Chapter 32
Sidharth
It’s past ten. Sunita Aunty has already turned in for the night, but Nisha and I are still wide awake. Neither of us is ready to let this night end just yet. So here we are, curled up on her balcony recliner, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Her warmth is pressed against my side, grounding me, but there’s a gnawing unease crawling beneath my skin, the kind I’ve learned never to ignore.
And it’s because, right now, I’ve got this feeling, an instinctive sense that we’re being watched.
Every muscle in my body is on alert. But I don’t say a word to Nisha.
She doesn’t need that stress tonight, not after I slid that ring onto her finger and saw her eyes light up like they held the whole damn sky.
I lower my head and bury my nose in her hair, closing my eyes as I breathe in that soft lavender scent, trying like hell to focus on her and deal with the shadows when they come.
Seconds pass by. Her hair tickles my nose, and her breath is warm against my neck.
Her soothing presence doesn’t chase the unease away completely, but it eases some of the tension coiled tight in my chest.
“Sweetheart, are you happy?” I murmur, my lips brushing the crown of her head.
She nods against me. “More than I’ve ever been.” Then she nuzzles deeper into my chest. “It feels like I got my Mr. Perfect, who’s way better than those book heroes I used to fantasize about.” Her fingers brush lightly over my chest. “You proved that real life can outdo fiction.”
I let out a low chuckle, tightening my arm around her.
“Damn right. Though I gotta admit knowing you used to fantasize about other men, even the fictional kind, kinda makes me jealous.” I glance down at the ring on her finger and smile.
“But knowing I’m all you want,” I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles, “makes me feel like the luckiest bastard alive.”
Brushing my thumb over her ring finger, my thoughts drift back to a few weeks ago when I walked into the jewelry store, knowing I wouldn’t be at peace until I found the ring that screamed she’s mine.
I must’ve gone through dozens of options, but nothing felt right until I saw this one. Simple and elegant. Just like her.
But the ring wasn’t all I had in mind. I had plans.
An elaborate candlelight dinner, violinists playing in the background…
hell, I even considered one of those over-the-top skywriting proposals.
But all of it flew out the window the moment Sunita Aunty nudged me to propose to Nisha right in front of her.
And when I caught that challenging little twinkle in Nisha’s eyes, I knew that was my moment.
Not that I regret it. With her beside me and Aunty’s blessing, the moment felt perfect. Still, a part of me wonders if I should’ve done it better. More worthy of her.
“I missed the flowers and the over-the-top dinner,” I whisper against her hair.
She lifts her head immediately, her eyes locking with mine. “It was perfect. Trust me, no flowers, no fancy dinner could come close to this proposal.”
“You really have no idea what you do to me,” I murmur, my eyes roaming over her.
She looks adorable in that oversized sweatshirt that’s practically swallowing her whole.
The sleeves fall past her hands, the neckline slides off one shoulder, and somehow, she still manages to make it look like the most beautiful outfit in the world.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always,” I reply, caressing her cheek.
She swallows, hesitating for a second before her voice breaks. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”
My brows pull together at the sheer stupidity of that question. Before I can even open my mouth to ask what the hell that’s about, she keeps going.
“I mean, I know we love each other. I don’t doubt that, not even for a second.” Her voice wavers just a little, like she’s trying to steady something inside her. “But marriage is huge, Sidharth. It’s a lifelong commitment. Are you really ready for all of that with me?”
I cup her face, making sure her eyes don’t falter for even a second when I speak.
“You think I’d put that ring on your finger if I wasn’t sure?
” I ask softly. “I know marriage is huge. It’s forever.
And that’s exactly what I want with you.
” My voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the conviction in it.
“I’ve spent most of my career tackling the deadliest cases.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, has ever scared me as much as the thought of losing you.
That’s how I know this is what I want. That’s how I know I’m ready.
” Her eyes begin to glisten, but I press on.
“Do I know what marriage fully entails? Hell no. But I do know that I want to wake up every morning with you beside me. I want to fight over silly things like what show to binge, and then hold you tight at night. And one day, I want to have tiny versions of you running around, driving us both crazy. I want to grow old with you, sweetheart.”
She lets out a watery laugh at that, a sound that’s half sob, half joy.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“And I love you more,” I reply, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She smiles and drops her head back onto my chest, and my thumb moves in slow, lazy strokes against her back. Her breathing begins to even out soon after, and her grip on my shirt loosens slightly. She’s asleep now, peacefully snuggled against me.
I know I should carry her inside, tuck her into bed, and head home to catch a few hours of sleep before another round of interrogations tomorrow. But I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes, rest my cheek against her head, and hold her tighter.
In this moment, with her wrapped around me like this, it’s the only kind of peace I’ve ever known.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the stars, to fate, to God, for finally taking pity on me. “Thank you for this beautiful gift in my arms.”
