The silence of the empty resort pressed against Inspector Deshmukh like a heavy blanket. Every footstep echoed through corridors that had once buzzed with laughter, accusations, and fear. Now, only the distant sound of waves remained-a constant reminder that while nature had found its peace, justice had not.
He stood in the spot where Samar's body was discovered, his eyes tracing the bloodstain that housekeeping hadn't quite managed to scrub away. The storm outside had passed, but the storm in his mind raged on.
Something is wrong. Something has been wrong from the beginning.
His phone buzzed. A message from his colleague at the station: "Sir, Kunal hasn't spoken a word since yesterday. Just sits there, staring at the wall.
Deshmukh closed his eyes. The image of that broken boy haunted him. How Kunal protested when the handcuffs clicked around his wrists. He screamed his innocence.
But what if it wasn't his guilt? What if he knows something he's not telling?
Deshmukh walked back to the dining hall, his footsteps slower now, more deliber- ate. He had sent everyone away that morning-officially for "procedural reasons," but really because he needed space to think. To breathe. To see clearly without the fog of emotions and lies that had clouded this case from day one.
He pulled out his notebook, pages worn from constant flipping, and began to review everything again. One by one, he revisited their confessions, their alibis, and their motives.
The hot-headed Kabir with his violent temper, but violence that was messy, uncontrolled. Not the precise, calculated strike that had killed Samar.
Sweet Tanya with her unrequited love, but love that turned inward, not outward, into murder.
Young Riya, scared and honest about Samar's inappropriate behavior-but disgust- ed, not murderous.
The lying Gokhales.
Quiet Aditya, who had seemed almost... relieved when Kunal was arrested.
And then there were Aryan and Meera. The perfect couple with the perfect alibi. Too perfect.
The Memory That Changed Everything
Deshmukh sat down heavily in one of the dining chairs and let his mind wander back to that night under the stars. He had stepped outside for some fresh air when he saw them together on the terrace.
"I miss you," Meera had whispered, her voice carried on the wind. "I know. I miss us , too," Aryan had replied, reaching for her hand.
She hadn't pulled away, but she hadn't moved closer either. They stood there, frozen in a moment that seemed to belong to twelve years ago.
At the time, Deshmukh had thought he was witnessing two people finding their way back to each other after years of separation. Two broken hearts trying to heal.
But now... now he wondered if he had witnessed something else entirely. Were they grieving Samar? Or were they planning? Coordinating their story?
He remembered Aryan's left hand during the interrogation. How it kept clenching and unclenching. How he would flex his fingers, then stop suddenly when he noticed Deshmukh watching. How Meera had gently touched it during their joint statement, almost protectively.
"Old cricket injury," Aryan had explained when Deshmukh asked about it. "Acts up sometimes, especially when I'm stressed."
Old injury, maybe. But fresh pain. The kind of pain that comes from gripping something too tight. Something heavy. Something like a wrench.
The murder weapon-a wrench from the maintenance closet. Clean, too clean. No fingerprints, no DNA. But Aryan was a mechanical engineer. He would know tools intimately. He would know exactly how to use them, and more importantly, how to clean them without leaving a trace.
And the wound on Samar's head-one precise blow to the back-left side. Not the frenzied attack of someone in a rage, but the calculated strike of someone who understood force, angles, and anatomy. The kind of knowledge an engineer would have.
Deshmukh stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The pieces were falling into place with terrifying clarity.
Kunal's bracelet was found near the scene, but no blood on it. It had been planted there, or at least left there deliberately.
Kunal's DNA on Samar's shirt-but that could be explained by innocent contact. A hug between father and son earlier that day.
The timing. The precision. The cover-up.
It was them. God help me, it was them all along.
As if summoned by his realization, Deshmukh's phone rang. The caller ID showed his sub-inspector's number.
"Sir, urgent news!"
"Kya baat hai?" Deshmukh asked, his heart already racing. "Sir, it's about Aryan and Meera. They've left Goa."
The words hit Deshmukh like a physical blow. "What do you mean, left Goa?"
"Sir, they are taking an early morning flight to Portugal. They booked the flight at midnight, sir."
"After we arrested Kunal," Deshmukh said quietly, the pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity.
"Yes, sir."
Deshmukh felt the blood drain from his face. Innocent people didn't run. Innocent people didn't book in the middle of the night after a murder investigation conclud- ed. Also, when they are both on the verge of divorce
They used that boy. They let me arrest an innocent child while they planned their escape.
"Sir? Sir, are you there?"
"Haan... haan, I'm here." Deshmukh's voice was hoarse. "Get me everything about their flight bookings. Contact immigration immediately. And get me Aryan's phone number right now."
"Sir, should we alert the Goa authorities?"
"Do whatever it takes. These bastards are not getting away."
Deshmukh ended the call and sat in the empty dining hall, surrounded by the ghosts of that terrible night. How had he been so blind? How had he let his assumptions about grief and love cloud his judgment?
He thought about Kunal, sitting in that jail cell. The boy who hadn't cried, hadn't protested, hadn't fought his arrest. Was it guilt over his father's death? Or was it something else? Did he suspect who the real killers were? Was he protecting them?
No. Kunal doesn't know. He's just a broken boy who thinks the world has aban- doned him.
Deshmukh's phone rang again. This time it was a different number. "Inspector sahab? This is Constable Patil from the Goa office." "Haan, tell me."
"Sir, we have them on CCTV at Goa Airport. Aryan Malhotra and Meera Malho- tra. They're at the gate for the Portugal flight."
"Can you stop them?"
"Sir, we need an official warrant. Some concrete evidence of crime. Right now, it's just suspicion."
"They're fleeing the country after a murder investigation!"
"Sir, technically, they're free to travel. The case was closed when you arrested the boy."
Deshmukh felt sick. The system that was supposed to protect justice was now protecting the criminals.
"How long until their flight departs?" "One hour, sir. Maybe less."
"Keep watching them. Issue arrest warrants for Aryan Malhotra and Meera Mal- hotra for murder and obstruction of justice. Alert Interpol, everyone. They can't leave the country if they do, we can't do anything."
"Yes, sir. What about the boy?"
Deshmukh closed his eyes, thinking of Kunal sitting in that jail cell, innocent and abandoned.
"Release him. Immediately. And... and tell him we're still looking for his father's real killers."
"Sir, without concrete evidence against Aryan and Meera-"
"We'll get the evidence. People like them always make mistakes. Their guilt will eat them alive, and when it does, they'll surface. And we'll be waiting."
Deshmukh walked out of the empty resort, looking back at the building that had held so many secrets. The waves were still lapping against the shore, unchanged by the human drama that had unfolded here.
He stood there for a moment, his phone in his hand, Aryan's number displayed on the screen. His finger hovered over the call button.
They think they've won. They think they're free.
But Deshmukh knew better. There was no freedom from guilt. No escape from conscience. And no peace for those who chose their own happiness over an innocent child's life.
He pressed the call button.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
On the fourth ring, a familiar voice answered. "Hello?"
....
Chapter 9 just dropped… and everything has changed. 😱The truth is out—or is it? The perfect couple isn't so perfect anymore, and the real game has just begun.
Aryan and Meera on the run.Kunal, finally free.And Deshmukh? He's coming for justice.
So tell me—📞 Who did you expect that final call to be to?✈️ Do you think they'll make it out of the country?⚖️ And most of all… was this justice delayed, or justice denied?
The end is near, but the storm's not over. Buckle up. 🌪️🕵️♂️