Act I: SCARS, Chapter Three: The Ghost Knocked, but the Living Answered
“MUJHSE JHOOTH KYUN bola?”
[“Why did you lie to me?”]
A tired sigh filters through the laptop speaker. On the screen, “Hridaya... Tum dono saath mein liability ban jaate ho,” Meera says, her tone completely devoid of warmth. “Agar humein phir se tum dono ko kisi mission pe bhejna pada, toh risk hota.”
[“Hridaya... The two of you become a liability together. If we had to send you both on a mission again, it would be a risk.”]
“Aur aapko laga yeh bahana sabse badhiya rahega?!” My voice rises, a sudden, explosive edge cutting through the quiet of my study room. “Meri aadhi umar, mera chain, sab kuch maine iss desh ke upar nishawar kar diya aur aap...”
[“And you thought this excuse would be the best one?! Half my life, my peace, everything I sacrificed for this country, and you...”]
I shake my head, a bitter, disbelieving laugh threatening to tear from my throat as I stare at the woman who signed away my grief.
“Aap chahti hain ki zindagi mein pehli baar jisse mohabbat hui, woh bhi daan kar doon?”
[“You want me to donate the only person I ever loved in my life as well?”]
“We're sorry, but it was purely for operational purposes,” she replies flatly.
Of course. Operational purpose. The grand, unassailable umbrella under which R&AW buries human lives, fractures marriages, and writes fake death certificates without blinking an eye.
I slam the laptop closed, the dark screen cutting her off in mid-frame.
I lean back against the chair, dragging trembling fingers down my face as the silence of the hill house closes in around me. One lie... two entire years of grieving a living man. Two years of staring at charcoal sketches, reading redacted cause-of-death reports…
And we all believed it like fools.
God knows what they told him about me...
I pace back and forth beside my chair for a bit before glancing at the wall clock. 10 A.M.
I have to talk to him. If he won't break at the facility, then I need to find him somewhere personal—somewhere he's comfortable, away from the eyes of the recruits and the bureau relays. I need to find out where he lives.
I force myself to eat some toast and eggs before getting ready. I slip into a plain full-sleeve top, layer it with a long jacket, and pull on dark trousers with sturdy boots. Letting my hair fall freely over my back, I step out of the house.
The freezing air fogs with my warm breath as I make my way down the trail. I sneak back into the facility layout, scanning the rows of metal chairs where visitors and off-duty staff sit. It’s mostly empty today.
Guided by instinct, I navigate toward the backdoor jungle yard where the tactical grounds are set.
My breath hitches in my throat—there he is. He’s out in the open, actively teaching the recruits hand-to-hand defense drills. He refused to rest?
Whatever. Let him suffer in pain if he likes it so much.
I take a seat on a wooden bench tucked near the towering trees, sliding on a pair of clear glass spectacles. I pull out my journal, posing as a casual visitor or researcher taking routine notes. A few minutes pass before the heavy drill finally winds down, the recruits dispersing across the mud to rest before the next round.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a female field medic approach him. She’s checking his bandage, looking to see if the impact caused any fresh tears.
I let out a sharp gasp as her hand travels up toward his bare chest.
How dare she—
CRACK.
The plastic pen in my grip snaps clean in two.
Shaurya immediately steps a pace backward, his face an unreadable mask as he nods and says something to her.
The medic pouts slightly, wiping her hands on her apron. I narrow my eyes, leaning in subtly from my bench, straining my ears to catch their conversation over the rustling leaves.
“Main bas jaanch kar rahi thi, aap toh bura maan gaye.”
[“I was just examining you, you took it the wrong way.”]
“Bura nahi, bas... thoda galat jagah pe haath chala gaya aapka.”
[“Not offended, just... your hand strayed a bit to the wrong place.”]
Hmm.
“Oh, maaf kijiyega. Mera woh irada nahi tha,” she says, leaning in slightly with a soft smile. “Waise... Main aapke ghar aakar achche se jaanch kar sakti hoon.”
[“Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention. By the way... I could come to your house and examine you properly.”]
