Rain.
It begins with rain.
As always.
Not gentle - never gentle. It falls in sheets, blurring everything, swallowing edges, drowning sound. The sky is dark but not night. The temple stands tall, ancient, its carvings distorted as if seen through water.
The bells are ringing.
Too loud. Too many.
There are shadows moving everywhere. Black vehicles. Figures stepping out in silence. Faces unclear. Voices muffled, as if heard from underwater.
Stone steps.
Wet. Shining. Endless.
He is there.
Walking down.
Shoulders straight. Rain sliding down the sharp lines of his face. Everything about him steady.
But the air feels wrong.
Like something is about to break.
A movement. Fast. Blurred.
A figure emerges from the rain.
A girl.
Face hidden beneath a soaked scarf. Only her eyes visible - dark, urgent, impossible to read.
She moves toward him.
No hesitation. No fear.
A shove.
The world tilts.
A crack.
Sharp. Splitting the air open.
Stone explodes where he had been standing. The echo stretches too long, as if time itself hesitates.
She slips through.
Always just out of grasp.
He turns.
Too late.
Her eyes meet his.
For a second - it feels like he knows them.
Not from today. Not from here.
Not frightened. Not regretful.
Almost... destined.
Then she runs.
Down the endless wet steps.
Her figure dissolves into rain.
Only two things remain clear -
The echo of the gunshot.
And those eyes disappearing into the storm.
Then darkness.
Her eyes snapped open.
The room was dark. Her heart was thundering against her ribs as though it was trying to escape something it hadn't finished dreaming about.
Just a dream.
Wasn't it?
Anklets chimed faintly in her memory. The warmth of a hand at her waist. The pull of eyes she didn't know but somehow recognised - the specific recognition of something that lives in the bones rather than the mind.
She pressed her palm flat against the mattress.
Maya.
The name arrived without invitation, belonging to a face she couldn't place and a moment she couldn't locate in any memory she actually owned.
She exhaled. Pushed it down. Filed it under later - a category that had been growing quietly for years.
The city outside her window was already awake.
Neither was she.
She got up.
Vartika Singh was not a woman who lingered in mirrors.
Five feet six inches tall, porcelain skin, dark eyes that catalogued everything before revealing nothing. Two small moles - one just above her upper lip, one just below - that softened a face which didn't ask to be softened. She noticed them the way she noticed most things about herself: factually, without opinion.
The white kurta went on first. Then the black churidar. Clean lines, no excess. Her hair gathered into a low bun at the nape of her neck - severe enough to command respect, simple enough to disappear when needed. A thin line of kajal. Lip balm. Her watch, always five minutes fast.
The black advocate's coat went on last.
Not power - responsibility. She adjusted the collar twice until it sat exactly right. Added a small black bindi to her forehead.
For herself. Not tradition.
Picked up her files.
And walked out.
The mandir at the end of the lane was cool and dim regardless of what the city was doing outside. Dust motes drifted through columns of light. The chanting was low, unhurried.
She sat. Closed her eyes.
No elaborate prayer. No requests. No bargains.
Just - let me do my work well.
Not win. Not destroy.
Just do it right.
Panditji appeared as she rose, handing her prasad with the smile of someone who had known her long enough to skip the pleasantries.
"Aaj ka din bhari hoga." [Today will be a heavy day.]
"Hamesha hota hai." [It always is.]
"Aur phir bhi," he said, meeting her eyes, "tum sambhal leti ho." [And yet, you manage it.]
She inclined her head.
And walked toward the courthouse.
The corridors of the courthouse had a sound of their own - layered, watchful, conversations cutting themselves short when certain footsteps approached.
"Singh aa gayi." [Singh has arrived.] Someone murmured it without bothering to lower their voice.
"River case. Against Rathore Industries."
A pause. Then softer: "Bold."
She didn't look. Attention lost its power the moment you acknowledged it.
Outside Courtroom Three her associate fell into step.
"Opposition filed an additional affidavit last night. Third-party sabotage."
"They would." She took the tablet without breaking stride.
"Also pushing historical pollution. Pre-expansion contamination."
"History doesn't absolve the present."
A man from the opposition passed - eyes on her a fraction too long.
"Ms. Singh," he said smoothly. "Hope you slept well."
"Well enough," she replied. "I trust your affidavit did too."
His jaw tightened.
"They're rattled," her associate exhaled.
"Good. That means they're listening."
Inside, she stood.
"My Lord."
Her voice carried - clear, even, unhurried.
"This petition concerns the irreversible contamination of the Chandrabhaga river downstream from Rathore Industries' plant. For generations, six villages depended on this river. Drinking. Irrigation. Livelihood. Survival."
She opened the file. Held up a photograph. The discolouration of water visible even from the back of the room.
