PART III : WHISPERS OF THE PAST
612 Words
“She thought the grave held answers. But the real truth lived in the rot he left behind.”
The rain had stopped.
But inside the house, it felt like it never ended.
The curtains hung limp, heavy with damp. Shadows bled across the floor, slow and stretching — like they were hiding secrets of their own. Aarya stood by the window, staring at the street below, but seeing nothing.
She hadn't slept in two nights.
Not since everyone started acting like they knew something she didn’t.
Mr. Mathur’s careful tone. The whispered conversations. The strangers at the cremation.
Something didn’t fit. And the unease had started growing inside her like a bruise turning black. That night, something pulled her to his room.
Not nostalgia. Not longing.
Instinct.
The desk — his old desk — sat like a quiet gatekeeper. She’d walked past it a thousand times. Never thought twice. She pulled the drawers.
Slowly.
Receipts.
Files.
Office stuff. Then… click. The bottom drawer stuck, then gave way.
Inside: a single leather-bound diary, and a false bottom.
Her breath hitched. The false panel lifted with a soft snap.
A photo.
A SIM card.
A gun.
The gun was small. Old. But well-maintained. Not something you keep unless you know how to use it. Her hands shook as she picked up the photo.
Two men stood in it.
One — her father. Much younger. Smiling. The other — unfamiliar. Tall. Clean-shaven. Cold eyes.
Between them on the ground, a dead man.
A bullet hole visible on the temple. And behind them… the faint blur of what looked like a child’s silhouette.
She flipped the photo.
Two words scrawled on the back.
“You owe me. — R.K.”
Her mind was spinning.
She turned to the diary next, flipped through pages filled with strange names, half-coded notes.
“Met R.K. again. He’s changed. Darker.”
“The boy saw it. I told him not to bring the kid.”
“If anything happens, the key’s in the chessboard.”
“They’ll come for her if they find out who she is.”
Her breath stopped cold.
Who she is?
She stood there, frozen, the diary still open in her hands, as realization dawned like thunder. Her father wasn’t just murdered. He was part of something.
Big. Dirty. Bloody.
And whoever this R.K. was — he was dangerous enough to keep a gun hidden in a desk for over a decade.
She rushed to the chessboard in the corner — his favorite thing in the house. A handcrafted wooden box, inlaid with ivory and silver. She lifted the lid.
Nothing.
But when she tilted the board, a clunk echoed. Something inside the frame.
She flipped it. A small key fell into her palm. No idea what it opened.
Only one thing was clear: Her father had been hiding.
From someone.
From something.
Maybe even from her.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Just one message.
“Stop digging, Aarya. Some ghosts don’t stay buried.”
Her skin crawled. She looked out the window — a man in a helmet just walking away, phone still in hand. She wasn’t just being watched. She was being warned.
But it was too late now.
She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was hungry.
For the truth.
And somewhere else…
A long corridor. A dimly lit room.
Rudra sat at a chess table of his own, moving the white bishop with slow precision.
“She found the photo,” a voice said behind him.
He didn’t look up.
“She’s not stopping.”
He smirked.
“Good.”
Let her follow the trail.
Let her come to me.”
- Writer
