Aryan's POV
Pain.
Blinding, searing, unforgiving pain.
It spreads through my leg, sharp and hot, as I lie on the cold café floor, clutching my thigh. Blood seeps between my fingers.
I can hear people screaming. Chairs scraping. Someone calling for help.
But all I can think about is her.
Aarohi.
Her face—twisted in rage, in betrayal.
Her hands—steady as she pulled the trigger.
Her voice—sharp and trembling when she said, "This is your reward."
I never thought she would actually do it.
I knew she would be angry. Knew she would hate me for digging. But this?
Shooting me?
The truth must have destroyed her.
Something in that file broke her completely.
I groan, trying to move, but the pain shoots up my leg and I collapse again.
"Aryan!"
Meera's voice. She's kneeling beside me, hands shaking as she presses down on my wound.
"Stay still," she says, her face pale. "The ambulance is coming."
"Did you… see her face?" I manage to choke out.
Meera swallows hard. "Yeah."
I don't ask anything else. I already know.
Aarohi is gone.
Not just from the café. Not just from this moment.
The Aarohi we knew… she might be gone forever.
And I don't know if I'll ever be able to bring her back.
The sirens wail louder, cutting through the chaos of the café.
The police push through the doors, their uniforms stiff, their gazes sharp—but there's something else beneath their controlled expressions.
Hesitation.
They scan the café, taking in the scene—me, bleeding on the ground, Meera pressing down on my wound, the overturned chairs, the shattered glass.
An officer steps forward. "Who fired the shot?"
Meera doesn't answer right away.
She looks at me. I see the conflict in her eyes. But we both know there's no use hiding it.
"It was Aarohi Malhotra," she says.
The officer stops.
His jaw tightens. His eyes flick to the others.
No one speaks.
A name like Malhotra carries weight.
Another officer clears his throat. "Ratan Malhotra's daughter?"
Meera nods.
Silence.
For a second, I almost think they'll ignore it. That they'll pretend they didn't hear her.
Then one of them—clearly the senior among them—steps forward. His hands are balled into fists, but his voice is careful.
"We need to take action," he says. But his tone lacks conviction. It's as if he's trying to convince himself.
One of the younger officers shifts uncomfortably. "Sir, if it's Malhotra's daughter…"
The senior officer glares at him, but I see it—the same fear flickering behind his eyes.
They all know.
Ratan Malhotra isn't just some businessman. He's powerful. Dangerous. Untouchable.
And his daughter just shot someone in the middle of a crowded café.
The senior officer exhales sharply. "We'll… make a report."
"That's it?" Meera snaps. "She shot Aryan in public! You're just going to—"
"We'll make a report," the officer repeats, but this time, his voice is lower. Quieter.
Another officer mutters, "No one crosses Malhotra and survives."
I clench my jaw.
They're scared.
They won't go after her.
Not unless they're ordered to. Not unless someone more powerful than Ratan Malhotra himself gives the command.
I grab the nearest officer's wrist. My grip is weak, but my words are strong.
"If you won't find her, I will."
The senior officer stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods.
"We didn't hear anything," he says, almost to himself. "Did we?"
The other officers shake their heads.
And just like that—Aarohi disappears from their radar.
But not from mine.
Because no matter what happens next, I will find her.
The ambulance arrives within minutes. The flashing red and blue lights bounce off the café's shattered windows, casting eerie shadows.
Paramedics rush toward me, their voices firm but urgent.
"Gunshot wound to the thigh—get him stabilized!"
I barely register the chaos around me. My body feels heavy, my mind numb, but one thought cuts through everything:
Aarohi.
She's out there, running, breaking, drowning in rage and betrayal.
And I—I let this happen.
As they lift me onto the stretcher, Meera's face swims into view.
"I'll be there soon," she says, her voice laced with worry. "Just hold on, okay?"
I nod weakly. The pain claws at me, but I push it down.
Because this—this is nothing compared to what Aarohi must be feeling.
---
At the Hospital
The sterile smell of antiseptic fills my lungs as I wake up in a hospital bed. My leg is bandaged, throbbing with pain. Machines beep softly around me.
And then—I hear his voice.
"Aryan."
I blink, my vision sharpening to see Mahesh Sharma standing at the foot of my bed.
His face is pale, his hands gripping the chair beside him as if holding on for support. My father—a small businessman, a simple man who never asked for more than what he could earn with honesty.
And now, he looks terrified.
"Papa…" My voice is hoarse.
He swallows hard. "What happened?"
I exhale, my chest tightening. "I found something… about Suryavanshi Enterprises. About Ratan Malhotra. And—" I hesitate. The words feel heavy. "Aarohi shot me."
His face drains of color.
"Aarohi?" He whispers the name like it's something fragile, something impossible.
I nod.
For a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there, staring at me as if he can't recognize his own son.
Then, suddenly, he grips my arm—not out of anger, but fear.
"Aryan, listen to me," he says, his voice urgent. "You need to stop. Now."
"Papa—"
"No!" His voice shakes. "You don't understand. These people… they are not like us. You think truth will save you? That justice will protect you?" He shakes his head. "No one crosses Ratan Malhotra and survives."
I clench my jaw. "So what? I just walk away? Pretend this never happened?"
"Yes!" he nearly shouts. His eyes are wide, desperate. "If you don't, you'll drag all of us into this! Meera, me… your mother."
I freeze.
"I can't lose you," he whispers. "You're my only son. If you go after them again, I won't be able to protect you."
His words hit me harder than the bullet did.
I look away, my mind spiraling.
I understand his fear. I do.
But how can I stop now?
Aarohi is out there, unraveling. And somewhere in those files lies the truth—the real truth—about her family, her mother's death, everything.
If I stop now… then what was all of this for?
I meet my father's eyes.
And I know—I have a choice to make.