"Water samples over fourteen months show toxin levels exceeding permissible limits by five hundred percent. Medical records document a seventy-three percent increase in skin lesions, gastrointestinal illness, and respiratory distress among residents."
The opposition counsel rose. "Objection. Correlation does not -"
"- establish causation," she finished. "Which is precisely why we are submitting soil analysis, groundwater flow mapping, and internal maintenance logs from the respondent's own facility."
The objection stalled.
She waited.
"The law does not require us to prove malice." A beat. "Only responsibility. The villagers did not consent to be collateral. Their children did not sign clearance forms. Their bodies do not recognise corporate boundaries."
She closed the file.
"We will demonstrate that while Rathore Industries may not have poisoned the river with intent, they allowed it to happen with indifference."
She stepped back.
"That is negligence."
The courtroom exhaled.
The opposition rebuilt carefully - compliance records, audits, community initiatives, historical pollution that predated the plant. It was a solid argument. Built to last.
She listened to all of it.
Then rose.
"Compliance frameworks exist. And they matter." She lifted a single document. "So does this. An internal maintenance log from Rathore Industries' own facility - submitted by them - recording repeated shutdowns of effluent treatment systems during peak discharge hours. Labelled as 'temporary adjustments.'"
A ripple moved through the room.
"Chain of custody - intact. Signed. Timestamped." She turned toward the opposition. "Historical pollution - documented. Which is precisely why increased toxicity levels post-expansion are statistically and legally significant."
She met the judge's gaze.
"Compliance is not a shield. It is a minimum. And proximity does not absolve responsibility when actions exacerbate harm."
She stepped back.
The silence was different this time. Taut. Focused.
"This court finds sufficient grounds to continue proceedings."
The gavel struck.
Back at her seat, something pulled at the edge of her attention.
One entry in the maintenance log - listed as completed twice in a single hour.
"Check staff attendance for those dates," she said quietly to her associate. "See if anyone was unusually present."
"You think -"
"Not yet. Just look."
Someone inside, she thought. Someone who left fingerprints and assumed they'd hidden them.
She had always been very good at finding fingerprints.
The courthouse gates opened slower than usual.
Her car was already waiting.
So was his.
Black. Polished. Unnecessary for a lawyer who claimed to represent procedural interests.
Neil stood beside it, smiling. Not the kind that reached the eyes.
"Advocate Singh," he said easily, falling into step beside her. "Didn't expect you to leave so early."
"I don't linger where the work is done."
"That's what makes you dangerous."
She paused - just half a breath - then looked at him. "Careful. Compliments sound suspicious from the losing side."
His smile widened. "You assume we lost."
Before she could respond, engines hummed. Two cars slid in behind hers. Another eased ahead. Too coordinated to be coincidence.
A convoy.
Vartika noticed. Of course she did. Her gaze flicked to the mirrors - front, side, back. Her expression didn't change.
Neil leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Relax. Court days are unpredictable. It's safer to travel together."
"Together?" she asked coolly. "I don't remember agreeing."
"You didn't have to." He straightened, hands in his pockets. "Paths align on their own sometimes."
"I prefer my paths uncluttered," she said. "And unescorted."
He laughed softly as she got into her car. "Consider this a courtesy."
One ahead. Two behind.
In the mirror, Neil raised his hand in a lazy wave.
Vartika's fingers tightened once around the file in her lap.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Neil wasn't just an opposition lawyer.
He was watching. Testing. Waiting for something to slip.
And she knew - without knowing how - that this wasn't about the case anymore.
The city slid past the window in practised chaos. Normally this part of the drive grounded her.
Today, it didn't.
Paths align on their own sometimes.
People who believed in coincidence didn't arrange convoys.
She replayed the hearing - not the arguments she'd made, but the ones she hadn't had to. The data discrepancies. The missing internal approvals. Documents filed too cleanly, too late.
Someone inside. Someone sloppy enough to leave fingerprints, clever enough to think they'd hidden them.
The convoy peeled away at the junction - clean, coordinated. No lingering. No last message. Just absence.
Not a warning. A statement.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She waited through three rings. The call cut off. A message appeared.
"Hope the drive home was comfortable."
No signature.
Her thumb hovered. She could trace it. Could burn the number to its source in minutes.
She locked the phone instead.
Too easy. They wanted reaction. Proof of impact.
She denied them that.
"Follow all you want," she murmured under her breath. "I don't lose my way."