Shaurya stares down at her, his voice flat. “Ji nahi, main khud kar sakta hoon.”
[“No thanks, I can do it myself.”]
Hmm.
I huff under my breath, watching him stiffly adjust his jacket. “Seedha khada hua nahi jaa raha aur ladki ke saamne hero ban raha hai.”
[“Can't even stand up straight and he's acting like a hero in front of a girl.”]
He turns and makes his way back toward the facility doors. I quickly duck my head, letting my hair fall over my face like a curtain so he doesn't spot me in the shadow of the trees.
The medic turns to follow right behind him, but the moment his back is turned, I step directly into her path, blocking the walkway.
“Rukiye. Ek baat puchni thi,” I say, keeping my tone crisp and professional. “Aap Shaurya ji ka ghar jaanti hain?”
[“Wait. I needed to ask you something. Do you know where Shaurya ji lives?”]
She stops, shaking her head with a subtle pout. “Woh batayein tab na. Waise... aap kaun?”
[“Only if he'd tell me. By the way... who are you?”]
I slowly pull my clear glasses down the bridge of my nose, locking my eyes onto hers. “Main Hridaya Singh. Medical analyst under R&AW.”
[“I am Hridaya Singh. Medical analyst under R&AW.”]
“Oh...” Her posture instantly shifts, her eye widening as she takes in my badge and demeanor.
“Hmm. Waise aapko pata hai...” I take a step closer, leaning in slightly as my voice drops into a chilling whisper. “Yahan ek naye hatyare ki khabar fail rahi hai. Maine toh suna hai woh aise hi junglon mein ladkiyon ka sar tan se juda kar deta hai.”
[“Hmm. By the way, do you know... news of a new killer is spreading around here. I heard he severs the heads of girls off their bodies right in these forests.”]
She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Arey baap re...”
[“Oh my goodness...”]
I nod gravely, my expression completely serious. “Isilye satark rahiyega.”
[“So stay alert.”]
I give her shoulder a firm, reassuring pat, leaving her standing frozen on the dirt path as I turn around and walk away into the trees.
I round the corner of the facility layout and catch him just as he’s leaving, holding his phone up to his ear.
“Meri early morning shift khatam ho gayi. Next round Chaudhary handle karega.”
[“My early morning shift is over. Chaudhary will handle the next round.”]
I fall into step behind him, trailing him quietly through the dense cover of the trees. After a few minutes of navigation down the mist-covered trail, he stops outside a small, cozy roadside cafe. He steps inside, takes a seat at a corner table, and orders a full, heavy breakfast.
Along with a glass of milk.
Aww.
No. I huff under my breath, shaking the soft thought out of my head as I step inside after him. I slide into the booth directly opposite his table, holding my open journal high enough to keep the lower half of my face completely hidden behind the pages.
I narrow my eyes over the top margin, observing him like a target under surveillance.
I notice that he doesn't smoke anymore. I pull out my pen and quickly jot it down in the margin. Good. At least he let go of that habit. He used to chain-smoke pack after pack back in Lyari.
My eyes drift up to his hair—and my breath catches in my throat. The black band holding his man-bun tightly in place is unmistakably mine.
Moved on? My ass. Who is he trying to lie to?
I jot down another note: So he mostly trains during early mornings. Okay, got it.
“Ma'am, aap kuch order kijiyega?” the waiter asks, stepping beside my table.
[“Ma'am, would you like to order something?”]
I keep my face partially blocked behind the paper. “Umm, one ginger tea.”
“Okay, ma'am.”
I go back to jotting down every tiny shift I notice about him. He's wearing a simple t-shirt, dark jeans, and a heavy leather jacket. I kind of miss his traditional kurtas and those long, flowing coats he used to wear. He doesn't look as massive anymore—still tall, still terrifyingly imposing, but leaner, harder, carved down by two years of pure survival conditioning.
When the waiter sets my ginger tea down, I quietly blow over the hot surface and take a small, slow sip.
I pause. What the hell?
