Samundar Singh x Fem! Reader [contains nsfw]
The first real stain on Samundar Singh's career did not come from a failed arrest, a misplaced report, or a bullet fired in the wrong direction.
Looking back years later, he could still remember every detail with painful clarity—not because it had been the biggest case of his career, but because it had been the one that taught him the most expensive lesson. Every habit he developed afterward, every identity he verified twice, every officer he questioned despite their rank, could all be traced back to that single week in Karnal.
He had been twenty-three then, barely a few months into his posting with the Haryana Police. Fresh out of training, still carrying the restless determination of someone desperate to prove he belonged, he had imagined police work very differently. Most of his days were filled with neighbourhood disputes, stolen motorcycles, missing livestock, and paperwork that seemed to multiply faster than the cases themselves.
Then the murder happened.
The victim had been found inside a modest apartment tucked away in one of Karnal's older residential blocks. At first glance, everything pointed toward suicide. The room had been locked from the inside, there were no obvious signs of forced entry, and the injuries appeared almost self-inflicted.
The forensic team had quietly disagreed.
There were inconsistencies no one could explain. A drinking glass had been wiped too clean. The victim's phone was nowhere to be found. Tiny traces of mud near the window didn't match the weather from the previous night. None of it was enough to declare homicide, yet none of it allowed them to close the file either. Until the investigation moved forward, the apartment remained sealed.
Samundar had been assigned the least glamorous responsibility imaginable. Guard the scene. His senior had made it painfully clear before leaving.
"Dhyan se sun,Samundar," the older officer said, fixing him with a firm look. "Is kamre ke andar koi nahi jayega jab tak tu uski identity verify na kar le. Chahe woh kisi bhi department se ho. Samjha?"
Samundar gave a sharp nod. "Ji, sir."
The first few hours crawled by. Curious neighbours lingered outside the police barricades, whispering theories that grew more dramatic with every passing minute. Reporters had already published enough to turn the case into local gossip, though the details released to the public barely scratched the surface of what the investigators had actually found.
By late afternoon, the hallway had finally fallen quiet. That was when the elevator doors slid open. Footsteps echoed across the corridor with calm, measured confidence.
You didn't look rushed. You didn't look nervous. You looked exactly like someone who belonged there. A leather identification wallet rested casually in your hand before you even reached him.
"Apartment wale case ke silsile mein aayi hoon," you said evenly. "Evidence transfer hone se pehle mujhe review karna hai."
Samundar instinctively straightened. "Ma'am... kis department se?"
You flipped the identification wallet open just long enough for him to catch the government insignia, a photograph, and an official-looking seal before snapping it shut again.
There wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. If anything, you sounded mildly inconvenienced by the question.
"Humein toh koi information nahi mili..." Samundar admitted, a faint crease appearing between his brows. "Ki CBI se koi officer aane wale hain."
A small, patient smile touched your lips. "Har cheez ki information local station ko nahi di jaati, Officer." You tilted your head ever so slightly. "Need-to-know basis, ji."
For a second, he considered calling his senior. Then another thought crossed his mind. Of course they wouldn't brief a rookie constable about every visiting officer.
He stepped aside. "Maaf kijiye, ma'am."
Your smile widened just enough to seem reassuring. "Koi baat nahi." You slipped past him with effortless confidence. "Bas apna kaam kar rahe ho."
Those five words stayed with him for years. Because they were the last honest thing he believed before everything fell apart.
The station handed over everything without much resistance. The evidence from the apartment had yet to be catalogued by any central agency, so the cardboard archive box sat on a scarred wooden table inside the evidence room, sealed with fresh tape and marked with the case number in thick black ink.
Samundar broke the seal himself.
He laid everything out one piece at a time, careful not to disturb the arrangement the forensic team had documented the night before. Photographs of the apartment. Preliminary autopsy notes. A blood-stained wristwatch recovered beneath the bed. A small envelope containing soil samples collected from the windowsill. Every item was handled with gloves, every observation explained as though he were briefing someone far above his own rank.
You listened with quiet attention. You asked the right questions. Not too many. Never too few.
Occasionally you would pause over an evidence bag a second longer than necessary, your thumb tracing the edge of the plastic before setting it back exactly where it had been. Samundar mistook it for thoroughness.
He never noticed that, by the time the box was closed again, one tiny evidence envelope no longer rested inside it.
Neither did anyone else. The apartment was next. The seal across the front door was carefully lifted before the two of you stepped inside. The stale air still carried the metallic scent of dried blood despite the forensic team's work. Sunlight filtered weakly through half-drawn curtains, illuminating chalk markings on the floor and numbered evidence tags left behind from the previous night's examination.
You wandered through the room with measured steps, saying very little.
Your eyes, however, missed nothing. They lingered on the window. The bookshelf. The cracked picture frame. The ventilation shaft hidden above the wardrobe. Everything.
Samundar remained close enough to answer your questions, though he was careful not to interfere. His phone buzzed unexpectedly. He glanced at the screen.
His senior. "Ma'am... ek minute, please."
You acknowledged him with a small nod. "Ji."
The call lasted less than two minutes. Long enough. By the time he returned, you were standing precisely where he had left you, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of your coat, studying the room as if nothing had happened.
"Agar aapka kaam ho gaya ho..." he said, "...toh main apartment dobara seal kar deta hoon."
You offered him another one of those calm, reassuring smiles. "Ji. Mujhe jo dekhna tha, dekh liya."
He secured the seal once more before the two of you walked back into the corridor. Just before reaching the staircase, you reached into your pocket and produced a polished silver cigarette case. With a practiced flick, it clicked open.
You held it toward him. "Hmmm?"
Samundar smiled politely and shook his head. "Nahi, ma'am. Main peeta nahi karta."
You hummed, selecting one for yourself but making no move to light it. Instead, you held it loosely between your fingers and regarded him for a brief moment.
The case snapped shut with a quiet click. You slipped it back into your pocket, thanked him for his assistance, and disappeared down the stairs with the same composed confidence you had arrived with.
Samundar watched until you vanished from sight. He had no reason to believe he'd ever see you again. He had even less reason to suspect that, tucked neatly inside the lining of your sleeve, rested the one piece of evidence capable of turning a suspicious death into a murder investigation.
It wasn't until the following morning that everything unraveled.
Samundar reported to the station expecting another ordinary day. The murder file was still open, the evidence had already been returned to storage the previous evening, and as far as he knew, the officer from the CBI had completed her review without issue.
He had barely removed his cap when a constable approached him. "Samundar, saab bula rahe hain."
The casualness in the man's voice did nothing to ease the knot that had suddenly formed in his stomach. He walked toward his senior's office and knocked twice. "Sir?"
The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong. The cardboard evidence box lay open on the desk. Several evidence bags had been spread across its surface, each one accompanied by a handwritten inventory sheet. His senior wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the empty space where one evidence envelope should have been.
Finally, he spoke. "Kal jo CBI officer aayi thi..."
Samundar nodded. "Ji, sir."
Samundar answered without hesitation, repeating the name exactly as you had introduced yourself. His senior frowned. He reached for the landline, dialled a number from memory, and waited. The conversation lasted less than a minute. When he finally lowered the receiver, he rubbed a tired hand across his face. Then he looked up.
"CBI mein us naam ka koi officer nahi hai."
For a second, Samundar simply stared. The words refused to make sense. "Sir... lekin maine ID dekhi thi."
Silence settled over the room. Samundar's heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. His senior let out a slow, frustrated breath before speaking again.
"Evidence missing hai." Every word landed heavier than the last. "Aur jis officer ko tu andar le gaye tha..." he paused, fixing Samundar with an unreadable expression. "...woh officer thi hi nahi."
The realization struck all at once. The confidence, badge, questions, apartment, and smile. Every single detail replayed itself in brutal clarity. His senior pushed the evidence register across the desk.
"Kya, yaar? Mazak bana rakha hai. Itna dimag nhi tujhme ki kon apna banda hai aur kon criminal?"
Samundar lowered his eyes. "...Ji, sir."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, the older man leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Agar main iski report likhun, toh inquiry baithegi."
He tapped a finger against the desk. "Aur inquiry sirf tere par nahi baithegi. Puri station ki beizzati hogi."
Samundar remained silent.
"Is file mein jo missing hai..." his senior closed the box with deliberate care, "...woh officially kabhi missing hua hi nahi."
Samundar looked up in surprise. The older officer met his gaze. "Main tujhe bacha raha hoon." His voice hardened. "Lekin sirf ek baar."
"Dobara mere thane mein toh aisa kar mat diyo. Ab dafa ho yahan se."
Samundar swallowed hard. "...Ji, sir." He walked out of the office carrying no suspension letter. No official warning. No inquiry.
And somehow... That made it worse.
There was no point chasing a ghost.