___________________

Far away, in a city that never truly slept, a man stood watching the same headline replay on muted screens - her victory summarised in neat, harmless words.
He loosened his cufflinks, gaze unreadable.
"Interesting," he said into the phone, voice low, controlled. "Find out everything."
The call ended.
Two paths, now aware of each other.
Neither of them inclined to step aside.

____________________________

Kalyani was at the dining table when the door clicked open.
"Tum aa gayi?" [You're home?] she asked without looking up.
Vartika loosened her coat and draped it over the chair. "Haan. Thoda late ho gaya." [Yes. Got a bit late.]
"Khaana garam kar doon?" [Should I heat food?]
"Bas paani." [Just water.]
Kalyani slid a cup toward her and looked at her daughter the way she always did - forehead, hands, the specific quality of tiredness around the eyes.
"Aaj ka case mushkil tha?" [Was today's case difficult?]
"Tha. Par clear bhi." [It was. But clear too.]
For the first time since stepping out of the courthouse, the tightness in her chest eased.
Just a little.
She had barely made it to her room when she looked up and found chaos.
Red fairy lights. A chakra mat on the floor. The air thick with incense.
And on her bed - a woman. Sitting comfortably, as if the space belonged to her. Hair open. Legs folded. A slow, creeping smile that did not reach her eyes.
Vartika's heart slammed into her ribs.
Before her scream could form -
"Nisha hai vo, chudail nahi." [That's Nisha, not a witch.]
Kalyani's voice from the corridor. Perfectly calm.
"Yaar aunty kyun bata diya." [Oh come on aunty, why did you tell her.] Nisha whined.
"Beta agar tere iss prank se kisi ka dil ka daura pad jaata toh tu chugli kisse karti?" [Child, if someone had a heart attack from your prank, who would you have told?] Kalyani replied.
The lights went off. The room returned to normal.
Nisha arranged herself on the bed with a rose between her teeth.
"Aur chammo bahut der laga di aapne Seth ke paas aane ke liye." [And chammo, you took so long to come to your Seth.] She said it in the specific tone reserved for maximum annoyance.
Vartika walked to her table with the calm of someone done with everyone's nonsense. She sat. Placed her bracelet on the table with a deliberate clink.
"Milta kya hai esse chudail banke? Journalism ka course ye nautanki karne ke liye kiya tha kya?" [What do you get from acting like a witch? Was the journalism degree for this drama?]
Nisha spread her arms. "Sukoon, Janeman. Sukoon." [Peace, my dear. Peace.]
Vartika cracked her neck once. Slowly. The warning clear as day.
What followed was entirely undignified and entirely necessary - pillows flying, cushions overturned, Nisha scrambling behind the sofa -
"Meri mummy ko pishachini bol rahi hai dayan, wese toh bada chipakti hai unki chamchi banke." [You're calling my mother a demoness, witch, when you're always clinging to her like her favourite.]
"Tujhse kisne keh diya tu unki aulaad hai?" [Who told you that you're her child?]
"Tujhse koi pattne se toh dur dur tak raha - no infact tu kisi se pattne se rahi toh meri chammo hi ban jaa, kya dikkat hai?" [No one would ever get involved with you - just become my chammo, what's the problem?]
"TERI TOH-"
Kalyani appeared in the doorway.
"Jinda toh ho na dono?" [You're both still alive, yes?]
Vartika looked up - hair messy, breathing heavy from running after Nisha, having tackled her on the bed. Nisha helplessly struggling under her cried -
"Auntyyyy ye dayan mar dalegi, bachalo!" [Auntyyyy this witch will kill me, save me!]
Kalyani shook her head. "Chod usse. Itne bade hoke pagalon jese ladti rehti ho." [Let her go. You're grown women and you fight like this.]
Vartika climbed off Nisha, glaring.
Nisha collapsed dramatically at the far end of the bed. "But don't think for one second I didn't see today's headlines."
Kalyani raised an eyebrow. "Headlines?"
"Advocate Singh dismantles corporate defence with surgical precision," Nisha recited. "Honestly, terrifying. I'm proud and afraid at the same time."
Vartika sighed. "You read too fast."
"I read between lines," Nisha shot back. Then softer, scanning her friend. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're wearing the 'I'm fine but someone annoyed me' posture."
Kalyani smiled knowingly and picked up the empty cups.
As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, Nisha leaned in. "Alright. Talk."
Vartika hesitated. "Opposition lawyer was... strange."
"Strange how?"
"Calculated-strange."
"Oh." Nisha sobered instantly. "That's worse."
"He arranged a convoy back," Vartika added quietly.
Nisha froze. "He did what?"
"Didn't ask. Didn't talk much. Just... did."
"Okay, no. That's not courtroom games. That's surveillance-adjacent."
"I know."
"And you didn't-"
"React," Vartika finished. "I know."
Nisha exhaled sharply. "God, you're infuriatingly calm."
"That's why you like me."
"That's why I worry about you," Nisha corrected. "What's his name?"
"Neil."
Nisha repeated it, tasting it. "I don't like it."
"You don't like anyone."
"False. I like Kalyani Aunty. I like dogs. I like justice. And I like you alive and unbothered."
From the kitchen - "Nisha beta, biscuit ya namkeen?" [Nisha dear, biscuits or savoury snacks?]
"BOTH," Nisha shouted back without missing a beat.
