Chapter 3
Meera
The notification flashes across my laptop screen, making my heartbeat stutter. I draw in a slow breath before clicking it open. A slow, triumphant smile spreads across my lips when I read the email.
Yes. Got it.
It had been two days since the guest house incident, and since then, I’ve been tearing at every loose thread I could find, desperate to dig up anything against the Rathores.
And now, finally, I have something.
Last night, when I walked into one of their pubs, I had no expectations.
I was already worn down by one failed attempt after another.
This was just another shot in the dark. But it seems luck finally took pity on me when I crossed paths with a waiter who recognised me as a journalist and had seen me asking questions.
On the pretext of wiping my table, he asked me to quietly meet him outside, saying he could give me the truth I had been searching for.
When I met him after his shift, he told me about the back room, the one used for late-night drug exchanges.
He even spoke of his sister, of how she’d fallen victim to the very drugs being pushed through that pub.
I had known the Rathores were involved in questionable dealings, but this came as a complete surprise.
It proved just how right I was about the kind of criminals they truly are.
The waiter even promised that he would send me the proof soon, as long as his name never came out. I gave him my word.
And now, the photograph attached to the email stares back at me. Dimly lit and slightly blurred. Small packets lined up on a table, and a man’s gloved hand reaching for them.
“Meera?”
I shut the laptop just as the door creaks open. My head snaps up to see my father step inside, his grey hair slightly mussed, evidence of another long dinner meeting. His warm brown eyes find mine instantly, carrying that familiar fatherly concern he never bothers to hide.
“You’re still awake, beta?” he asks, stepping into the room.
“Yeah, Papa. Just… working.”
He looks at me for a long second. “Your mom said you didn’t have your dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” I just shrug.
He sits on the edge of my bed and exhales, a deep, tired sound.
“You know…” he begins, “when you were a little girl, all you ever wanted to do was write stories about those tiny fights you’d jump into at school.
” A small smile tugs at his mouth. “You were so young, but so fearless. Always standing up for someone. Always trying to fix things that weren’t even yours to fix.
” He shakes his head as he continues. “And then you’d come home, sit with your diary, and write it all down.
” He glances at me, his eyes softening. “I would always tell your mom that you’re the kind of girl who’ll spend her whole life chasing trouble just because you believe you can save everyone.
And the scary part is…” He pauses, patting my cheek.
“You’re still jumping into trouble, and writing about it. ”
I swallow hard. “Someone has to, Papa.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” he adds quickly, his voice softening at the edges.
“I know you’re my brave girl. But…” He holds my gaze, and there’s something vulnerable there, something only fathers carry.
“I guess being a father means I can never stop worrying about you. And now…” His throat works as he swallows.
“Now the reasons are bigger. And so is my fear of something happening to you.”
I know exactly what he wants to warn me about, even if he doesn’t say it outright.
He knows I’ve been digging into something involving the Rathores, even though I never gave him the details.
I never told him about the confrontation at the guest house either.
All he knows is that I’m working on an article about them, and that’s enough to worry him.
“You know you have nothing to worry about when it comes to me,” I say, taking his hands in mine. “Papa, I just want to do what’s right.”
“I know,” he breathes in slowly, the kind of breath that carries both pride and fear. “Just… remember, beta. No matter what truth you’re chasing, come home to us. Always.”
My throat tightens. Before I can respond, the door pushes open.
“What secret meeting is happening between father and daughter without me?” Mom walks in with a dramatic flair. “And you—” she points at Papa, “—did you ask her if she wanted coffee?”
Papa rolls his eyes. “It’s eleven at night! Who drinks coffee at this time?”
“She does,” Mom fires back. “Especially when she’s stressed.”
“I’m not stressed,” I protest.
Both of them stare at me like I’ve just told them I’m moving to Mars.
Mom sits on my other side. “You have been on your laptop since you got back from work and haven’t had anything to eat or drink. That is absolutely stressed behaviour.”
I groan. “Can the two of you not gang up on me?”
Dad pats my cheek. “Beta, we’re parents. It’s in our job description.”
“And you’re our only child,” Mom adds. “Which means double the nagging.”