Officially, the missing evidence had never existed. The case was quietly wrapped up as a probable suicide, its file pushed farther and farther toward the back of an overflowing records shelf until eventually nobody spoke about it anymore. Everyone moved on. Everyone except Samundar. It began innocently enough.
He searched the name you had given him through every departmental record he could legally access. Nothing. He called the number you'd casually written on the visitor register. It had already been disconnected. He visited the hotel whose name you had mentioned in passing while making conversation.
The receptionist searched their records twice before looking back at him apologetically. "Sir, is naam se toh koi guest kabhi check-in hi nahi hua."
He tried again. The taxi stand outside the station. The tea stall where you had briefly stopped. The chemist across the road. The security guard posted near the apartment complex. Every answer was the same. Shrugged shoulders. Blank expressions. Nobody remembered you. Or perhaps... Nobody had ever known you to begin with. Weeks turned into months. Months slipped quietly into years. The unanswered questions never truly disappeared.
They simply settled somewhere deep inside him, surfacing every now and then when a forged document crossed his desk, when an investigation collapsed because of one missing piece of evidence, or whenever someone flashed an official identification card a little too confidently.
Without realizing it, that single mistake began reshaping the kind of officer he became. He checked every warrant twice. Verified every identity himself. Asked questions that irritated senior officers and delayed investigations by precious minutes.
Some colleagues joked that Samundar Singh trusted paperwork less than eyewitnesses. They had no idea why. Promotions came with time. So did transfers.
The eager twenty-three-year-old rookie from Karnal slowly gave way to a far sharper investigator whose instincts had become almost impossible to fool.
Eventually, the transfer order arrived.
A larger city. Bigger cases. Higher stakes. He accepted it without much thought, believing the move would finally put the ghosts of Karnal behind him. He couldn't have known that he wasn't leaving the past behind. He was walking straight back into it.
Delhi had a way of making every assignment feel larger than life.
The roads were busier, the files were thicker, and every decision carried consequences that reached far beyond a single district. By the time Samundar was transferred there, he had already built a quiet reputation for himself. He wasn't the loudest officer in the room, nor the one chasing publicity after every successful case.
His colleagues often joked that if Samundar Singh asked for your identification twice, you should expect him to ask for it a third time. They laughed. He never did.
Late October had settled over Delhi with an early chill. The kind that lingered in the evening air just enough to justify a jacket without quite calling it winter. The city, however, showed no signs of slowing down.
Traffic still crawled beneath the amber glow of streetlights. Luxury hotels buzzed with politicians, industrialists, diplomats, and television cameras. One particular event, however, had drawn far more attention than usual.
A senior cabinet minister was hosting a high-profile fundraising dinner at one of Delhi's most prestigious hotels. Intelligence reports had flagged a credible threat against him less than forty-eight hours earlier. No group had claimed responsibility, no suspect had been identified, and no one knew whether the warning was genuine or merely intended to create panic. The government wasn't willing to take the chance. Additional security had been deployed.
That was how Samundar found himself standing in the lobby of the Grand Meridian Hotel, dressed in a sharply pressed police uniform, an earpiece resting discreetly against his right ear as officers moved with practiced efficiency around him.
He checked the perimeter himself. Emergency exits. Service corridors. Security cameras. Guest access. Nothing escaped his attention. Over the radio, voices crackled one after another as teams confirmed their positions.
Everything appeared to be exactly as it should. Which, in Samundar's experience... Usually meant something was about to go wrong.
The minister arrived nearly twenty minutes behind schedule. His convoy swept into the hotel entrance beneath flashing lights and a swarm of media cameras. Even before the doors of the lead vehicle opened, photographers surged forward.
Samundar instinctively stepped between them. The minister emerged wearing an expensive tailored bandh gala kurta, smiling broadly as though the security detail surrounding him were little more than decoration.
Within minutes of entering the ballroom, he was already greeting guests with theatrical enthusiasm, laughing loudly, shaking hands, and accepting compliments as though he were the guest of honour at his own celebration. It didn't take Samundar long to notice another habit.
The minister rarely spent more than a few minutes speaking to one person before drifting toward another elegantly dressed woman somewhere else in the room.
Every smile was rehearsed. Every compliment sounded practiced. Every interaction lingered just a little longer than professional courtesy required.
His job wasn't to judge the man. His job was to make sure he walked out of the hotel alive. So while the minister chased conversations... Samundar watched the room. Every entrance. Every exit. Every unfamiliar face. Without knowing that, somewhere among the glittering chandeliers and tailored suits... One face from his past had already found him.
Crystal glasses clinked beneath the glow of chandeliers, a string quartet hummed softly in the background, and conversations drifted effortlessly between politics, business, and carefully rehearsed laughter.
Samundar remained where he had been instructed, his attention moving across the room in practiced sweeps.
The minister, meanwhile, had become the center of every conversation he entered. He laughed too loudly. Shook hands too eagerly. Accepted compliments as though they were his due. Then the ballroom doors opened once more.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Samundar looked up. You entered with the kind of confidence that never demanded attention— It simply received it.
Draped in a deep emerald silk saree, your appearance blended sophistication with effortless poise. A carefully styled wig framed your face just enough to alter your features, while a delicate smile rested upon your lips as though you'd attended a hundred such evenings before.
Nothing about you seemed hurried. Nothing seemed out of place. The minister noticed you almost immediately. His face broke into a broad grin.
"Wah... aa gayi aap!" he exclaimed loudly enough for several nearby guests to hear. Without a second thought, he strode across the ballroom and slipped an arm comfortably around your shoulders before planting a familiar kiss against your cheek.
You laughed softly, entirely at ease. "Aap hamesha itni dramatic entry karte hain, Minister saab."
He chuckled. "Aapke liye toh karni hi padti hai."
You smiled with practiced ease, gently resting a hand against his arm as though the gesture were perfectly ordinary. To everyone else... It was. Another influential guest. Another familiar face among the political elite.
Samundar felt the blood drain from his face.
His eyes followed you as you turned beneath the lights. The wig was different. The makeup was different. Even the way you carried yourself had changed. But your eyes... He would have recognized them anywhere. His heartbeat slowed instead of quickening. Years of training took over.
His hand instinctively moved toward the radio clipped to his shoulder. Then stopped. What exactly was he supposed to report? That he recognized a woman from seven years ago? That she'd once shown him forged credentials? That she had disappeared before anyone could prove she'd committed a crime?
None of it was enough. Not legally, and certainly not professionally. He had no warrant. No evidence. No authority to separate you from the minister in the middle of a government function. All he had...was certainty. And certainty wasn't admissible.
As if sensing his gaze, you slowly looked up. Across the ballroom... Your eyes met his. You didn't freeze. You didn't panic.
Instead, one corner of your lips lifted ever so slightly. A quiet, knowing smile. The same one he'd watched disappear down the staircase in Karnal years ago.
You inclined your head almost imperceptibly. Samundar knew two things with absolute certainty. You had recognized him.
The longer the evening stretched on, the more restless Samundar became. He had been trained to read rooms. To notice the things everyone else overlooked. A nervous twitch. A wandering hand. A glance that lingered a second too long.
Tonight... Everything looked normal. Which was exactly what unsettled him. From where he stood, you hardly left the minister's side.
Every now and then he would throw his head back in laughter at something you'd said, loudly enough to draw the attention of those gathered nearby. To everyone else, it was harmless. To Samundar...It was a countdown.
His eyes followed your every movement. Every glass you accepted. Every handshake. Every whispered conversation. Every time your fingers brushed against the minister's sleeve as though guiding him through the crowd. You looked comfortable. Far too comfortable. His jaw tightened.
The minister, blissfully unaware, seemed thoroughly enchanted by your company. He leaned in whenever you spoke, smiling like a man who believed the entire evening revolved around him.
Samundar couldn't decide what disturbed him more. The fact that the minister trusted you...Or the fact that you had somehow convinced him to. His palm had begun to grow damp against the grip of his radio.
Not from fear. From anticipation. He knew you. Or at least...He knew what happened whenever you appeared. People lost evidence. Investigations collapsed. Someone always paid the price. Tonight...He feared it would be a life. His gaze never left you. Not once.
Then, without warning, you set your untouched glass onto a passing waiter's tray. You leaned toward the minister. Samundar couldn't hear what you whispered.
The older man laughed. "Haan, haan... bilkul. Aaram se jaiye."
You smiled politely before stepping away from the crowd. Samundar watched you disappear toward the corridor leading to the restrooms. His heartbeat kicked sharply against his ribs. Into his radio, he spoke without taking his eyes off the corridor.
"Rakesh, do minute ke liye Minister saab par nazar rakhna. Main abhi aata hoon."
A crackle answered him. "Ji, sir."
