
He began speaking to Aadhira from where he stood, careful not to step an inch closer to the bench.
The inspector opened the statement file, keeping his voice measured to re-anchor his authority in the room. "Mrs. Singhania... from the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened."
Aadhira stared at the crisp white paper. The printed black lines blurred into dark smears.
"I..."
Nothing came. Her fingers tightened convulsively around Shaurya's hand, her nails digging into his skin.
"She can't speak right now," Kashvi stepped in again, her voice like steel.
"Can't you see what this is doing to her?"
The inspector tried again, shifting slightly under the unmoving weight of Aryav's shadow behind him.
"The deceased approached you first?"
Silence.
Aadhira's breathing grew uneven, shallow and brittle.
Her shoulders began to shake. She pressed both hands over her mouth, her blood-stained knuckles trembling as if trying to trap a scream inside herself.
She kept rubbing her thumb frantically against her index finger, trying to scrape away dried maroon patches that were no longer there.
Aryav's eyes dropped to her hands. Without a word, he reached into his vest, pulled out a clean, folded white handkerchief, and set it on the table beside her.
He didn't hand it to her. He didn't insist.
Aadhira stared at the pristine cloth, her chest heaving, but she didn't touch it.
The white cloth looked impossibly clean. She couldn't bring herself to stain it.
"I..." she whispered into her palms.