It was the 12th of April when Vyani stood outside, waiting on the hot street for the paper recycling man to arrive. She had heard the familiar sound of his gramophone a few minutes earlier.
It came again.
Vyani rushed to him, eager to sell her old filled notebooks and newspapers. After the exchange, she found herself with 30 rupees in her hand, the final total reaching 200 rupees. Finally, she had enough to buy the earrings her sister had been eyeing for her birthday, which was just three days away.
She headed straight to the gift shop by the tanker, clutching the money tightly. The small, silver earrings sparkled in her palm, catching the sunlight. They were delicate—small, but beautiful. A peacock feather design with a bluish coating. She had admired them from afar every time she passed the shop window, dreaming of the day she could buy them. Now, they were hers.
When Vyani gave the earrings to her sister, she could see the joy in her sister’s eyes. She adored them instantly.
But now, in her hands, the very same earrings—the silver ones with the peacock feather design and the bluish coating—horrified her. Her hands trembled.
“Wh-why did you find this there?!” Vyani yelled at Tis.
He flinched, knowing it was too much for her to process. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react like this,” he said softly.
Vyani’s eyes widened with panic. “I asked… Why was this there? It’s my sister’s! Why was it at the murder site?!”
“Tis—Vyani, calm down. That’s why I didn’t tell you when I found it. I saw how happy you were when you finally bought them. Calm down,” he urged.
Vyani shook her head, her heart racing. “How can I calm down?” she stammered. “I… I—” A tear slid down her cheek. She gripped the bathroom tile wall, not for support, but to feel something—anything—anchoring her. “Maybe my sister went there after… or before. It’s a very usual spot… She has nothing to do with this. You know that, Tis. You know that.”
Tis was silent for a moment, then asked, his tone stern, “Where was she the night the murder happened?”
“No—no, shut up! Why would you even say that? Leave it! I don’t want to deal with this Hucia stuff anymore…” Vyani snapped, desperately trying to pull the red thread off her wrist.
“It won’t come off,” Tis said, his voice firm. “Answer me. Where was she?”
“She didn’t kill anyone! She’s not like that!” Vyani shouted, her voice breaking.
“I asked something,” Tis insisted, his voice growing more intense.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Vyani cried, shaking her head.
“Where was she?” Tis asked again, a mixture of doubt and certainty in his voice.
Vyani’s hands clenched into fists. She swallowed hard and finally whispered, “Her friend’s house. Ridha Didi’s house. They were having a sleepover.”
“We need to investigate that. Keep yourself strong. I’m going to check who this Ridha is.” With that, Tis disappeared, leaving Vyani in a whirlwind of confusion and fear.
As always, he left her alone in the chaos, again leaving the broken clock alone on the wall, its hands desperately trying to find the time, but its questions remained unanswered, the needles fighting in vain
The night passed in silence, and Vyani returned to her room. She tried to enter Apoorva’s room, but her sister wouldn’t let anyone in. Why? What was her sister’s connection to the crime scene? Vyani’s mind was eating her alive as she clutched tightly on the earring once she was dreaming to hold.
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Next day was a lazy Sunday.
Siksha’s house, buzzed with small noises—the ceiling fan spinning unevenly, the washing machine thudding in the background, and his brother screaming somewhere about soap in his eyes. Shiksha stood near the stove, one hand flipping the roti, the other holding her phone, its screen lighting up her half-bored face.
The kitchen smelled of ghee and effort. The clock above the fridge ticked slowly, and the sunlight that slipped through the window felt too harsh for a day like this.
Her mom’s voice rang out from the bathroom.
“Shiksha! Don’t burn it! And where’s Abhi’s vest? I told you to keep it on the bucket!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing it!” she yelled back, not doing it.
She scrolled past a bunch of nothing. Selfies, song lyrics, reels she’d already seen. Her eyes were barely open when she paused.
It was a group photo—four, maybe five people crammed into one frame, laughing at something off-camera. Probably from some birthday plan she didn’t care about. She was about to tap through it when someone in the background caught her attention.
A guy.
He wasn’t posing. Just standing there, one hand in his pocket, looking away. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, and there was this quiet confidence in the way he stood, like he wasn’t even trying to look good.
She stared for a second too long.
“Who... even is this?” she whispered.
The roti puffed violently.
“Oh god—shit—”
She flipped it too late. The smell of burnt wheat rose into the air like a punishment.
Her mom yelled again. She didn’t answer. She locked her phone, tossed it on the sofa, and wiped her hands on her pajama shirt.
It wasn’t that deep. Just a guy in a random story. Probably someone’s cousin, or a college senior, or a mistake she’d forget by Monday.
But fate’s not that chill.
Later that evening, she stepped out to buy milk and coriander. Didn’t bother changing. Same oversized t-shirt, same oily braid, same unbothered look she always carried when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
The sun was setting weirdly early. The street was quiet, the air still heavy from the day’s heat.
She entered the shop and paused at the shelves, half-reading labels, half-existing.
And that’s when she saw him.
At the counter. Same guy. From the story.
She froze. Just for a second.
Then—he looked up.
His eyes met hers. Calm. Unbothered. Not even confused.
It wasn’t a moment. It wasn’t a spark.
It was just one second of recognition she wasn’t ready for.
She looked away immediately, grabbed the milk, it was nothing, just a coincidence.
As she stepped out, she muttered under her breath—more to herself than the air around her—
“Why do I always find Greek god-looking guys when I’m in my IDGAF outfit?”
And just like that, he became the kind of random you remember longer than you should.
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