That was all he needed. He followed. The music from the ballroom faded with every step until only the muted echo of footsteps remained. The marble corridor was almost empty. Soft yellow lights reflected against polished floors. At the far end, the restroom door swung shut behind you. Samundar stopped outside. He didn't move. He simply waited. One minute.
Then another. Finally, the door opened. You stepped out, drying your hands with a neatly folded paper towel. For a brief second... Your eyes met. Recognition flashed between the two of you. Before you could take another step—
He caught your wrist. Not painfully. Just firmly enough to stop you. His voice was low. Controlled. But after years...It carried every unanswered question.
You looked down at the hand around your wrist before lifting your gaze back to his face. A faint smile touched your lips.
"Officer..." You tilted your head ever so slightly. "...aap galat insaan ko rok rahe hain."
Samundar's grip didn't loosen. His eyes never left yours. "Saalo pehle kyu chori kare tumne evidence."
"Agar aapka ho gaya ho, Officer... toh main chalun?" You tried to step past him.
He moved with you. Not aggressively. Just enough to block the corridor. His expression never changed, but there was something different in his eyes now. Years ago, he had looked at you with uncertainty. Tonight, there was none of that. Only conviction.
His voice came out low. "Minister ke saath kya karne wali ho tum aaj raat?"
You paused for the briefest moment before letting out a quiet laugh. "...Excuse me?"
"Maine sawaal poocha hai."
Your brows lifted almost innocently."Aur maine suna bhi. Bas samajh nahi aaya."
His jaw tightened. "Kiske liye kaam karti ho?"
Silence settled between the two of you. Then you smiled. Slowly. Deliberately. The kind of smile that always seemed to appear whenever he was looking for answers.
"Itne saare sawaal... sirf ek mulaqat ke liye?" You tilted your head ever so slightly, studying him with open curiosity. "Shayad agali baar milenge... toh ek-do ka jawab de doon."
His eyes never left yours. "Agali baar?"
"Haan." You shrugged lightly.
Something about the certainty in your voice unsettled him. As though you weren't making a guess. As though you already knew. He took another slow step forward, leaving barely enough space between the two of you for either to move.
"Main mazaak ke mood mein nahi hoon."
"Aur main interrogation ke mood mein nahi hoon."
For a long second, neither of you spoke. The music from the ballroom reached the corridor in soft, distant waves. Somewhere behind the closed doors, people laughed. Crystal glasses clinked together.
The world continued as though nothing unusual was happening.
Here...Everything felt impossibly still. Samundar searched your face, looking for something—anything—that might explain who you really were. Instead, he found that same unreadable calm.
"Kiske liye kaam karti ho?" he asked again, quieter this time.
You looked at him for a moment before the corner of your lips curled upward. "Aapko sach mein jaana hai?"
Your smile widened just enough to become teasing. "Phir dhoondhiye mujhe."
"Ho sakta hai... jawab mil jaaye."
He let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Tumhein lagta hai yeh koi khel hai?"
Your eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "Nahi. Lekin aap kaafi achhe player lagte hain."
The words lingered between you. Neither of you looked away. The distance had become almost nonexistent now. Close enough that he could hear your steady breathing. Close enough that you could see the frustration written plainly across his face. For the first time all evening, your smile softened. Not with sympathy. With intrigue. As though you were just as curious about him as he was about you.
Your smile never wavered. Instead, you took one slow step closer until there was barely any space left between you. Close enough that the polished badge on his chest caught the faint reflection of the corridor lights.
Samundar didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on yours, watching every tiny expression as though one misplaced glance might finally reveal the truth.
You let out the faintest hum. "Officer..."
Your voice had softened, carrying an almost playful warmth that hadn't been there before. "Aap har waqt itne hi serious rehte hain?"
Before he could answer, your hand drifted upward. Your fingertips rested lightly against the front of his uniform. Not enough to push him. Not enough to pull him closer. Just enough for the sharp edge of your acrylic nails to graze the fabric over his chest.
His shoulders stiffened instantly. His breathing hitched almost imperceptibly. He leaned back only slightly, refusing to give you more ground than absolutely necessary.
His voice came out lower than before. "Main duty par hoon."
You smiled as though that answer amused you. "Toh?"
Your fingers remained exactly where they were. Steady. Patient. Almost curious. For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. The distant music from the ballroom seemed impossibly far away now. Your gaze lingered on him before you leaned in just enough for your lips to brush lightly against the edge of his jaw—a fleeting gesture, gone almost as quickly as it happened.
He froze. Not because he welcomed it. Because he hadn't expected it. Then—
The sharp crackle of his radio shattered the moment.
"Officer Singh! Officer Singh, respond!"
His hand immediately flew to the receiver clipped to his shoulder. "Singh bol raha hoon."
The voice on the other end was rushed. "Sir! Ballroom mein commotion ho gaya hai! Minister saab collapse kar gaye hain!"
Every muscle in Samundar's body went rigid. His eyes snapped back to you. For the first time that evening, genuine anger flashed across his face. Without thinking, he grabbed both of your shoulders. Not violently—But firmly enough to stop you from taking another step.
You met his stare without flinching. "Maine? Main toh yahin thi."
His grip tightened. "Jawab do!"
You calmly tilted your head ever so slightly. "Maine kuch nahi kiya." A tiny pause. "Aur waise bhi..." The corner of your lips lifted. "...aapke paas koi saboot nahi hai."
For a second, he simply stared at you. He wanted to keep questioning you. He wanted to search you. He wanted answers. But another frantic voice burst through the radio.
Duty won. It always did. Samundar released you abruptly and stepped toward the corridor before stopping just long enough to look back. His voice carried the unmistakable authority of an officer giving an order.
"Yahin rehna." His gaze never left yours. "Jab tak yeh sab khatam nahi hota... tum kahin nahi jaogi."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and sprinted toward the ballroom. The elegant calm of the evening had dissolved into chaos.
Guests crowded the exits. Security officers shouted instructions over one another. The minister lay collapsed near the head table as doctors and hotel staff pushed through the panicked crowd.
Samundar forced his way forward, his mind already piecing together possibilities. Poison. A concealed injector. A medical emergency. He didn't know. He only knew one thing. You had been there.
His radio buzzed again. "Sir, exits seal kar diye gaye hain!"
"Koi bahar nahi jayega," he ordered, scanning the room desperately. "Har guest ko roko. Kisi ko bhi hotel se nikalne mat dena."
Only then did his thoughts return to the corridor.
He spun around and ran back. The corridor was empty. The washroom door stood slightly ajar. No footsteps. No trace. Nothing. It was as though you had dissolved into the walls themselves.
For the second time in his career...You had slipped through his fingers. And for the second time... You had left him with nothing but questions.
The investigation never officially existed. Not on paper. Not in any case file. Not in any department database. Whenever Samundar tried searching for you through official channels, every trail ended exactly the same way.
Nothing. No fingerprints. No passport records. No registered address. No criminal history. No photograph. No identity that survived beyond a single incident.
It was almost as though the woman had never existed at all. And yet... He had looked into her eyes. Twice.
That alone was enough to convince him that somewhere beneath the countless false identities and forged documents, there had to be a real person. The search became something he pursued only when he wasn't wearing his uniform. Never on government time. Never using official resources.
If anyone asked, he was simply another man wandering through Delhi on his day off. But his destination was rarely random. Every rumor. Every whispered name. Every anonymous tip that mentioned a mysterious foreign woman.
He followed all of them. Most led nowhere. Some led to abandoned warehouses. Others ended with frightened informants who suddenly refused to speak. A few simply disappeared before he could even reach them. Months passed.
Then, one evening, an old informer finally gave him something different. A location. Not a name. Just an address.
"Purani building hai..." the old man muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. "Wahin rehti thi... shayad. Agar kisi ko uske baare mein kuch pata hoga... toh wahi milega."
The address led him into one of Old Delhi's forgotten lanes. The roads grew narrower with every turn. Streetlights became fewer. The buildings older. Paint peeled from cracked walls while rusted balconies leaned over the alleyways as though threatening to collapse.
Nothing about the neighborhood matched the woman he remembered. She belonged in grand hotels. Embassies. Political galas. Not here.
Yet the address stopped outside a weathered three-storey lodge whose faded signboard had almost completely lost its lettering.
The reception counter looked older than the building itself. An elderly man glanced up from a newspaper as Samundar approached. "Ji?"
Samundar slid a worn photograph across the counter. It wasn't much. Just a blurry CCTV still from the hotel gala years earlier.
The receptionist adjusted his glasses before squinting at it. Recognition flickered across his face. "Arre..." He looked back up."Yeh madam?"
Samundar felt his pulse quicken "Jaante ho inhe?"
The old man nodded casually. "Haan. Room liya tha yahan kuch mahine pehle." For the first time in months...
Samundar had an actual lead. "Abhi hain?"
The receptionist shook his head. "Nahi. Kaafi din ho gaye dikhe hue."
