Shiv slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing he felt was cold and wet, then the sound of water droplets hitting a puddle — soft at first, then louder, pounding against the wet ground. His world spun around before his eyes. His body was heavy and tired. Every breath he took felt like needles piercing his lungs.
His body was slumped against the wall, his clothes soaked through — rain mixing with blood. He tasted iron on his tongue.
He tried to move, but his body shook like a wet leaf assaulted by raindrops, and his muscles screamed.
Memories of what happened earlier started flashing through his mind — how Vansh looked at him, his face twisted in anger, the shouts, the fists, the rain. Then everything went black.
He clenched his teeth, a weak sound escaping his lips. "Why… why can't they just leave me alone?"
He leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the gray sky.
"I just wanted to live like everyone else," he whispered. "To laugh… to be happy… to be treated as equal... not be treated like a curse."
The rain dripped from his chin, cold and merciless.
"I thought… maybe if I stayed quiet, maybe if I didn't fight back, they'd stop. But they never do. All they know is hate."
Placing his head on his knees, his arms around his head, with a trembled voice he said something — the words barely audible.
"No matter what I say."
"No matter what I do."
"No matter how much I avoid them, people always find a way to hate me. Even if they know me or not, it doesn't matter."
"Hate," Shiv gritted his teeth.
"They don't even know why, but they do. It's just… something they were told."
He gave a hollow laugh that quickly died. "A myth they heard from their family."
The wind howled, sweeping through the empty street.
He sat there for a long moment, until his legs finally gave him enough strength to move. One hand against the wall, he pushed himself up, his body trembling like a dying flame.
.
.
.
.
Police sirens wailed, cutting through the storm.
Flashes of red and blue lights painted the soaked streets. A large crowd had already gathered — some people whispered, some talked aloud, and some stayed still. Anxiety painted their faces.
Cameras clicked, taking pictures of the blood-soaked crime scene, and reporters shouted over the sound of rain.
"Everyone stay back!" officers yelled, pushing the crowd away from the yellow tape, away from the horror that had happened here.
Inspector Singh stood just beyond the tape, his uniform wet, clinging to his body. His cap shielded his head from the rain, but his hair was wet, his expression cold and tired as he stared at the scene in front of him.
Blood.
Too much blood.
The rain washed it down the cracked pavement, turning the puddles a faint pink.
Singh rubbed his temple, a deep frown on his face. "What's going on in this city," he muttered. "First people vanish without a trace, and now this…"
Camera flashes went off around him. The smell of wet earth, metal, and blood filled the air.
He turned to his junior officer. "Mark everything. I want every corner of this alley photographed and bagged. Every drop of blood. Every piece of fabric. Everything."
The officer nodded, rain dripping off his cap.
.
.
.
The rain had grown heavier. Each drop hit his face like a hammer.
He limped forward, holding the strap of his torn bag. The streetlights were blurs through the water running down his face. His school uniform clung to him, cold and heavy.
Every step hurt. His ribs throbbed. His head pounded. But he kept walking.
He didn't even realize where his feet were taking him until he turned the corner and saw the familiar row of houses. Home.
Two women passed by, holding umbrellas. He barely heard them over the rain, but a few words reached him.
"—that's right…"
"—they found something."
Shiv didn't react. His mind was too numb to care.
All he wanted was to go home — away from people, away from the world.
When he reached the front door, he stopped. His hand hovered over the knob. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.
What will she think when she sees me like this?
He opened the door slowly.
"Usha?" he called out softly.
No reply.
The house was dark. Quiet. Too quiet.
He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Click.
He called again, a little louder. "Usha?"
Nothing.
His chest tightened. He put his bag down and moved toward her room. The door was half open.
"Usha?"
He pushed it open — and froze.
Her bed was empty. Her blanket folded neatly. Her slippers still by the bed.
The air in the room felt cold. Too still.
"No…" His voice broke. "No, no, no."
He ran to the kitchen, the bathroom — every corner of the house. Nothing.
His shaking hands fumbled for his phone. He called his uncle.
"Hello?"
"Uncle," Shiv gasped, his voice trembling, "is Usha with you?"
A pause.
"No… isn't she home?"
