The streets of Goa blurred past Inspector Deshmukh's windshield as he drove toward Dabolim Airport. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, mind racing faster. The case of Samar Malhotra's murder had haunted him for weeks-too many loose ends, too many questions that didn't add up.
"Hello," a familiar voice came from the phone
Deshmukh's foot instinctively pressed harder on the accelerator. "Aryan? Where are you?"
"That doesn't matter now." There was a pause, filled only by the hum of the engine and distant honking. "You found it, didn't you? The wrench?"
The question hit him like a punch. Deshmukh pulled over to the side of the road, hazard lights blinking. "I did."
"I knew you would. You're too good at your job, Inspector. Too honest for this world."
"Aryan, listen to me-"
"No, you listen." The voice was steady but carried a weight that made Deshmukh's chest tighten. "I'm going to tell you everything. The real story. Not the one everyone believes, not the one that puts Kunal behind bars for something he never did."
Deshmukh restarted the car and drove with purpose toward the airport. "Then tell me. Tell me what happened that night on The Blue Horizon."
Aryan's voice came through the phone like a confession whispered in an empty church-quiet, deliberate, carrying the weight of months of silence.
"Inspector, have you ever hated someone so completely that their very existence feels like a wound that never heals? That seeing their face bring back the worst moment of your life?"
Deshmukh didn't answer. He knew this wasn't a question that needed one.
"We weren't on that cruise by accident," Aryan said, his voice heavy with the weight of a carefully planned deception. "We knew Samar would be there. We'd been tracking his movements for months."
The traffic thickened as Deshmukh approached the airport. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
"Three years ago, Meera was six months pregnant. We were so happy, Inspector. We had the nursery ready, names picked out, our whole future built around this little life growing inside her."
Aryan's voice cracked, the first real break in his composure.
"Samar Malhotra was Meera's boss. She was working late on a campaign-his campaign. He'd been... inappropriate for months. Touching her shoulder too long, standing too close, making comments about her body that made her uncomfortable."
He paused, and Deshmukh could hear the pain radiating through the phone.
"That night, he cornered her in the office after everyone had left. He... he raped her, Inspector. She was six months pregnant, and this animal violated her in the worst possible way."
Deshmukh's grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"The trauma, the violence of what he did... her body couldn't handle it. She had a miscarriage
Deshmukh pulled into the airport parking lot, but didn't get out. He needed to hear this.
"When we reported it, do you know what happened? Samar's lawyers said Meera was unstable, that she'd made advances on him and was now making false accusations to cover up her guilt about losing the baby. They had security footage of her staying late, of her being alone with him. They twisted everything."
"And the company?"
"Covered it up. Paid us to sign an NDA. Moved Samar to a different city, gave him a promotion. Meera got a settlement that felt like blood money, and we were told to 'move on with our lives.'"
Aryan's voice grew harder, more resolved.
"But you don't move on from something like that, Inspector. You don't forgive the man who killed your unborn child walked away whistling. You don't heal when you know he's out there, doing the same thing to other women, destroying other families."
"So you planned this."
"We planned to confront him. To get him to confess, maybe record it. We thought that if we could get evidence of what he did, we could finally get justice for our child. The divorce papers... that part was real, Inspector. We were falling apart. The grief, the trauma, the loss of our baby-it had poisoned everything between us. This was our last attempt-not to save our marriage, but to find some kind of closure so we could both move on."
Deshmukh could hear the pain building in Aryan's voice, like pressure in a kettle about to whistle.
"But the moment he saw us on that cruise, he knew. He remembered exactly what he'd done to us, and he was... amused by it. That first night, he came up to our table at dinner, smiled that sick smile of his, and said, 'Well, if it isn't the grieving parents. Still mourning that little accident?"
Aryan paused, and Deshmukh could hear him taking a shaky breath.
"He called our baby's death an 'accident,' Inspector. As if what he did to her, what caused the miscarriage, was just some unfortunate mishap. He was proud of what he'd done. Proud that he'd taken our child from us."