He sighed, pulling out a thick register. "Kiraya bhi nahi diya. Do din aur intezaar karunga... phir samaan bahar nikalwa dunga." He looked up again. "Tum kaun lagte ho uske?"
Samundar hesitated. Only for a second. Then he lied. "...Main unka pati hoon."
The lie came easier than he expected. The receptionist immediately relaxed. "Achha hua aa gaye. Mujhe laga koi aayega hi nahi."
He reached beneath the desk, producing a heavy brass key. "Bas kiraya jama kar do. Room kholta hoon. Jo samaan hai, le jao."
A few minutes later, the two of them climbed a narrow staircase whose wooden steps creaked beneath every footfall. The receptionist spoke the entire way. "Ajeeb ladki thi. Kabhi do din dikhti... phir dus din gayab."
Another flight of stairs. "Vo thodi...shadi-shuda nahi lagti." He stopped outside Room 207. The lock clicked open. "Do din aur koi na aata..." He shook his head. "...toh samaan sadak par hota."
Samundar frowned. "Police ko inform nahi kiya?"
The old man laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was impossible. "Lagta hai pehli baar aaye ho is ilaake mein." He tucked the key into Samundar's hand. "Yahan police ko kam se kam bulaya jaata hai."
With that, he disappeared back down the staircase. The room fell silent. It was... ordinary. Painfully ordinary. A neatly made bed. A small wooden wardrobe. A kettle resting beside a cracked mug. Several books stacked beside the window. No photographs. No passport. No clothes worth identifying. No fingerprints left in obvious places. Nothing that could tell him who you really were. It was as though someone had carefully removed every trace of themselves before leaving.
His gaze drifted toward the bed. There...Resting neatly atop the white bedsheet...Was a single cream-colored envelope. His name was written across the front. Not "Officer." Not "CBI." Simply—
His heart skipped once. Slowly, he opened it. Inside rested a handwritten letter.
Tumne dhoondhe mein der laga di toh socha tumhare liye kuch likh kar rakh deti hoon. Isse maafi mat samajhna. Isse hisaab barabar samajhna.
Neeche kuch addresses likhe hain. Agar Thursday raat baarah baje se pehle wahan pahunch gaye... toh tumhe sirf jawaab nahi milenge. Kuch log bhi milenge... jinhe tum bahut dino se dhoondh rahe ho.
Har sach ke peeche bhaagna zaroori nahi hota.
Beneath the letter... Three addresses. Three warehouses. Three names.
He stared at them for a long time. It could have been a trap. It should have been a trap. Yet something told him otherwise.
Three nights later, CBI teams raided every location. Illegal weapons. Counterfeit documents. Cash worth crores. Half a dozen wanted criminals. The operation was declared one of the department's biggest successes that year. Commendations followed. Recognition followed. Another promotion came sooner than anyone had expected.
Everyone congratulated Samundar Singh. Only he knew... None of it would have happened without the woman who wasn't supposed to exist. Instead of satisfying him... The success only deepened the mystery.
Who were you? Why help him? And why did it feel as though every answer you gave only led to another question?
A few years had passed since the motel. Not enough for the memories to fade. Just enough for them to settle somewhere deeper. Samundar Singh had long since accepted one simple truth. You couldn't be caught by chasing footprints.
He had tried. Every lead dissolved before he reached it. Every witness remembered a different face. Every document belonged to someone who didn't exist. It was as though you had mastered the art of becoming whoever the world needed you to be. And when the role was over...You simply disappeared.
He had stopped expecting to wake up one morning with your name sitting neatly inside a case file. That was never going to happen. Yet, despite everything. He never stopped looking. Not obsessively. Not recklessly. Just... Whenever fate decided to leave a loose thread in front of him, he couldn't help but tug at it.
It had become instinct. The same instinct that had carried him through years of investigations.The same instinct that had taught him the difference between coincidence and something waiting to happen.
That night had begun like every other. Delhi had grown quieter after midnight. The endless stream of traffic had thinned into scattered headlights, while roadside tea stalls prepared for the last handful of customers before dawn. A cool breeze drifted through the half-open window of his government-issued Mahindra Jeep as he drove back toward the station after wrapping up a routine night patrol.
He wasn't in uniform. Those days were usually reserved for official ceremonies or public-facing duties.
Instead, he wore what most officers preferred while working late-night operations—a fitted charcoal-grey full-sleeved T-shirt beneath a lightweight tactical vest, dark cargo trousers, and sturdy black boots that had seen more crime scenes than he cared to count.
His service pistol rested securely inside the holster at his waist. A folding knife sat clipped inside one of the vest pockets. An extra magazine. A flashlight. A pair of handcuffs. Nothing excessive. Only the things experience had taught him never to leave behind.
The dashboard radio crackled softly every now and then with routine chatter from nearby patrol units. Nothing urgent. Nothing unusual.
He reached a quiet stretch of road lined with shuttered shops and dim streetlights when movement caught his eye.
A young man. No older than eighteen or nineteen. A hood pulled low over his head despite the weather. He wasn't walking home. He was walking like someone hoping not to be remembered.
Samundar instinctively eased his foot off the accelerator. The Jeep rolled forward before coming to a slow stop beside the pavement. The young man looked up. For the briefest second... Fear crossed his face.
Samundar lowered the driver's window. "Oye." The boy stopped. "Idhar aa."
There was a moment's hesitation before he shuffled closer, his hands buried deep inside the pocket of his hoodie. Up close, he looked exhausted. Nervous. His eyes refused to settle in one place.
Samundar studied him quietly. Years ago, he might have ignored it. Now...He trusted his instincts more than appearances. "Naam kya hai?"
The boy swallowed. "Aman." First lie.
"Kahan ja raha hai itni raat ko?"
"Ghar." Second lie. Too quick. Too rehearsed.
Samundar leaned one arm against the open window. "Ghar kidhar hai?"
The boy pointed vaguely toward the opposite end of the street. "Udhar."
"Udhar?" Samundar glanced in the direction he'd pointed. There wasn't a single residential building for nearly another kilometre. Only abandoned warehouses. His eyes returned to the boy. "Pocket mein kya hai?"
The boy instinctively took half a step back. "K-kuch nahi."
"Phir itna ghabra kyun raha hai?"
"Main ghabra nahi raha." His voice cracked.
Samundar noticed the slight tremble in his hands. Tiny details. Easy to miss. Impossible for him to ignore. He opened the driver's door and stepped out. The boy immediately stiffened.
"Dekh..." Samundar said evenly. "Agar koi dikkat hai toh seedha bol de. Main madad kar dunga agar yahan nahi bolega toh thane chalke bol diyo marzi teri hai."
The boy shook his head so quickly it almost looked painful. "Nahi... mujhe bas ghar jaana hai."
"Theek hai." Samundar held his gaze another second. Then nodded once. "Ja."
Relief washed across the boy's face. Almost too much relief. Without another word, he turned and hurried away, disappearing down one of the narrower side streets branching off from the main road.
Samundar remained exactly where he was. Watching. He should have gotten back into the Jeep. Driven to the station. Written his report. Gone home. Instead...That familiar feeling settled quietly at the back of his mind. The one he'd learned never to ignore.
Nothing was visibly wrong. No crime had been committed. No law had been broken in front of him. Yet every instinct he'd spent years sharpening whispered the exact same thing. Something wasn't right.
His eyes followed the boy's shrinking silhouette until it vanished around the corner. Then, without a word, Samundar quietly closed the Jeep door. He reached inside long enough to switch off the headlights. The street fell darker. His radio remained mounted on the dashboard, crackling faintly into the empty vehicle.He adjusted the holster at his waist, checked the magazine in his sidearm by habit rather than necessity, and slipped silently into the shadows.
He kept his distance. Far enough not to be noticed. Close enough never to lose sight of the boy. The narrow lanes twisted through old industrial blocks where broken streetlamps left entire stretches swallowed in darkness. Every few moments, the boy glanced nervously over his shoulder. Each time... Samundar had already melted behind another wall, another parked truck, another patch of shadow. He wasn't following a suspect anymore. He was following a feeling. And over the years...That feeling had very rarely been wrong.
His instincts had been right. The boy didn't head toward any residential neighbourhood.
Instead, he disappeared into one of Delhi's forgotten industrial pockets, where rusted factory gates leaned crooked on broken hinges and abandoned warehouses stood like hollow skeletons beneath the weak glow of distant streetlights. Most of the buildings had long since been forgotten by the city, their walls stained with years of rain and neglect, their shattered windows staring blankly into the darkness.
Samundar slowed his pace. The boy never looked back now. He walked with purpose, weaving between crumbling buildings until he stopped outside an old corrugated warehouse whose faded paint had peeled away decades ago. From the outside, it looked deserted. Too deserted. No signboard. No vehicles parked nearby. No lights. Yet the heavy metal door opened almost the second the boy reached it. Someone had been expecting visitors.