I laugh despite myself.
Dad eyes my laptop. “You can work on your article. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “I promise.”
Mom smiles at me. “And promise to take breaks.”
Dad scoffs. “She won’t. She’s too stubborn to ever listen to that.”
“Oh, like you listen?” Mom shoots back. “Last week you said you’d rest, but instead you reorganised the entire garage and nearly broke your back—”
“That’s different!” Dad argues. “The garage was a mess!”
Mom pokes him in the arm. “You’re always full of excuses when it comes to justifying yourself.”
“And you married me anyway,” he says smugly.
“Here we go.” I roll my eyes, grinning as the two of them continue their fun-loving bickering. The kind I grew up watching. The kind that made me believe in love, even after years of marriage.
Dad finally presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Goodnight, beta.”
Mom leans in, cupping my cheek before kissing my forehead. “Goodnight, beta.”
“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Papa.” I smile as they step out of the room.
Once Dad closes the door behind them, I wait a few seconds. Then I open my laptop again.
“I will make the Rathores pay. The name they pride themselves on will be dragged through the mud, every dirty deed of theirs exposed,” I whisper to myself, my fingers flying as I begin typing the article.
???
After polishing off Mom’s yummy aloo paratha, I sling my bag over my shoulder and step outside, smiling the moment I spot Samarth leaning against his jeep. He’s dressed in his favourite blue jeans and black shirt, arms crossed, dark sunglasses on, the morning sun catching the edges of his grin.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, pushing off the jeep and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, just like he always does, before opening the passenger door.
“Morning,” I say with a smile as I slide into the passenger seat. He shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side, but before he can start the engine, I ask, “Can we… not go straight to the office? Can we stop at our spot first?”
He glances at me and nods, pressing the accelerator. “Of course.”
Through the drive, he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t push. He knows me well enough to recognise when to stay quiet. He knows I’ll talk when I’m ready.
Thirty minutes later, we reach the old lake. Samarth gets out first and walks to the front of the car, leaning against the hood with his arms folded, quietly waiting. I join him and take a deep breath before I turn towards him.
“I got a lead yesterday.”
His brows lift as he turns to look at me. “Against the Rathores?”
I nod. “Yes. And I have the article ready.”
He watches me for a long second, then lets out a slow breath. “Like I said, I am with you, Meera. But after meeting those assholes… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.”
“I know,” I say with a small smile. “But worrying won’t change what needs to be done. I can’t walk away, Samarth.”
“I know I can’t stop you. Just… don’t put yourself in a place where I can’t reach you,” he counters gently.
“I won’t. Now will you relax?” I nudge him lightly with my shoulder. “And you, being a journalist, should know this is what we do.”
He nods with a helpless smile.
“There’s… something I want to tell you,” he says quietly, his voice suddenly sounding different, unsteady in a way I’ve never heard before.
I blink. “What is it, Samarth?”
Samarth stares at me, and I catch the way his throat works as he suddenly swallows hard. Then, with a shaky exhale, he finally says it.
“I love you, Meera.” He pauses, his voice roughening. “Like… really love you. Not as a friend. Not as someone I just care about. But more. So much more.”
“W-what?” My breath stutters, the words barely making it out.
We’ve been friends for years. He’s been my comfort, the place I ran to without thinking. My safest place. But never once had my heart tilted towards love. Not like that. And I truly believed he felt the same… that whatever we shared began and ended in friendship.
This… this is something I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’ve loved you for years, but I never found the courage to tell you.
” He looks down at the ground for a second.
“I don’t even know when it started,” he admits.
“Maybe it was the night you cried over your first rejected article. Or maybe that time you dragged me out at midnight because you wanted hot chocolate fudge ice cream.” He exhales softly.
“I just… kept falling. Slowly and quietly. And by the time the truth finally hit me, it was far too late to pull back.”
I shake my head immediately. “Samarth… I… we’re friends. Best friends. I never...”
“I know,” he says gently. “But I needed you to know.”
My chest tightens painfully, and I reach out and take his hands in mine. “Samarth… I care about you so much. You’re important to me. But not… like that.”
He nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he masks it. “Yeah… I figured.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”