𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

“She wasn’t made of rage—she was built from the silence that came after it.”

The phone buzzed once.

Aryan.

Darsh answered without a word, standing at the edge of his private terrace, the night wind biting against his jaw.

ARYAN (on call, tense): “Darsh… main thak gaya hoon.”

“Puri Dilli palat di. Har CCTV, har local contact, sab kuch khangal chuka hoon. Par koi nishaan nahi mil raha.”

Darsh's fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.

ARYAN: “Na koi fingerprint, na witness, na clue. Jaise hawa ban ke chali jaati hai.”

DARSH (calmly):“She’s not running, Aryan.”

“She’s watching.”

There was a pause on the line.

ARYAN (quietly):“Toh tu keh raha hai yeh sab planning hai?”

DARSH:“Main keh raha hoon… usne yeh game kab ka shuru kar diya. Hum toh bas abhi khelna seekh rahe hain.”

Darsh hung up. No goodbyes.

He stared out at the city lights.

And for the first time in years… he felt a shadow equal to his own.

𝑷𝒊𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒗 ~

The city buzzed below me. like a dying hive.

I sipped my cold coffee. Eyes on nothing. Mind on everything.

I hadn’t killed in weeks. Not because Icouldn’t.

Because I was measuring the silence.

Let them sweat. Let them chase ghosts.

I didn’t need blood tonight.

I needed them to know I am still here.

And that the next breath they took—might be their last.

I lit a match.

Watched it burn to my fingertips.

Then blew it out.

Dimly lit apartment, Delhi. Late night. Phone rings.

She stared at the screen.

“Rajveer Malhotra.”

The only name on her contact list that hadn’t been stained by blood.

She picked up after two rings, leaning against the window, watching the city choke in its own smog.

RAJVEER (voice rough, familiar): “Beta. Where the hell have you vanished?”

Pia didn’t answer right away. Silence was safer.

RAJVEER: “Your aunty is furious. Says if you don’t come back for the wedding, she’ll drag you by your ears herself.”

A flicker of something crossed Pia’s face. Not quite a smile. Not quite pain either.

RAJVEER (softer now): “You need to come back, Pia. It’s your cousin’s wedding—Anaya. She’s been asking for you.”

Anaya.

A name from another life. A face from a time before her bones remembered screams.

RAJVEER (with warmth): “Your aunty misses you. She won’t say it, but she does. And I... I just want to see you once without the weight in your eyes.”

She blinked.

If only he knew what those eyes had seen.

PIA (quietly): “When?”

RAJVEER (relieved): “Next week. Come home, beta. Just for a few days. That’s all she wants.”

Home.

She ended the call without promising.

She stood still for a long time. Then looked at the mirror.

Her reflection stared back, sharp… unreadable.

The girl they once knew was long gone. But Pia would return.

Just not the way they remembered.

Location: Delhi – A derelict photo studio on the edge of the city, hidden among forgotten alleyways and rusting shutters.

The room reeked of dust, mold, and memories that refused to die. Pia moved like a shadow, every motion deliberate, every breath calculated. Her fingers, gloved in black leather, brushed against old picture frames discarded like trash. Her boots didn’t creak—they stalked.

She reached the back cabinet. Locked, but that was never a problem. A flick of her wrist, a subtle crack, and the drawer gave way.

Inside, an old photograph. Yellowed edges. A group of men—arms slung carelessly over each other's shoulders, smiling with the arrogance of those who thought they’d never be punished.

Sixteen-year-old Pia looked at it like it was evidence. Like it was a ghost.

Her grip tightened around the scalpel. Slow, smooth, she carved a red circle over one of the faces—Harshit Raizada.

Still untouchable. Still unrepentant.

Still breathing.

She flipped the photo. On the back, in sharp, poised handwriting, she wrote:

“Monsters rot slower when they think no one’s watching.”

— P.C.

And beneath that, etched into the paper so faintly it was almost invisible:

“The third was never buried. Just forgotten.”