Samundar slipped behind the corner of a neighbouring building, carefully positioning himself beneath a cracked window where one broken pane offered just enough of a view inside.
The warehouse was larger than he'd expected. Dust floated lazily through the dim yellow light hanging from a single bulb overhead. Wooden crates were stacked against the walls, some covered with faded tarps, others marked with shipping labels that had long since become unreadable.
The boy hurried inside, almost stumbling over his own feet. "Bhai... bhai, please... mujhe chahiye. Abhi chahiye."
A broad-shouldered man standing beside one of the crates immediately frowned. "Chutiya hai kya? Yahan kaise aa gaya tu?"
The boy fumbled inside his hoodie pocket with shaking hands before pulling out a thick bundle of folded notes. "Paise hain mere paas... bas de do. Please. Sirf thoda sa."
The man's expression darkened. He didn't even glance at the money. Instead, he stepped forward. Slowly. Dangerously. "Tujhe is jagah ka pata kisne diya?"
The boy swallowed. "Main... main bas..."
"Bas kya?" His voice rose sharply. "Bol, bsdk! Kisne bheja tujhe?"
"Kisi ne nahi! Kasam se! Main khud aaya hoon!" The man grabbed the front of the boy's hoodie so hard his feet nearly left the ground.
"Khud?" He laughed once. It wasn't amused. "Yeh jagah Google Maps pe mili thi kya tujhe?"
The boy's breathing became uneven. "Please... main kisi ko kuch nahi bataunga... bas de do aur main chala jaunga."
The bundle of cash slipped from his trembling fingers, scattering notes across the concrete floor. The man didn't move to pick them up. His eyes had shifted toward the warehouse entrance. Toward the darkness beyond it. His jaw tightened. Something had clicked.
"Ruk..." His grip on the boy loosened just enough. "Tu seedha yahan nahi aa sakta tha."
Silence. Then, almost to himself— "Kisi ne follow kiya hai tujhe."
Samundar's shoulders tensed. His fingers instinctively settled around the grip of his holstered pistol. The dealer snapped his head toward two men standing deeper inside the warehouse. "Khada kya hai bahar dekh. Abhi."
The two men immediately reached beneath one of the crates, pulling out concealed firearms before heading toward the exit. Samundar cursed silently under his breath. His cover was about to disappear. If those men spread out, they'd find him within seconds. His options narrowed in an instant. Either retreat...Or move first.
His hand settled firmly around the grip of his pistol as he slowly stepped away from the window, already calculating the quickest route through the side entrance. One controlled arrest. Call for backup later. That was still manageable. He had just begun to turn—
A sudden rush of movement exploded behind him. There wasn't even enough time to reach for his weapon. Something hard slammed into the side of his jaw. Pain burst across his vision. The world tilted violently. His head struck the brick wall before he collapsed onto the cold pavement. The last thing Samundar registered before darkness swallowed him whole...was the faint silhouette of someone standing over him. And then—Nothing.
Consciousness returned in fragments. First came the dull ache behind Samundar's eyes. Then the sharp throb in his jaw where something—someone—had struck him hard enough to leave his ears ringing even now.
His vision refused to cooperate. Everything around him was nothing more than blurred shapes swimming in the dim light overhead. His shoulders ached, his neck felt stiff, and there was an uncomfortable weight pulling against his left arm. He frowned. Slowly, his eyes focused. A wooden chair. Cold concrete beneath his boots. One wrist locked inside a steel handcuff. He instinctively jerked his arm. The chain rattled loudly. It didn't stop.
Instead, it stretched away from him. Only then did he follow it with his eyes. The other end... Led to another chair. And sitting in it— You. For a second, he simply stared.
Your leather jacket was gone. The crisp white shirt you'd worn beneath it was creased from the struggle, the sleeves still rolled to your elbows. The top buttons had come undone somewhere along the way, revealing just a glimpse of the black lace beneath before the shirt settled back into place. Your hair had completely escaped the claw clip, strands falling around your face and shoulders in complete disarray.
You didn't look frightened. You looked...Annoyed. Your eyes met his. A small smile tugged at one corner of your lips. "Finally. Mujhe laga tha tum kal subah hosh mein aaoge."
Samundar ignored the joke. His eyes swept across the room instead. His tactical vest was gone. His holster. His knife. His spare magazine. Everything. Only the handcuff remained. His jaw tightened. He gave the chain another hard yank. It pulled you forward with it. Your chair scraped loudly across the concrete until you were barely a foot away from him. You frowned immediately. "Arre... aaram se."
He leaned closer, his voice low. "Yeh kya hai?"
You looked down at the chain connecting the two of you before lifting your shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "Agar mujhe pata hota, toh shayad main bhi yahan nahi baithi hoti."
His eyes narrowed. "Jhoot mat bol." Another tug. The chain clinked between you "Tumhara is sab se koi na koi connection zaroor hai."
Your expression flattened. For once...There wasn't a teasing smile. Only exhaustion "Officer..." A brief pause. "Is baar nahi."
Before he could say another word— The metal door burst open. A stocky man stepped inside carrying a flashlight in one hand. He froze. His eyes darted between the two of you. Then to the chairs. His expression immediately changed.
"Saala..." he muttered under his breath. "Bhencho konse chutiye ne dono ko kursi se baandha hi nahi?"
He barely had time to take another step.
Samundar and you moved at the exact same instant. Samundar threw his weight to one side. You lunged the opposite way. The sudden pull on the shared chain threw the guard completely off balance. He stumbled forward. Samundar kicked the back of his knees. The man crashed face-first onto the concrete.
Before he could recover, you wrapped the chain around his neck from behind, using the momentum to pin him long enough for Samundar to wrench the keys from the guard's belt. The struggle lasted only seconds. Then—Silence.
Heavy breathing filled the room. You held out your cuffed wrist without a word. Samundar unlocked your handcuff first. You immediately snatched the keyring from his fingers. "Ab tum."
A click. His cuff sprang open. Without waiting for thanks, you unlocked your foot restraint, tossed the keys back toward him, and crossed the room.
Only then did Samundar notice the barred window. Beyond it sat a metal table. His tactical vest. His pistol. His knife. Everything they'd taken.
You had already reached the unconscious guard. With practiced ease, you pulled a compact folding knife from inside his boot. The blade snapped open. You weighed it once in your hand. Acceptable.
Behind you, Samundar was already trying the locked door. You looked over your shoulder. "Chalo."
He didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on the table beyond the bars. "Mera gear."
You followed his gaze. Then nodded toward another doorway. "Pehle woh."
Without another word, you slipped through the corridor beyond. Samundar hesitated only a second before following. Not because he trusted you. Because, at that moment... You were the only person in the building who wasn't trying to kill him.
The corridor beyond the holding room was silent. Not the comforting kind of silence. The kind that settled over a place where too many people believed they were safe.
You every step was measured, every corner checked before you rounded it. One hand held the folding knife you'd taken from the unconscious guard, while the other remained slightly raised, signaling Samundar when to stop or move.
He hated following you. He hated the fact that, inside this building, you clearly knew where you were going. More than that... He hated the fact that he had no better option.
The corridor split into two directions. Without hesitation, you pointed toward the left. "Udhar ke kamre mein humara saman hai."
A tiny smile appeared. "Bas pata hai. Chalo."
He didn't answer. He simply kept his pistol-less hands ready, every muscle in his body tense. The deeper they moved into the warehouse, the louder the distant voices became.
Boots scraping across concrete. Someone arguing over money. Someone else dragging a heavy crate across the floor. An entire operation hidden beneath the city's nose. You suddenly stopped. Your arm shot across his chest, stopping him before he walked straight into the corner.
Three men. Barely ten feet away. One stood with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder while the other two sorted wooden crates stamped with fake shipping labels.
You leaned close enough for your voice to become barely more than a whisper. "Teen hain. Beech wala pehle."
Samundar looked at you. "Aur bandook?"
You twirled the stolen knife once. "Jugaad."
Before he could question your definition of "jugaad," you were already moving. The knife left your hand in a clean arc. It struck the hanging warehouse light instead. Glass exploded.
Darkness swallowed the corridor. "Kaun hai?!"
The shout echoed through the building. Before anyone could react, Samundar lunged at the nearest man. Years of police training took over. An elbow. A knee. One clean punch to the jaw.
The rifle slipped from the man's hands before crashing to the floor. Another attacker rushed forward. You met him halfway. The folding knife flashed once beneath the dim emergency lights—not to kill, but to slash across his forearm. He cried out, dropping the pistol he'd been reaching for. You kicked it across the concrete.
Samundar caught it before it slid any farther. The first gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Then another. The entire building erupted into chaos.
Bootsteps thundered from every direction. You grabbed Samundar's sleeve. "Idhar! Jaldi!"