I haven't even finished three sips of my tea, and he’s already cleared his entire plate, downing the last of the milk in one go.
Note down: Still eats like a black hole.
I leave a few coins on the table to pay for the tea and slip out right behind him.
I keep a disciplined distance as he walks down the winding road, eventually coming to a stop outside a heavily fortified residential complex. A prominent sign near the steel gates reads in bold lettering: SECTOR C4.
I narrow my eyes, scanning the perimeter. Armed guards stand at every post, their eyes scanning the fog. It isn't anything like my modest, tiny hill apartment—it's an entire high-security building complex built specifically for senior R&AW officers and field instructors. Unlike me, who practically lives out of a quiet civilian off-grid annex.
My gaze drifts over to a second warning board mounted right beside the iron gate:
TRESPASSING WILL RESULT IN DEATH.
Oh, hell nah.
Bye.
I instantly alter my pace, casually walking past the gate like a completely indifferent civilian tourist as Shaurya steps through the checkpoint and enters the complex.
I let out a long, frustrated groan under my breath the moment I turn the corner, my warm breath fogging up in the freezing Mussoorie air.
I'm going to have to find another way to talk to him.
I walk back to my hill house in deep disappointment, picking up a few basic groceries along the way. When I push through my front gate, I set the plastic bags and my journal down on the entry table, tossing the broken pen straight into the dustbin.
I pull off my heavy jacket and unlace my boots before flicking on the living room lights—almost flinching out of my skin as my eyes fall upon the figure sitting quietly on my sofa.
“H-Hamza...?”
He slowly looks up at me. With unbothered audacity, he slides my spare keys—the ones I keep hidden—right into his jacket pocket, right in front of my face.
“Yahan kya kar rahe ho?” I ask, forcing my lungs to draw a breath as I try to pull my composure together.
[“What are you doing here?”]
“Pichha karna sirf tumhe aata hai?” he questions back, his tone dangerously smooth.
[“Are you the only one who knows how to trail someone?”]
I stiffen slightly, taking a firm step closer across the cold wooden floorboards. “Tum mujhse baat tak nahi karna chahte the! Kya karti main?”
[“You didn't even want to talk to me! What was I supposed to do?”]
“Intezaar.” He stands up slowly, his towering frame instantly casting a shadow over me.
[“Wait.”]
“Kitna intezaar? Poori zindagi aise jhooth ke sahare nahi ji sakti main,” I reply, tilting my chin up to lock eyes with him.
[“Wait for how long? I can't spend my entire life relying on lies like this.”]
“Mere bagair toh ji sakti ho na?” He looks down at me, his eyes cold and hollow. “Do saal guzar liye hain, thoda aur guzar lo.”
[“You can live without me, right? You've spent two years, spend a little more.”]
I take a deep, trembling breath, feeling the sharp sting of his words. “Yeh bolne ke liye yahan aaye the?”
[“Did you come here just to say this?”]
“Haan. Ek aur baat—phir se pichha mat karna,” he replies flatly.
[“Yes. One more thing—don't trail me again.”]
He turns his shoulder and begins to walk past me toward the door, but before he can take two steps, I reach out and grab his hand. I wrap my fingers tightly around his knuckles, refusing to let go.
“Aakhir takleef kya hai? Kaunse gunah ki saza de rahe ho tum mujhe? Tumhe nahi dikh raha main kitni bechain hoon?”
[“What is your problem anyway? What sin are you punishing me for? Can't you see how restless I am?”]
He brutally yanks his hand out of my grip.
“Toh kahan thi itne dino se?!” he snaps, his voice suddenly cracking open with a raw, buried fury that shakes the quiet room. “Kahan thi jab main akela tha?!”
[“So where were you all these days?! Where were you when I was all alone?!”]
I stare at him in sheer disbelief, the breath knocked right out of my chest. “Maine... tumhari jaan bachayi.”
[“I... saved your life.”]
He takes a harsh step back, his boots screeching against the floorboards as his face contorts in pain. “Mar jaane diya hota! Aise ghut ke jeene se toh behtar—”
[“You should have let me die! Anything is better than suffocating like this—”]
SLAP.