She sealed it inside a matte black envelope and slid it into the hidden cavity behind the wall panel—under a pile of rotting negatives and old camera reels.

No one would stumble upon it by accident.

But Aryan would.

Eventually.

She made sure of it.

And when he did, he’d know—

She wasn’t done.

Not by a long shot.

Location: Rajasthan – Malhotra Haveli, just after sunset. The sky is a burning orange, and the air hums with the sound of dhol beats in the distance. The wedding week has begun.

The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the towering gates of the haveli. Pia stepped out, sunglasses still on despite the fading sun, her boots hitting the red stone driveway with a quiet thud.

She paused. The scent of fresh marigolds. The warm air thick with celebration. Laughter from inside the house. The weight of memories she didn’t want but couldn’t forget.

For a moment, she stood still—watching the mansion in front of her like a battlefield she was walking into dressed as a guest.

The front doors opened.

“Pia beta! ”

Rajveer Malhotra stepped out with open arms, joy lighting up his tired face.

She managed a small, practiced smile and moved forward.

RAJVEER (hugging her gently):

“You’ve finally come. Your chachi will stop breathing fire now. She's missed you like anything, and she’s furious you’ve been gone so long.”

PIA (softly):

“I had some things to finish, Chachu and please call me just shivangi not pia at wedding .''

His smile faltered a second. But he didn’t question. He never had.

RAJVEER:

“ Come in, come in. The house is full. Wedding madness everywhere. You’ll get lost in it—and that’s the best thing for you and yes beta i will call just shivangi there now don't make it too dramatic nautankibaaz.”

Not if they get lost in me first, she thought, but didn’t say.

Inside, the haveli bloomed with color. Strings of jasmine. Brass diyas. The clatter of cousins and cooks and chaos. Her heart didn’t move—but her feet did.

From the stairs above, her chachi appeared, eyes widening the moment she saw Pia.

CHACHI (stern but emotional):

“You better not pretend I’m not furious with you.”

Pia blinked, then moved toward her and hugged her tight.

PIA:

“Then punish me later. But let me breathe this in… for a minute.”

Chachi melted. As always.

But even in that warmth, Pia kept her silence.

She didn’t tell them what she left behind in Delhi.

She didn’t tell them the blood still under her nails.

And upstairs in her room, tucked away in the lining of her suitcase, was the last message she never sent to Aryan.

“I’m not running. Just moving the war to another battlefield.”

The haveli had no idea what had just walked through its doors.

But the storm was here now.

And it was dressed in silence and shadows.

Location: CBI Regional HQ – Special Investigations Wing, Aryan’s war room. Rain taps the window like a countdown.

Aryan stood in front of the board, three crime scene photos staring back at him like specters. Each one messier than the last—but not disorganized.

No.

This was orchestration.

This was someone playing god with death.

Three men. Three monsters. Three executions.

And now he had names.

Vijay Thakur – Found in the jungle outskirts of Uttarakhand. Burnt beyond recognition. His body half-devoured by wild animals. Teeth marks on the bones. Someone had dragged him there—alive.

No fingerprints. No blood trail. Just fire and fury.

Karan Sharma – Tortured in his own farmhouse. Limbs cut into clean slices. Tongue severed. His private part was left… displayed.

Almost ceremonial. As if a message.

Akshat Singh – The latest. The most public. Shot in his mansion, three bullets straight to the chest.

Seven to the groin.

And glass shards jammed into both eyes.

Aryan’s jaw tensed.

"This isn’t just revenge. This is punishment."

He scrolled back through every shadow report, backdoor whisper, and gangland murmur. The name came up again.

Not a name. An enigma.

P.C.

No birth certificate. No ID. No photos.

But someone—she—was leaving behind a path soaked in blood and silence.

And now he saw the pattern.

Vijay Thakur.

Karan Sharma.

Akshat Singh.

All three connected to an old case that was never filed. A girl taken. A woman murdered. A mansion burned down in Bikaner.