???
“You finally put the ring on her finger?” Viraj asks, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as we step into the small, half-lit coffee shop near the station.
The place smells like burnt espresso and old furniture polish—the kind of place only cops could love.
It’s nothing fancy. Just worn-out booths, dim lights, and the soft whir of a tired ceiling fan overhead.
I turn my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You knew I would.”
He chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I still can’t believe you went full-on romantic hero mode, carrying that ring around in your pocket like some lovesick idiot.”
I curse under my breath. I don’t even know why I told the fucker I bought the ring, let alone admitted I’d been carrying it with me everywhere. Especially knowing he’d hold it over my head for the rest of my life.
“Are you done laughing about it?” I mutter, sliding into the booth.
Viraj grins as he drops into the seat opposite me, tossing his jacket and bag beside him.
“Not even close.” He leans back, eyeing me with that same annoying smirk. “Just let me enjoy the fact that the great Sidharth Khurana turned out to be a softie after all.”
“You wish.” I shoot him a look, then glance towards the young waiter hovering nearby. “Two black coffees. Extra strong.”
The kid nods and walks off.
I turn back to Viraj and ask. “You got what I asked for?”
Viraj nods and pulls a thick, brown file from his bag and slides it across the table.
“That’s everything on Deepak. Phone records, work details, financials, the people he meets, everything’s in there.”
I flip the file open and skim through the pages, but nothing concrete jumps out at me.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, slamming the file shut just as the waiter places our coffee on the table.
Viraj lifts his cup and takes a slow sip before speaking. “I think he’s smart. Even if he’s guilty, he’s covering his tracks well.” He then shrugs causally. “Or maybe he’s not guilty at all.”
I shake my head, grab my cup, and take a gulp of the hot, bitter coffee.
“Most of the time, the ones who look the cleanest have the dirtiest hands. We just haven’t found the crack yet.”
Viraj nods, and we spend the next twenty minutes trying to connect dots that simply don’t exist. Every lead feels like a dead end. Frustrated, I pick the file.
“I’ll double-check it again tonight,” I say, sliding out of the booth.
He nods, and we rise, heading towards the door, still talking and going over the same useless facts one more time. Not out of hope, but out of habit.
But just as I step out the door, I collide hard with someone. The file slips from my hand and hits the ground.
“Shit,” I mutter, crouching down when I hear a voice say, “Sorry.”
My eyes snap up and meet Deepak’s.
Before I can react, he’s already kneeling and reaching for the file.
“I got it,” he says, picking up the file, then rising to his feet and holding it out to me.
I snatch the file from his hands, my jaw clenched tight. “Thanks.”
Deepak gives a casual nod. “Nice to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I reply, my tone flat as I motion to my right. “Meet Inspector Viraj. He worked on Nisha’s case and was the one who caught Prakash.”
Deepak gulps hard, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Bingo.
That’s all I needed for every damn warning bell in my head to blare like a siren, confirming that he is definitely hiding something.
Viraj steps forward and extends his hand with a tight-lipped smile. “Pleasure.”
Deepak hesitates for a second before reaching out and shaking it. “Likewise,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Can’t I just come grab a coffee?” Deepak replies, cocking his head, trying to play the innocent card. “Is that a crime now?”
“Not a crime at all.” Viraj shrugs easily, but I don’t take my eyes off Deepak
“I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d show up at a place like this,” I say evenly. “You’re more of a five-star, suit-and-espresso type.”
Deepak gives a small laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Even five-star guys need to slum it sometimes. Besides,” he gestures around casually, “this place is where I used to come during my college days.” Then his eyes narrow slightly.
“Now, if you’re done interrogating me, can I go ahead to enjoy my coffee? ”
Before I can call out his bluff, Viraj cuts in. “You go ahead and grab that coffee. Sidharth and I have work to do.”
Viraj turns to me and jerks his head towards the car, and I take the cue. My eyes lock with Deepak’s one last time before I turn and walk past him, my grip tightening around the file.
The second we climb into my car, Viraj shuts the door and speaks before I even touch the ignition.
“You’re making it pretty damn obvious you’ve got a problem with him.”
I glance at him as I jam the key into the ignition. “I don’t care.”
He huffs a short laugh. “Yeah, I gathered that.”
I don’t respond. Just keep my foot steady on the accelerator as I merge onto the main road. The drive turns silent as my mind races.
“He’s hiding something. I know it,” I finally say, breaking the silence. My fingers flex on the steering wheel, my jaw grinding. “But knowing and proving are two very different things.”
Viraj nods. “Then we make him crack.”
He’s right. I don’t need Deepak to confess. I just need him to screw up once. And I know he will. Because men like him always crack under pressure. When the fear sinks in and they sense the ground shifting beneath them, they crumble. And that’s when they make mistakes.