The sharp, sudden crack echoes violently through the house.
His head snaps hard to the side. His jaw stays locked, his green eyes wide with sudden shock as the stinging silence settles over us.
Oh, no.
“Mar jaane diya hota?!” I yell, “Tum keh rahe ho jitni bhi ladayi maine ladi, woh sab befizul thi? Yeh keh rahe ho ki mere tyag ki koi kimat nahi?! Do saal guzar gaye, lekin tumhe pata bhi hai maine kis haal mein guzare hain? Tumhe pata bhi hai mujhe kaisa mehsus hua jab mujhe tumhara mara hua chehra bhi nahi dekhne diya gaya?!”
[“‘You should have let me die?!’ Are you saying that every battle I fought was completely pointless? Are you saying my sacrifice has no value?! Two years have passed, but do you even have any idea what state I spent them in? Do you even know how I felt when they didn't even let me see your dead face?!”]
He stands completely frozen, his eyes swimming with a glassy layer of unshed tears.
“Unhone kaha tum zinda nahi bache!” I march over to my study desk, aggressively pulling the drawer open to snatch out the redacted file. I thrust the official death certificates directly into his chest. “Bas yeh kaagaz pakda diye. Aur yahan bhej diya gaya.”
[“They said you didn't survive! They just handed me these papers. And sent me here.”]
His fingers tremble as he takes the physical sheets from my grip. He stares down at the black ink—at his own name registered under cause of death.
“Unhone... mujhse kaha tum mujhse nahi milna chahti,” his voice shakes, the cold armor completely dissolving into dust. “Ki tum dar gayi ho. Kaise... Kaise aata?”
[“They... told me that you didn't want to meet me. That you were traumatized. How... How was I supposed to come?”]
I let out a ragged groan, shaking my head. “Tum mere liye mar gaye the, lekin main toh zinda thi na! Aa jaate! Kyun nahi aaye?!”
[“You were dead to me, but I was still alive, wasn't I?! You should have come! Why didn't you come?!”]
He stays silent, staring down at the paper as if the words are physically choking him.
My knees give out under the emotional exhaustion, and I let myself slump heavily onto the sofa. The tears spill freely down my cheeks now, blurring his frame as I pull my legs up to my chest.
I look up at him through the haze, my voice barely a broken whisper.
“Tumne kaha tha... jab hum Hindustan aa jaayenge, toh tum sabse pehle mujhe chunoge.” I swallow the painful knot in my throat, staring at the husband who had promised me a home away from the Karachi cartel. “Sab bhool gaye?”
[“You said... when we come to India, you would choose me first before anything else. Did you forget everything?”]
He steps closer to me, his heavy hand reaching out toward my face—only for me to flinch on instinct. His fingers freeze in mid-air, a violent flicker of pain flashing through his eyes before he slowly drops his arm.
“Main tumhe mehfooz rakhna chahta tha... khud se,” he whispers, his voice thick with a suffocating guilt. “Agar mere jaane se tumhare zakhm bharte hain, toh khud ko bhi door karna chahta tha. Tum darr rahi ho... bilkul aise.”
[“I wanted to keep you safe... from myself. If my leaving heals your wounds, then I wanted to keep myself away too. You are afraid... just like this.”]
I look up at him through my tear-stained lashes, my gaze locking onto his. “Kuch buri yaadein hain, magar tumse nahi dar rahi.”
[“There are some bad memories, but I am not afraid of you.”]
“Tum aage badh gayi ho...” He pulls his palm up to his head, dragging his fingers through his hair as if trying to press down the noise in his own skull. “Main tumhe dukh ke alawa kuch nahi de sakta.”
[“You have moved on... I can't give you anything except pain.”]
I look at the man who sacrificed everything only to be convinced by the agency that his very existence was a curse to me.
I take a slow, ragged breath, letting the finality settle into my chest.
“Agar aisa hai toh... Main dobara PARESHAN NAHI KARUNGI.”
[“If that's how it is... I won't bother you again.”]
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