"The night it happened, we'd been trying to get him alone. Finally, there was that party on the upper deck. Everyone was drunk, celebrating. We saw our chance and followed him when he stepped away."
"I was ready to confront him, Inspector. We both were. But when we found him behind the ballroom area, when I started to speak, he just laughed. Said, 'Oh, this is precious. The traumatized couple wants to have a heart-to-heart."
Deshmukh closed his eyes, still sitting in his car in the airport parking lot.
"Then he looked at Meera, and his expression changed. Became hungry. He said, 'You know, I never got to finish what we started that night. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.'"
"That's when he grabbed her wrist, the same way he had three years ago. Started pulling her toward the darker part of the deck. And Meera... God, Inspector, she just froze. The trauma, the memories, it all came flooding back."
Aryan's voice grew quieter, more dangerous.
"I shouted at him to let her go. He turned to me and said, 'What are you going to do about it? Call the police? We both know how that worked out last time."
"And?"
"I lost it completely. Grabbed a bottle from a nearby table and smashed it against the wall. Told him I'd kill him if he didn't let her go."
"He let her go, but then he smiled that same sick smile and said, 'You think anyone will believe you this time? Look around-everyone here thinks you're just a couple who are getting divorced soon are on vacation. When they find her body tomorrow morning, washed up on some beach, who's going to suspect the grieving husband killed his unstable wife? Especially one who already couldn't protect her precious baby."
The words hit Deshmukh like a slap. He'd heard predators before, but this level of cruelty was something else.
"That's when I knew he wasn't just going to hurt Meera-he was going to kill her and make it look like suicide. Just like he'd killed our baby and called it an accident."
"That's when you hit him." "That's when Meera hit him."
The correction hung between them like a revelation.
"I was about to swing the broken bottle, Inspector. I was ready to end his life with my bare hands. But Meera... she saw a wrench on the ground-maintenance work from earlier. She picked it up and she... she struck him."
Deshmukh felt his chest tighten.
"The first hit just made him stumble. But he turned on her, snarled something about finishing what he started three years ago, and lunged forward with his hands reaching for her throat. That's when she hit him again. Harder this time. He fell backwards, hit his head on the metal railing."
"And he died?"
"Not right away. He was bleeding, unconscious. And you know what, Inspector? For a moment, as we watched him lying there, I felt peace for the first time in three years. Our daughter finally had justice."
The silence stretched between them. Deshmukh could hear his own heartbeat.
"We didn't try to help him this time. We watched him bleed out, and we felt... relief. When his breathing stopped, when we checked his pulse and found nothing... we held each other and cried. Not from guilt, but from something that felt almost like healing."
"So you cleaned up the scene."
"I cleaned up the scene. Not to hide a crime, Inspector, but to protect the woman I love from a world that had already failed her once. I took the wrench, wiped it down, and hid it where I knew it would eventually be found. I cleaned Meera's hands, made sure there was no blood on her clothes."
"And then you let everyone believe it was Kunal."
Aryan was quiet for a long moment. "Kunal was making a scene that night, fighting with his father, drinking heavily. When people started looking for someone to blame... we realized the universe had given us a gift. A way out."
"Inspector, you have to understand-Meera didn't just defend herself that night. She defended every woman Samar would have hurt in the future. She stopped a monster that the system had protected for years. She reclaimed the power he'd stolen from her three years ago."
Deshmukh finally got out of his car and started walking toward the airport terminal. His boots echoed on the concrete.
"Where are you now, Aryan?" Silence.
"Aryan?"
"We're leaving, Inspector. Today. Not because we're running from justice, but because we've finally found peace. For the first time in three years, we can sleep without nightmares. We can touch each other without thinking about what he did to us."
"But Kunal-"
"Will be fine once you reveal what you found. The evidence will show it was self-defense. You're a good man, Inspector. You'll find a way to free him without destroying us."
Deshmukh stopped walking. Around him, families rushed past with suitcases, children laughed, and announcements echoed in multiple languages.
"I have to arrest you, Aryan. You know that."
"I know you have to try. But I also know you understand the difference between law and justice. Samar Malhotra destroyed our family three years ago and walked away laughing. He killed our unborn child and then mocked us for grieving. That night, our baby finally got the justice the courts denied."
