Tick... tick...
The clock mocked her silence.
"Uhh... ahh..."
She jerked awake, drenched in sweat.
She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her hair clung to her forehead. Her breathing was shallow, broken — like someone being pulled out from drowning. The wall clock glowed in the dark — 4:00 AM .
The nightmares had returned.
Again.
For the past four years, therapy sessions had become her only crutch, but the pain never truly left. Sometimes it screamed inside her head; other times, it whispered in the silence of the night. But it was always there — haunting her like an invisible ghost.
Nandini Gupta sat still on the edge of her bed, hands trembling, heart aching with invisible bruises.
She wiped her face and whispered to herself:
"I need to say it. Even if it breaks me. Even if it's just to myself. Maybe then... I'll be free."
---
I was born in Pune, raised between two cities that never slept — Pune and Mumbai. My childhood was filled with courtroom tales and legal jargon, thanks to my grandfather — one of the best criminal lawyers of his time. To me, he was a legend. While others read fairy tales, I grew up reading case files and watching real-life justice unfold. That's where the fire began — a deep longing to wear the black coat and fight for truth.
My childhood was ordinary, maybe even dull to some. But the weight of my family's legacy always hung heavy in the air. The Guptas weren't just a name — we were a lineage of power, morality, and towering expectations.
At 18, I came of legal age. While most girls my age were dreaming about careers or freedom, my family had other plans. They began looking for a boy for my marriage. I found it silly — almost ridiculous. But that's how families are sometimes. Tradition first, dreams later.
Then came the moment that changed everything. My grandmother died. Or... so we thought.
By 19, life threw a curveball of extremes. On one side, I got accepted into a top law university. The same year, I was married off — to a 25-year-old Assistant Sub-Inspector in the Mumbai Police. A man who was both charming and dutiful. I didn't love him at first, but I respected him. That felt like a good start.
A few months later, we received news that shattered everything we believed — my grandmother was alive.She had been in a coma, hidden from us due to complicated family politics and old secrets. That day, I stopped trusting anything completely.
When I turned 21, my daughter was born. A little girl with my eyes and his smile. I can't describe the feeling — she wasn't just my baby. She was my purpose. My soul wrapped in skin and tiny hands.
I had never felt so alive... until the day I lost her.
---
The Incident
I was 25 when the world ended for me.
My husband, now promoted as a Senior Inspector in the Crime Branch, was working undercover. He was tracking a notorious gang and their elusive right-hand man. That Sunday, he decided to take our daughter to the mall. I had court work and stayed behind in my chamber.
Then... it happened.
A blast. The mall was gone.
Smoke. Screams. Sirens.
For a moment, time froze.
I ran. I ran like I never had before. But by the time I reached, there was nothing left. Just news.
My husband had minor injuries. But my daughter?
"No body was found," they said.
Not even a trace.
I shattered.
The doctors called it depression.
I called it damnation.
I couldn't look at my husband. The blast was meant for him. Our baby became collateral. I blamed him. I couldn't stop. My heart screamed, "It's your fault!"
So, I left him.
I signed the divorce papers with trembling fingers.
I resigned from my legal career.
And I left the city behind.
I packed my silence, my sorrow, and whatever was left of me and moved to Dehradun. Alone.
---
Now
It's been four years.
The pain still breathes beside me like an old shadow.
But I live. Somehow.
I still wake up at 4 AM, gasping for air.
I still visit my therapist, trying to crawl out of the hole life pushed me into.
But for the first time, tonight...
I spoke my story.
And maybe that's the beginning of something.
Maybe that's the start of his story.
Because what happened after I left...
But just as I began to bury the past,
The past came looking for me.
And this time…
It brought a body with it.
---
Nandini glanced at the clock again. 4:35 AM.
The same cruel hour that had haunted her for years.
She sat motionless in the dim light of her bedside lamp, her hands still cold despite the warm blanket draped over her. Sleep, once her favorite escape, had become a battlefield. Some nights she fought and won. But most nights, like this one, she lost. Completely.
With a sigh, she reached toward the small wooden drawer beside her bed. Her fingers paused for a moment—hesitating—before pulling out a strip of sleeping pills.
One pill.
She hated taking them. But sometimes, surviving meant surrendering.
She placed it on her tongue and swallowed with a sip of water, closing her eyes briefly as if the silence would offer comfort. It didn't.
Outside the window, the sky was turning a pale shade of blue. Dawn would soon arrive, pulling the world into motion again, pretending everything was normal. But her world had never returned to normal.
Not since that day.
Nandini lay back down, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling. A memory flickered—her daughter's laughter echoing in her mind, too sharp, too real.