The phone slipped from Shiv's hand. His body froze.
She wasn't with him. She wasn't anywhere.
His heartbeat spiked and his blood ran cold.
The next thing he knew, he was out the door, running barefoot through the rain. His clothes clung to his body, his cuts stinging with every movement. But he didn't care.
"Usha!"
He ran through the streets, calling her name. Through alleys, around corners, past the small park — nothing.
Then, a few blocks away behind his home, he saw the crowd.
Police cars. Flashing lights.
He slowed down. The rain sounded louder now.
His heart beat so fast it felt like it was going to burst.
He walked closer. Red and blue lights flashed across his face.
.
.
"What's happening to this city…" Jay muttered, his camera flashing.
"First people go missing, then that blood-soaked room with no bodies, and now…"
He stopped talking. His voice faltered as he looked down.
On the wet ground — a small arm.
A child's arm.
An officer gently lifted a piece of torn fabric with tweezers, placing it into an evidence bag.
Inspector Singh's face hardened. He rubbed his temple, sighing heavily. "A child this time… God help us."
The sound of cameras clicking filled the silence. Around them, the crowd whispered — fear spreading like disease.
.
.
Shiv turned and walked toward the crowd, his steps slow. He pushed through the people, his heart racing. His hands trembled. His breath was uneven.
"Excuse me—please—" He squeezed through the gaps until he reached the front of the tape.
The officers blocked his view. He leaned slightly to the side.
And then… he saw it.
Inside an evidence bag — a torn piece of fabric. Light pink. A familiar pattern.
His chest went cold.
And just beyond it — a small arm, pale and covered in blood.
His knees gave out.
He couldn't breathe.
The air stuck in his throat as if the world itself had turned against him. His trembling hands pressed against the muddy ground, the cold seeping into his bones. He wanted to scream, but no sound came — just a hollow gasp that disappeared into the rain.
His eyes stayed fixed on that small, lifeless arm.
No. No, it's not her.
It can't be.
He shook his head, his lips trembling. His body refused to accept what his eyes saw.
But the pattern on that torn piece of cloth — that soft pink with faded white flowers — he knew it too well. He had bought her that dress himself on her birthday.
His breath hitched. The corners of his vision blurred.
"Usha…" The word slipped out, fragile, like a dying spark.
His body bent forward, his forehead pressing against the cold, wet road. His fingers dug into the dirt until his nails broke.
"Why…" he whispered, voice cracking. "Why her…?"
Tears mixed with rain, streaming down his face, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. The pain in his ribs, the cuts, the bruises — nothing compared to this. Nothing ever could.
He slammed his fist into the ground once — then again. The sound was swallowed by thunder.
"I promised our mother that I'd protect you…" he muttered between gasps. "I promised, Usha…"
And then—
"Aaaaaaa..... Ushaaaaaa...."
He screamed, his voice breaking entirely. The world felt distant, unreal. All he could hear was her laughter echoing faintly in his head — the memory of her small hand tugging his sleeve, her voice calling him Bhaiya with warmth and innocence.
That warmth was gone now.
He pressed his palms against the wet ground and pushed his body forward, trying to reach her hand, her laughter fading slowly in his ears as if she was walking away.
"Usha...." He screamed as he walked past the tape, not caring about the people or the officers who tried to stop him.
Ignoring them, he pushed forward, shoving the officers who held him back, not letting him get closer to her.
"Let me go, let me go!" he screamed louder. "Let me see her! She is my sister!"
"Stop it, kid, you can't go any further," one of the officers said as they held him back.
"No, just let me see her one time!" he struggled, but they didn't let him go near her.
His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. His eyes locked on her small arm — pale and bloodied.
Every memory, every smile, every word she ever said flooded his mind like a cruel storm.
The world blurred — faces in the crowd, police lights, everything faded until there was nothing left but the ache inside him.
He stared blankly at the blood-stained puddles before him.
The rain washed everything — except the truth.
His lips trembled as he whispered again, softer this time, almost to himself.
"I have nothing left…"
Then silence.
The world fell silent. The sirens faded. The crowd disappeared. All that remained was the sound of his heartbeat — breaking, over and over again.