The two of you sprinted through a narrow passage between towering stacks of crates. Bullets punched splinters out of the wood behind you. Concrete dust rained from the walls. You rounded another corner—A deafening crack rang out. The crate beside you exploded into fragments. One jagged piece of timber flew straight toward your shoulder. You twisted at the last second. Instead of striking your chest, it tore across your upper arm. You hissed sharply.
Blood immediately soaked through the white fabric of your rolled-up sleeve. Samundar glanced back. For the first time since waking up... He saw you stumble. Only for half a second. But he noticed.
You didn't even slow down. "Choti chot hai. Bhaago!"
You two quickly made your way to room where your items lay. Samundar crossed the distance in two quick strides. The first thing he reached for wasn't his pistol. It was his badge. His thumb brushed over the worn metal before he quietly clipped it back beneath his vest. Only then did he reach for the holster. The familiar weight settled comfortably against his hip. Magazine. Check. Chamber. Loaded. Safety. Off. His folding knife disappeared back into its sheath in one smooth motion before he shrugged into the tactical vest. It felt... Right. Like putting a missing part of himself back where it belonged.
Behind him, you had already found your own belongings. Your brown leather jacket had been tossed carelessly over the back of a chair. You hisses as you slipped it over your shoulders.
Next came the claw clip lying beside it.
Gathering your loose hair with both hands, you twisted it upward in one effortless motion before securing it neatly at the back of your head. A few stubborn strands escaped around your face, but you ignored them. Much better. A familiar leather shoulder holster rested beneath the jacket. You adjusted the straps before reaching for your pistol.
The worn wooden grip of your Red9 fit naturally into your hand. You checked the chamber. Loaded. A spare magazine disappeared into your jacket pocket. Another into your jeans. Then came a slim folding knife that slid into your boot. Only after every weapon was back where it belonged did you seem satisfied.
Your eyes wandered across the cluttered table once more. A glass jar sat forgotten in the corner. Filled with brightly wrapped orange toffees. Without hesitation, you unscrewed the lid, fished one out, and popped it into your mouth. The wrapper crinkled loudly in the otherwise silent room.
Samundar stared at you in complete disbelief. "Vo log aate hi honge."
You shrugged while unwrapping another one. "Theek hai?"
He frowned. "Tum toffee kha rahi ho?"
You slipped the sweet into your mouth before screwing the lid shut again. "Pata nahi agla mauka kab mile."
For a long second...He simply looked at you. Then slowly shook his head. "Chalo ab."
As if on cue a gun shot rang through building. A radio crackled from somewhere beyond the door. Footsteps. Someone was coming. Your expression instantly lost every trace of amusement. You quietly thumbed the hammer back on your pistol. "Ab chalein?"
Samundar gave one final glance at his recovered gear before gripping his weapon. "Chale? Bhago."
The escape had officially begun.
Another burst of gunfire answered for you. The corridor ahead ended at a heavy steel door. Locked. You shoved at it once. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. Behind you, voices were getting closer. Much closer. Samundar stepped forward.
One powerful kick landed beside the lock. The rusted metal screamed. A second kick. The hinges snapped free. Cold night air rushed inside. Neither of you waited. The two of you burst into the alley beyond just as another volley of bullets ripped through the doorway behind you. For a brief moment...The city swallowed the sound.
Only distant traffic remained. Your breathing had become noticeably uneven. You pressed your uninjured hand against your sleeve. Dark blood seeped steadily between your fingers. Samundar finally stopped. He looked down at your arm. Then back toward the warehouse entrance. More shouting. More footsteps. They were still being followed.
He reached into one of the discarded supply pouches he'd managed to grab from the storage room during the escape and pulled out a compact field dressing. You looked at it. Then at him. A faint, tired smile crossed your face. "Abhi bhi duty pe ho?" He didn't smile back. He simply tore the packet open. "Bandage baad mein bhi ho sakta hai..." you murmured.
He wrapped the dressing firmly around your arm anyway. "Aur agar khoon behte-behte tum behosh ho gayi toh bhaagega kon?"
You didn't have a clever reply. You simply watched him work in silence before quietly saying, "thankyou."
It was barely louder than the wind. And somehow It felt like the most honest word either of you had spoken since they first met years ago.
The warehouse was already disappearing behind you two. Smoke drifted lazily from one of the shattered windows while distant shouting echoed somewhere inside the building. Whoever had survived was either trying to regroup... Or run.
Neither of you slowed until the abandoned industrial road opened into the patch of scrubland where Samundar had parked his government-issued Jeep. The vehicle sat exactly where he'd left it. Untouched. For the first time that night, he allowed himself to breathe. Without wasting another second, he yanked open the driver's door and reached for the radio mounted beneath the dashboard. Static crackled. He adjusted the frequency. Then pressed the transmitter. "Control, sun rahe ho?"
A burst of static answered before a groggy voice finally came through. "...Sir?"
Samundar's tone immediately became all business. "Location note karo. Purana warehouse, Sector ke bahar industrial belt. Illegal arms operation chal raha hai. Multiple armed suspects hain. Backup bhejo. SWAT aur local units dono. Koi bhi bahar na nikalne paaye."
The voice on the other end suddenly sounded much more awake. "Ji, sir! Kitne suspects hain?"
Samundar glanced toward the warehouse. "Exact count nahi hai. Lekin heavily armed hain. Jaldi pahucho. Main perimeter secure kar raha hoon."
"Roger that, sir. Teams dispatch kar rahe hain." The radio clicked silent. Backup was on its way.
Samundar rested both hands on the edge of the dashboard for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. Only then did he notice the familiar ache settling behind his temples. Without thinking much about it, he reached into the glove compartment. A battered cigarette pack. There were only two left. He stared at it for a second.A quiet scoff escaped him. He slid one free. The lighter clicked once. Then again. The flame finally caught. He drew in the smoke before leaning back against the Jeep. When he looked up...
You were already watching him. You were standing a few steps away beneath the pale glow of a flickering streetlamp. The fresh bandage around your arm had already begun to stain red beneath your jacket sleeve. Even injured...You somehow looked completely unbothered. Your Red9 rested comfortably in its holster. Your hair had been pinned back into the claw clip once again, though a few loose strands still framed your face after everything that had happened.
For a moment Neither of you spoke. The distant wail of approaching sirens carried through the night. You smiled first. A small one. Almost amused. Your eyebrow lifted.
"Aap..." You laughed softly. "Mujhe yaad hai kisi ne kaha tha..." You imitated his younger voice almost perfectly. "'Main smoke nahi karta.'"
Samundar looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. Then back at you. A corner of his mouth twitched. "Log badal jaate hain."
You shook your head. "Nahi." Another step closer. "Kuch log bas bahane dhoondh lete hain."
For a second Neither of you spoke. The sirens echoed somewhere in the distance. Then, without asking permission... You reached up. Your fingers slipped between his. Gently. You plucked the cigarette from between his lips. He didn't stop you. You held it between your own fingers, looking at it with quiet amusement.
Instead of answeringYou leaned in. Your lips brushed against his softly. The kiss lasted no longer than a heartbeat. When he instinctively moved to deepen it...You were already gone. You stepped back with the cigarette still balanced lazily between your fingers. You took one slow drag before exhaling toward the night sky.
A teasing smile returned. "Lagta hai yeh bhi meri hi reh gayi." You turned. Walking into the darkness. Taking the cigarette with you...Just like the first time.
Samundar watched until your silhouette disappeared completely. Then he looked down at his empty hand. A quiet laugh escaped him despite himself.
It was well past midnight by the time Samundar finally returned to his apartment. The city had long since settled into its quieter hours. Outside, the occasional rumble of a passing truck drifted up from the road below before fading into silence again. The apartment itself was modest—nothing extravagant, just enough for a man who spent more time at work than he ever did at home.
His keys landed in the ceramic bowl near the entrance. His jacket followed soon after, draped carelessly over the back of a chair. The muscles in his shoulders protested as he rolled them once before making his way toward the kitchen. Another long day. Another stack of paperwork waiting at the office tomorrow morning. He opened one of the cabinets, reaching for a mug before switching on the kettle. The apartment remained quiet. Almost... Too quiet. His movements slowed. It wasn't a sound. Not exactly. Just...Something. Years of experience had taught him to notice the smallest things. A door left slightly more open than he'd remembered. The faint movement of a curtain despite the windows supposedly being shut. His eyes drifted toward the living room. The curtain nearest the balcony swayed ever so slightly. There wasn't enough wind for that. The kettle clicked softly behind him. Samundar didn't move. Instead, he reached beneath the counter. His fingers closed around the familiar handle of the combat knife he'd begun keeping there after too many close calls on duty. The blade slid free without making a sound. His breathing slowed. One careful step. Then another.