She turned back, voice lower. "Whatever game this Neil is playing - don't play alone."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good. Because if anyone's stalking my best friend, I want front-row seats."
Despite herself, Vartika smiled.
Nisha went to the kitchen unexpectedly. Gently took the kettle from Kalyani's hands.
"Aaj aap baitho. Aap din bhar kaam karti ho, phir bhi hum sabko sambhalti ho. It's my turn." [Today you sit. You work all day and still manage everyone. It's my turn.]
Kalyani blinked. "Arre, beta-" [Oh, dear-]
"No arguments." Nisha was already pouring tea.
Kalyani chuckled, sitting down. "Tum bhi na... bilkul apni maa jaise ho." [You really are just like your mother.]
She carried the cups carefully, placing one in front of Kalyani first. "Extra adrak. You always say it helps with headaches." [Extra ginger.]
Kalyani's eyes softened. "Tumhe yaad hai?" [You remember?]
"Of course. You remember things for us. Someone has to remember them for you too."
Kalyani reached out, adjusting the bracelet on Nisha's wrist. "Tum jab pehli baar aayi thi na, tum itni ziddi thi pata hai." [When you first came, you were so stubborn, you know.]
Nisha laughed. "Still am."
"Par tab bhi, tumne Vartika ka haath aise pakda tha jaise chhodogi hi nahi." [But even then, you held Vartika's hand like you'd never let go.]
"Because I won't."
Kalyani squeezed her hand. "Tumhari wajah se mujhe thoda kam darr lagta hai." [Because of you, I feel a little less afraid.]
Nisha swallowed. "Aur aapki wajah se mujhe pata chalta hai ki main kahin belong karti hoon." [And because of you, I know I belong somewhere.]
From the doorway, Vartika looked away, giving them privacy.
Kalyani smiled - the kind that only came when her heart felt full. "Tum dono meri hi betiyan ho." [You are both my daughters.]
Nisha laughed through a blink too many. "Good. Because I'm terrible at being anything else."
Later, when the lights were off and the city noise softened, Nisha padded into Vartika's room in borrowed pyjamas.
"You awake?"
"Yes."
"Toh chammo kiss baat ka intezar hai, aajao meri bahon mein." [Then chammo, what are you waiting for, come into my arms.] She said it while rubbing her neck weirdly.
Vartika threw a pillow at her. "Daffa ho yahan se kaali billi ka rasta kaatne wali." [Get out of here, you black cat crossing my path.]
Nisha sat on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"
Vartika stared at the ceiling. "Ask me that again tomorrow."
"Fair." Nisha reached out, squeezing her ankle lightly. "I'm here."
Vartika turned her head. "I know."
Sleep came easier after that.
Morning arrived gently.
Nisha woke first and padded toward the kitchen, yawning.
Kalyani looked up from the stove. "Good morning."
"Mornings toh aapki jesi Diva ko dekh ke hi gud gud ho gayi thi meri." [Mornings become good only after seeing a diva like you.] Nisha mumbled, then grinned.
Kalyani laughed, handing her a cup. "Haina? Kahan main Diva aur kahan meri mahan saas jesi beti." [Right? Where am I a diva and where is my daughter who acts like a great mother-in-law.]
"Koi hai kya uska?" Kalyani asked. [Is there anyone for her?]
Nisha gave a dramatic gasp and clutched her chest. "Bahurani aapni saas ke baare mein essa kehti hai? Usne sun liya toh tandav karne lagegi." [Would a daughter-in-law say this about her mother-in-law? If she hears this she'll start a rampage.]
Vartika joined them, hair tied back, face calm.
Nisha nudged her. "Morning, Advocate Sahiba."
"Morning, uninvited tenant."
Kalyani set plates on the table. "Aaj dono saath niklogi?" [Will you both leave together today?]
"Haan." [Yes.]
Kalyani wiped her hands on her dupatta and hesitated. "Nisha beta, ek chhoti si madad chahiye thi." [Nisha dear, I needed a small favour.]
"Haan aunty. Boliye." [Yes aunty. Tell me.]
"NGO mein kuch paperwork pending hai. New admissions ke forms, medical camp ke approvals... kal tak submit karne hain." [There's some pending paperwork for the NGO. New admission forms, medical camp approvals - they need to be submitted by tomorrow.]
"Oh, that stuff? Easy."
"Acha aunty, Thakur Enterprise ke siwa aap kahan kahan shareholder ho?" [By the way aunty, apart from Thakur Enterprise, where else are you a shareholder?] Nisha asked, chewing her cookies.
"Jyada nahi. Bus tumhari company, ek Radhawa Industries aur kuch minor companies mein major shareholder." [Not many. Just your company, one Radhawa Industries and a few minor companies.]
Nisha's eyes widened. A mischievous smile. "Areyy wahhh, humari bahurani toh bahut hi samajhdar nikli." [Oh wow, our daughter-in-law turned out to be very smart.]
"Bahut badhiya beta. Aab tu bhi iski bhasha bolne laagi?" [Very good dear. Now you've started speaking her language too?] Kalyani shook her head helplessly.
Vartika let out an innocent giggle. "Saas hun main aapki, esse baat kartein hai?" [I'm your mother-in-law, is this how you speak?]
"Haa haa, meri saasu maa, pahele jaake muh dho aur mera sasur dhundho." [Yes yes, my dear mother-in-law, first go wash your face and find me a father-in-law.] Kalyani said, lightly hitting her head.
Vartika turned to Nisha. "You hate paperwork."
"I hate boring paperwork. This actually matters."
Kalyani smiled. "Tum jaogi toh kaafi kaam aasaan ho jaayega." [If you go, a lot of the work will become easier.]
Nisha stood, saluting. "NGO duty accepted."