The line went dead.
Deshmukh stood in the crowded terminal, his phone pressed tightly to his ear even though the call had ended. Around him, the world moved in fast-forward- families bustling with baggage, children tugging at sleeves, tourists snapping selfies under the coastal sun streaming through glass walls.
But for him, everything had slowed to a crawl.
He thought about justice. Real justice. The kind that doesn't always happen in courtrooms.
He called his team. "This is Deshmukh. I need you to put a hold on the Lisbon flight departing in..." He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Look for passengers Aryan and Meera Sharma. They're wanted for questioning in the Samar Malhota murder case."
His feet moved automatically toward the departure gates, but his mind was wrestling with something much more complex than procedure.
The case had never felt right. Too many pieces that didn't fit, too many questions that led to more questions. Now he had his answers, and they sat in his stomach like a weight that made him question everything he thought he knew about right and wrong.
As he walked through the terminal, Deshmukh found himself remembering details he'd pushed aside during the investigation. Meera's reaction during the questioning-not the nervous energy of guilt, but the hollow stillness of someone who had survived something unspeakable. The way she'd unconsciously rubbed her wrist when they asked about Samar. The medical report mentioned old bruising.
He remembered Aryan's steadiness throughout the investigation. Not the panic of a guilty man trying to hide something, but the protective calm of someone who had already made peace with impossible choices.
And Samar Malhotra. Deshmukh had done his research after the murder-two prior complaints filed against him in Dubai and Mumbai. Both dropped after
out-of-court settlements. Both young women who worked in hospitality, women who couldn't afford to fight a man with money and connections, and a hit-and-run case.
But this wasn't just about those women, or even about what Samar might have done in the future. This was about a man who had killed a baby, not with his hands, but with his violence. A man who had watched a family destroyed by his actions and walked away whistling.
The wrench had been the final piece. Too clean, too carefully placed. Not hidden by someone in a panic, but positioned by someone who wanted the truth to surface when the time was right.
Deshmukh reached the security checkpoint and showed his badge. The officer nodded him through, and he found himself walking toward gate number 7-Lisbon departure.
His phone buzzed. His team confirmed the hold was in place. He was fifty feet from the gate when he saw them.
Aryan and Meera stood near the windows, their backs to him. They weren't running, weren't panicking. They stood close together, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, both of them looking out at the planes on the tarmac.
Meera was smaller than he remembered, wearing a simple cotton dress and carrying a small backpack. Her hair was pulled back, and even from behind, Deshmukh could see the tension in her shoulders-the permanent posture of someone who had learned to expect danger.
Aryan was taller, wearing jeans and a plain shirt. He held their boarding passes in one hand and kept the other protectively near Meera, not possessively, but like a shield between her and the world that had failed her.
They looked like what they were-two people who had survived something terrible together and were trying to find a way to heal.
But more than that, they looked like parents. Broken parents who had carried the weight of their dead child for three years, who had watched their baby's killer live free while they lived with nightmares.
Deshmukh's phone rang again. He answered without looking at the caller ID. "Sir, we have them in sight," his constable's voice crackled through. "Orders?"
Deshmukh watched as Meera leaned into Aryan's shoulder, watched him turn slightly to murmur something that made her nod. Such a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of years of shared grief, shared rage, shared love that had been tested by the worst kind of loss.
"Sir?" the constable pressed. "Should we move in?"
Deshmukh thought about justice. About the law. About the difference between what was legal and what was right.
He thought about Samar Malhotra, whose death would have been mourned if he'd been a better man, whose life had been a series of women silenced by NDAs and social pressure, whose violence had killed an innocent child.
He thought about the baby who never got to take her first steps, never got to say her first words, never got to know her parents' love because a predator couldn't control himself.
He thought about the system that had failed this family three years ago, that had protected a rapist and let him walk free while his victims suffered in silence.
And he thought about Meera and Aryan-two people who'd been destroyed by a man the law couldn't touch, who had finally found the courage to stand up to their tormentor, who had given their daughter the justice the courts never would.