The apartment suddenly felt much smaller. The living room lay empty. Nothing behind the sofa. Nothing near the bookshelf. His gaze shifted toward the bedroom. The window. It wasn't open. Not fully. Just enough. Barely an inch. Someone had slid it open from the outside. Samundar's grip around the knife tightened. Silently, he rounded the doorway. The bedroom appeared empty. Then—A shadow moved beside the curtains. Without thinking, he reacted. One swift step forward. His arm wrapped around the figure before they could turn completely. The knife stopped against the side of their neck. His free hand pinned their wrist before it could reach the weapon tucked beneath their jacket. Everything happened in less than a second. Neither of you spoke.
You let out the smallest sigh. "Kitne tez hain aap." The words were enough.
Samundar's grip loosened just enough for him to recognize the voice. His jaw clenched. "Tum. Close encounter ke liye knife sahi rehta hai" his knife did not move an inch.
Slowly, you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes. There it was. That same infuriatingly calm expression. As though climbing through a second-floor apartment window in the middle of the night was the most ordinary thing in the world.
A faint smile curved across your lips. "Hello, Officer."
He didn't return it. The knife remained exactly where it was. "Darwaza tha."
You raised an eyebrow. "Tha." A beat. "Lekin khidki zyada interesting lagi."
Despite himself, he almost rolled his eyes. "Tum normal tareeke se kabhi nahi aa sakti?"
You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Koshish ki thi..." Another tiny pause. "Boring laga."
He exhaled sharply through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. Barely. Almost unwillingly.
Only then did he truly take in your appearance. Your hair, usually pinned back with that familiar claw clip, had been left loose tonight, dark waves cascading over your shoulders and framing your face with effortless elegance. You were wearing a deep crimson dress that skimmed the tops of your thighs, tailored enough to command attention without seeming impractical. Black sheer thigh-high stockings hugged your legs, each finished with an intricate band of black lace resting against your skin, disappearing beneath the hem of the dress. A pair of sleek black kitten heels completed the look, their soft clicks against the wooden floor the only sound in the room. It wasn't the dress that caught him off guard—it was how naturally you wore it, carrying yourself with the same quiet confidence whether you were walking into a masquerade, a gunfight... or climbing through his apartment window in the middle of the night.
His eyes searched yours for a long moment. No panic. No urgency. No sign that you had come to hurt him. Just...You. The knife slowly lowered. Its tip dropped away from your throat until it rested harmlessly at his side.
You noticed immediately. A quiet smile crossed your face. He held your gaze. Neither of you looked away. The apartment had become impossibly quiet. The kettle in the kitchen continued to hiss softly in the distance. Your hand lifted. Slowly. Giving him more than enough time to stop you if he wanted.He didn't.
Your fingers gently closed around the hand holding the knife. Carefully... You guided it lower until the blade pointed harmlessly toward the floor. Your touch lingered for only a moment before your hand slipped away. You stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the tiny scar near your collarbone he'd never noticed before. Close enough that the familiar scent of your perfume reached him again. Neither of you spoke.You simply looked at him. As if trying to decide whether all these years had really changed him... Or not.
Then, without another word... You leaned in. Your lips found his unhurriedly. The air in the room is thick with a sudden, electric tension that snaps the moment Samundar decides to stop being the passive recipient of your affection. The shift is instantaneous and jarring. Before you can even blink, he has captured your lips in a kiss that isn't just a response—it's a reclamation.
With a surge of raw power, he drives you backward, the thud of your back hitting the wall echoing through the room. The impact is sharp, but it's quickly drowned out by the sheer hunger of his mouth on yours. You are taken aback by this side of him the quiet cop is gone, replaced by a predatory, aggressive need. His kiss is demanding, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a possessive force, claiming every inch of you and tasting you with a desperation that borders on starvation.
The danger of the moment adds a sharp, metallic edge to the desire. The knife is still clutched in his hand. He doesn't drop it instead, he slides that hand down, the handle of the blade pressing momentarily into your side before he hooks his arm firmly around your hips. With a sudden, forceful tug, he hauls your lower body flush against his, erasing every millimeter of space between you. The hardness of his arousal presses firmly into you, a silent promise of what's to come.
While one hand anchors you to him, his other hand wanders. It grazes the curve of your waist, his palm hot through your clothes, sending shivers racing up your spine. His fingers trail upward, skimming the ribs and the side of your breast before finally reaching your scalp. He dives his fingers deep into your hair, his grip tightening as he winds the locks around his knuckles and pulls your head back. The angle forces your throat open, deepening the kiss even further, allowing him to devour you completely.
A broken, needy moan escapes your throat, muffled by his lips. The sensory overload—the cold wall, the threat of the knife, the grip in your hair, and the relentless pressure of his body—is almost too much to bear. Your hands fly to his chest, your palms pressing against the fabric of his shirt, initially to steady yourself, but as the heat reaches a boiling point, you find a sudden spark of dominance.
With a surge of strength fueled by adrenaline, you push against him. He resists for a heartbeat, his grip on your hips tightening, his muscles locking, but the momentum is too much. He stumbles back, his eyes dark and blown wide with lust, following your lead until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He falls back with a heavy thud, and you follow him down, pinning him to the mattress.
The knife finally slips from his grasp, clattering harmlessly onto the duvet beside him, forgotten in the wake of this hunger. Samundar sits up slightly, propped up by his elbows, his chest heaving, watching you with an expression of raw, unfiltered want. You don't give him a second to recover. You swing your leg over him and straddle him, landing heavily right on top of him. The contact is electric. Your red dress rides up exposing the lace of your black stockings and underwear. Your clothed cunt lands directly atop his clothed cock, the friction of the fabric only serving to heighten the anticipation.
You let out a long, shuddering moan as you feel the thickness of him beneath you. You begin to grind your hips in a slow, circular motion, rolling your weight against him to maximize the pressure. The sensation is agonizingly good the cloth creates a rubbing heat that makes your core throb with a desperate need for more.
Samundar lets out a low, guttural growl, his hands snapping back to your hips. He doesn't just hold you he takes control of the rhythm, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts his hips upward, meeting your grind with powerful, rhythmic surges. Every time he pushes up into you, a gasp escapes your lips, and the friction of your clothes rubbing together creates a feverish heat that threatens to consume you both. He is panting, his head falling back against the sheets, his eyes closed in sheer ecstasy as he drives himself into you through the layers of fabric, neither of you wanting to stop the delicious torture.
In your dazed, adrenaline-fueled state, your hand wanders across the duvet, your fingers closing around the cold hilt of the knife. With a slow, deliberate motion, you bring the blade to Samundar's neck. He doesn't flinch he doesn't fight. He simply watches you with eyes that are clouded with a dark, dangerous lust, his breathing ragged. You press the edge harder, the steel biting into his skin until a thin, crimson line of blood begins to bead and trickle down his throat.
You lean down, your lips brushing against the fresh wound. You don't just kiss it you use your tongue to lap up the metallic taste of his blood, sucking the wound with a possessive intensity. Samundar lets out a guttural, shaking moan, the sensation of pain and pleasure blending into something intoxicating. In a sudden, violent blur of motion, he flips you over.
Now he is the one looming over you, pinning you to the bed. He presses his hips firmly against yours, the hard line of his cock grinding against your core through the fabric of your clothes. With a predatory focus, he reaches up and grips the neckline of your red dress, pulling it down with a sharp tug to expose the black lace bra that had been peeking through.
With a swift, decisive flick of the knife, he slices through the center of the lace. The bra snaps open, leaving your breasts straining against the air. He doesn't stop there he shoves your legs up, exposing your clothed cunt in its black lace panties and the delicate lace detailing of your stockings resting high on your thighs. With a ruthless rip, he tears the lace panties away, leaving you completely exposed and shivering beneath him.
He descends upon you with an aggressive hunger, his mouth devouring you. He eats you with a intensity, his tongue flicking and swirling against your clit while he remains pressed firmly against your thighs. While he feasts on you, he brings the knife up. He doesn't use the blade instead, he shoves the smooth, cold handle of the knife against your lips.
You understand the silent command. You part your lips and take the handle into your mouth, sucking on it, coating the material in thick, glistening saliva. Once it is fully lubricated, he pulls it from your mouth and slowly slides the handle into your pussy. You let out a long, shaky moan as the foreign object fills you. Samundar pulls back slightly, eyes wide in awe at the sight of your glistening, beautiful pussy tightly gripping and sucking in the handle of the knife.
He begins to move it in and out, a rhythmic, clinical penetration. He doesn't care that the blade is still gripped in his hand, the steel mere inches from your skin, adding a thrill of danger to the friction. You moan loudly, your body arching as the handle rubs against your walls. Finally, he pulls it out with a wet snap. His hand is stained with a bit of blood from the cut on his neck, but he ignores it, instead grabbing your face with his bloodied hand. He shoves the slicked handle back into your mouth, demanding you clean it. You obey, looking directly into his dark eyes, your gaze challenging him, which only turns him on further.