The morning traffic crawled steadily.
Vartika's car glided through it, her mind still on the case - when chaos arrived.
A screech of tyres.
Her foot hit the brake before her mind caught up. The car lurched to a violent stop as something shot across the road - fast, weightless - and crashed near the divider.
Ahead, a small white hatchback had swerved violently. Its driver - just a girl, almost her age - hadn't seen the lane merge. The car skidded, fishtailed.
From Vartika's angle, it looked damning. The skidding tyres, the girl on the asphalt - anyone arriving would assume she'd hit her.
The crowd formed instantly.
"Madam! Aapne hit kiya!" [Madam! You hit her!]
"Brake kyun nahi maara?" [Why didn't you brake?]
"Police bulao!" [Call the police!]
Vartika was already out of the car. Controlled. Moving fast.
She yanked the door open and knelt beside the girl.
Her chest tightened - not panic. Recognition. Sharp, inexplicable, arriving before she could name it. Her head throbbed with a sudden stabbing ache.
Ignore it. She didn't know this girl.
"She's alive. Consciousness weak. Head injury, possible ankle fracture. Don't move her."
The girl stirred faintly, face pale, eyes squeezed shut.
"You're safe," Vartika whispered, pressing her coat gently under the girl's head. "I've got you. Help is coming."
Blood soaked into the fabric. She didn't notice.
"Ambulance," she said. Calm cutting through chaos. "Someone call an ambulance."
She checked the pulse. Weak, but there.
The girl's eyes fluttered open - just enough to find Vartika's face hovering above her.
For a strange, unsettling second, something passed between them.
Not recognition. Not confusion.
Something older. Quieter.
The ambulance arrived fast, lights flashing. Medics moved in and Vartika guided them, checking vitals, murmuring reassurance until the doors closed.
She stood watching the ambulance disappear.
Who is she? Why does she feel like this?
Before she fully understood the decision, she was following it to the hospital.

______________

Chalo cheers to my comeback.

Jaldi vote karo bcz new chapters are gonna be a blast.

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