"Sir, they're boarding now. Final call for instructions."
Deshmukh watched as Aryan and Meera joined the boarding queue. They moved slowly, deliberately. Not like fugitives, but like people taking the first step of a very long journey toward healing, carrying their daughter's memory with them instead of letting her death be meaningless.
He thought about Kunal, sitting in jail for a crime he didn't commit. That boy would be freed-Deshmukh would make sure of it. The evidence would show it was self-defense, an accident during a struggle. The truth, just not all of it.
And he thought about the other women Samar might have hurt, the families he might have destroyed. That would never happen now.
"Cancel the hold," Deshmukh said quietly. "Sir?"
"Cancel the hold on the flight. Let them go." "But, sir, they're suspects in a murder case. They're parents who protected each other and honored their dead child. Let them go."
He ended the call and stood there, watching through the gate windows as they
handed their boarding passes to the attendant. The woman smiled at them, probably thinking they were a couple healing from some tragedy, starting fresh somewhere new.
She wasn't wrong.
As their plane taxied toward the runway, Deshmukh made another call.
"This is Inspector Deshmukh. I need you to release Kunal Malhotra immediately. New evidence has come to light that clears him of all charges in the Samar Malhotra's case."
"What kind of evidence?"
Deshmukh closed his eyes. "The kind that shows Mr. Malhotra's death was accidental." A struggle during an attempted sexual assault. Self-defense that went wrong. The file will show a closed case-death by misadventure during an altercation.
It wasn't entirely a lie. It wasn't entirely the truth either. But it was justice-messy, complicated, human justice that understood the difference between law and righteousness.
Six hours later, Deshmukh sat in his office, staring at the case file. The real story lived only in his memory now, tucked away between his conscience and his understanding of what the law couldn't always provide.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown international number:
"Thank you for understanding that some stories are bigger than the law. We will spend the rest of our lives making sure our daughter's death meant something. - A"
He deleted the message and closed the file.
Outside his window, the sun was setting over Goa, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Somewhere out there, families were tucking their children into bed, reading bedtime stories, and kissing scraped knees better.
And somewhere over the ocean, two people who had survived the unthinkable were beginning to learn how to carry their daughter's memory without letting it destroy them.
No wedding rings yet-those had been buried with their old life. No promises they weren't ready to make. Just two people who understood each other's scars and were willing to heal together, carrying their daughter's memory like a light instead of a burden.
"Do you think we did the right thing?" Meera whispered, her voice still carrying the careful quiet of someone who'd learned that the world wasn't always safe.
Aryan looked at her, not like she was fragile, not like she was broken, but like she was exactly who she was supposed to be-a mother who had protected herself and honored her child's memory.
"I think we gave her justice," he said simply. "I think we made sure she mattered."
They didn't run from their past. They carried it with them, along with their luggage and their hopes for something better. Their daughter would never be forgotten, never be just another casualty of a system that protected predators.
On The Blue Horizon, cleaners scrubbed blood from tiles that had already been cleaned a dozen times. New guests would arrive. New secrets would form.
New stories would begin.But this story?
It would linger. Forever written between the waves, in the space between justice and mercy, in the understanding that sometimes love means making impossible choices and living with the consequences together.
And in Goa, Inspector Deshmukh filed his final report, knowing that the best justice isn't always found in courtrooms, but in the quiet moments when we choose compassion over law, understanding over judgment, and love over everything else that tries to tear us apart.
.........
Chapter 10 is here… and it's giving full thriller mode. 🕵️♂️💥So… Aryan and Meera just told their side of the story. Calmly. Chillingly. Like they were talking about the weather.Turns out, it wasn't just a murder. It was revenge. Justice. Maybe even survival.
And Deshmukh? He's not just a cop now—he's the guy holding the secret that could shake everything.
So tell me—🔪 Did you expect this twist from Aryan and Meera?✈️ Should Deshmukh have let them go?💬 And are you still thinking about what you would've done?
We're almost at the end now, and things are only getting messier.Final chapter's coming next—who's ready?