He throws the knife away with a clatter, the metal ringing against the floor. He rips off his pants in one fluid motion and lays back, his chest heaving. You lean over him, pressing a quick, searing kiss to his lips before stripping off your dress completely. Now, bare and wearing only your stockings, you descend upon him.
You take his cock into your mouth, slow and teasing, swirling your tongue around the head to drive him crazy. But Samundar has lost all patience. He reaches up, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling your head forward. He thrusts his hips upward, forcing his cock deep into your throat.
The sudden depth makes you gag, your eyes watering instantly, but he doesn't stop. He treats your mouth like a sheath, fucking you with a relentless, driving pace. Saliva rolls out the corners of your mouth, dripping onto your chin as you struggle to take him. He is relentless, his breath coming in heavy, jagged snarls.
As he nears the edge, his grip on your hair tightens, pulling you even deeper. He delivers several final, powerful thrusts, deep-throating you completely, his cock hitting the back of your throat as he lets out a strangled cry and cums violently down your throat, filling you with the heat of his release.
Samundar pulls out of your mouth with a wet, sloppy sound, leaving you gasping for air. You cough, your throat raw and your eyes swimming with tears, but before you can even catch your breath or wipe the saliva from your chin, he grabs your ankles and yanks you violently toward the edge of the bed.
He doesn't give you a second to recover. He flips you onto your stomach with a rough shove, pressing your face deep into the pillows. The sudden shift leaves you disoriented, your bare chest rubbing against the sheets as he looms over you like a predator. You hear the leather of his belt snap as he pulls it from his loops, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Thak gayi aap itni jaldi?" he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rasp against your ear. He wraps the leather belt around your wrists, binding them tightly behind your back. He pulls the knot with a brutal efficiency, pinning your arms in a way that arches your back and thrusts your ass high into the air, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed. You let out a muffled whimper into the pillow, the helplessness only fueling the fire between your legs.
He doesn't go for the entrance immediately. Instead, he takes the remaining end of the belt and drags it slowly across your buttocks, the leather stinging your skin. He begins to spank you, his palm landing with heavy, echoing cracks that turn your skin a flushed, burning red. Each strike is timed with a command, his voice demanding you take it, demanding you beg for him. He deliveres another sharp blow that makes you cry out.
Just as you are on the verge of breaking, he stops. He reaches down, his fingers digging into your hips, bruising the skin as he pulls you back against him. He isn't using any lubrication he wants you to feel every bit of the friction. He lines himself up and drives into you in one singular, violent thrust. You scream into the pillow, the sensation of him stretching you open so suddenly and forcefully nearly knocking the wind out of you. He doesn't slow down. He begins to fuck you with a hardcore, relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against yours with a sound like thunder. He is treating you like a toy, his thrusts deep and punishing, hitting your cervix with every single strike.
He reaches forward, grabbing your hair again and pulling your head back so he can whisper in your ear. "Es liye aayi thi na mere paas? Hmm?"
He shifts his grip, one hand staying in your hair while the other reaches down to find your clit, rubbing it with a brutal, fast pressure that pushes you over the edge. The combination of the punishing penetration and the aggressive stimulation is too much. You begin to climax, your internal muscles clamping around him in desperate, shaking waves.
The feeling of you tightening around him snaps Samundar's last shred of control. He lets out a guttural, animalistic roar, his pace becoming frantic. He drives himself into you one last time, burying his length as deep as physically possible, his body locking up as he erupts inside you. He pours himself into you in thick, hot bursts, his chest heaving against your back, both of you shaking from the sheer intensity of the encounter.
He stays buried inside you for a long time, his breath hot against your neck, the only sound in the room the frantic beating of two hearts and the slow, steady drip of sweat and pleasure onto the sheets.
By now, your mind has completely fractured under the onslaught of pleasure and pain. You are in a state of pure, sensory overload, your consciousness drifting in a haze of white noise and heat. You can't think, you can't reason all you are is a raw nerve, vibrating with the aftershocks of his release.
Samundar doesn't let you go. He leaves your wrists bound tightly behind your back, keeping you pinned in that vulnerable, arched position, your ass still thrust high in the air. He doesn't want you to move he wants you exactly where he can dominate you.
He shifts his position, sliding down the bed and maneuvering himself between your shaking thighs. He leans down, his tongue finding your clit with a sudden, wet precision. He begins to eat you out from behind, his tongue flicking and swirling with a relentless, hungry energy.
The sensation is overwhelming. Because you are still bound and helpless, every lick feels magnified, sending electric jolts straight to your core. You begin to moan, the sound starting low and building into a loud, desperate wail that echoes throughout the room. You are begging for a release you can't even name, your hips twitching and bucking against his mouth, trying to push closer to the friction.
He doesn't stop. He treats you like a feast, his suction intensifying, his tongue working you with a focused aggression. He pushes you further and further, driving you toward a peak that feels like it's going to shatter you. Finally, the tension snaps. Your body convulses violently, and you erupt, squirting heavily across his face and chest in a torrential release of pleasure. You scream, your entire body shaking in a massive, prolonged climax that leaves you limp and breathless.
Only then does he finally pull away, his face glistening and flushed. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh, the predatory hunger finally sated. He reaches up and slowly unfastens the leather belt around your wrists, the sudden release of tension making your arms fall heavily to the bed.
Exhausted and spent, Samundar collapses onto the bed beside you. He doesn't say a word he doesn't need to. He pulls your shaking, sweat-drenched body against his side, his arm draped over your waist. Wrapped in the scent of sex, blood, and salt, the two of you drift off into a deep, heavy slumber, completely consumed by the wreckage of your passion.
He had expected this. Perhaps not admitted it to himself, but somewhere beneath years of chasing shadows, he had known that if there ever came a night where you stayed until morning it would never truly last until morning.
When Samundar finally stirred awake, the room was wrapped in the pale grey light that always arrived just before sunrise. For a few lingering seconds he remained exactly where he was, still caught somewhere between sleep and reality, his mind refusing to accept that the silence surrounding him felt different. Almost instinctively, his hand drifted across the mattress. It landed on the empty space beside him. The sheets weren't cold. They were still warm. Not warm enough to suggest you were still there, but warm enough to tell him you had only left moments earlier. Five minutes. Maybe ten. No more than that. A quiet breath escaped him. Of course.
Without rushing, he pushed himself upright, the blanket slipping lower across his waist while the cool morning air settled over the fresh scratches scattered across his bare chest and shoulders the same ones left behind during a night neither of you had spoken much through. His eyes wandered across the room almost lazily, already knowing he wouldn't find you standing by the window or waiting in the doorway with one of those impossibly smug smiles.
You were gone. Just as you always were. For a long moment he simply sat there, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the untouched side of the bed as though it might somehow offer an explanation. It never did. You had spent years appearing and disappearing from his life like smoke, never leaving enough behind for him to follow, never staying long enough for him to understand you completely.
The only difference this time was that he'd allowed himself to believe—if only for a single night—that perhaps you wouldn't leave before dawn. His hand reached toward the bedside table almost absentmindedly until his fingers found the familiar cigarette box. He tapped one loose, settled it between his lips, and lit it in practiced silence. The tiny flame briefly illuminated the room before fading, replaced by the slow curl of smoke drifting lazily toward the ceiling. Years ago, in a sealed apartment in Karnal, he had refused the cigarette you had offered him without a second thought. Now, somewhere along the line, he'd picked up the habit anyway.A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the irony. His gaze drifted back to the empty pillow.
After everything that had happened... after every chase, every narrow escape, every lie, every almost-confession, he realized something almost absurd. He still didn't know your real name. Not the one on forged passports. Not the one whispered through criminal networks. Not the countless aliases scattered across files gathering dust in forgotten cabinets. Your real name. The name your parents had given you. The one no dossier, no witness statement, no intelligence report had ever managed to uncover.
He had spent years hunting a woman whose identity remained as elusive as the shadow she disappeared into every single time. The thought should have frustrated him. Instead, it made him laugh quietly to himself. It was almost fitting. You had never belonged to one place, one identity, or one life. Trying to pin you down had always been like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. Every time he believed he had finally reached you, you slipped away again—always leaving behind just enough to remind him that you had been real.
He took one final drag before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissolve into the morning light.
There was no disappointment anymore. No anger. No urgency to run after you. Only the quiet certainty that this wasn't an ending. Somewhere, sooner or later, another case would cross his desk. Another city. Another impossible trail. Another moment where instinct would whisper that familiar warning before he caught sight of a face he had spent years pretending he wasn't looking for.
And when that day came He knew exactly what would happen. You would smile. He would chase. And neither of you would ever truly stop.