It had been erased from the system.

But not from someone’s memory.

Aryan picked up the only physical evidence that had ever surfaced: a piece of cloth, marked with ash, embroidered faintly with two letters.

P.C.

He exhaled.

ARYAN (murmuring):

“Who the hell are you, P.C.”

Because now he was sure.

She didn’t just kill them.

She judged them.

And every execution was a sentence long overdue.

𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉 𝒑𝒐𝒗 ~

I’ve seen death.

I’ve delivered it.

But what was happening now—it wasn’t business. It wasn’t a turf war. It was personal, precise. A trail of brutality too specific to be coincidence.

Three men. All powerful. All predators behind polished masks.

Burned. Butchered. Executed.

Each death a signature. Not chaos. Control.

And control always leaves a scent.

Even when it's wrapped in silence.

I sat in my private study in Udaipur, the windows blacked out, the air thick with the smell of imported cigars and gunmetal. The report from Italy still in my hand, but my eyes weren’t reading it anymore.

Aryan’s call echoed back in my skull.

“Koi proof nahi mil raha, Darsh… Delhi chaan maari. Lekin sab hawaa hai. Jaise vo kabhi exist hi nahi karti.”

That was the first mistake.

They thought she was a ghost.

But I knew better.

Ghosts don’t bleed.

Ghosts don’t hunt.

And ghosts don’t leave behind broken men with glass in their eyes and their sins carved into their flesh.

This was a woman.

With a past like a loaded gun.

And a purpose carved sharper than any blade I ever held.

I opened the drawer. Took out the phone I never used unless it mattered.

“Luciano,” I said, voice low. “Pull the files from our Italian registry. The ones marked unregistered. Women. Trafficked. Any connected to India. Bikaner.”

A pause.

Then his voice crackled back:

“You think it’s one of ours?”

“No,” I said. “I think it’s someone we should’ve protected. And now she’s doing what we didn’t.”

I killed for loyalty.

She was killing for justice.

But justice this poetic—this brutal—came from scars too deep for men like Aryan to understand. And for the first time in years…

I was intrigued.

Darsh Khurana doesn’t chase ghosts.

But this girl?

She wasn’t a ghost.

She was the kind of storm that rewrites bloodlines.

And I wanted to know her name.

𝑷𝒊𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒗 ~

They say time heals.

But no one talks about the nights.

The ones that never end.

The ones that stank of blood, sweat, and burnt flesh.

I was sixteen when I stopped being human.

I became memory.

I became the echo of every scream my mother ever choked back.

And now?

Now I’m the consequence.

I sat on the edge of the rooftop in Jaisalmer, the sandstone city sleeping below me, unaware that judgment was still being written in silence. My knife rested against my thigh, not for protection—just… comfort.

Pain isn’t loud.

Pain is quiet.

Pain is a girl with a dead mother and a list etched into her soul like scripture.

Three are dead.

Four more remain.

But tonight, I didn’t count bodies.

I remembered.

Her scream when he poured kerosene on her legs.

The way she whispered my name instead of calling God.

The silence after her last breath…

People think revenge is fire.

They’re wrong.

Revenge is ice.

Cold. Slow. Certain.

I leave no traces.

No face.

No mercy.

And yet, someone’s watching.

I’ve felt it.

The breath of a new hunter. Not a cop. Not a fool.

Someone darker.

Maybe him.

Darsh Khurana.

I heard his name whispered like a warning in the underground. Mafia-blooded. Cold. Untouchable.

But no one’s untouchable.

I’ll know when to touch him.

But tonight—

I rose from the ledge, the wind clawing at my hair, the city lights blinking like blind eyes.

—tonight, I set the next trap.

And they’ll never see it coming.

Because the next name on the list?

Doesn’t even know I’m alive.

But when I arrive—

He’ll beg for death.

And I’ll let him.

After all…

Hell has no fury like a daughter reborn in flames.

𝑯𝒆𝒚𝒚 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 ... 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓? 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆

♥︎