Timeline of Events: 2005

Third Person POV:

Azure blue painted the sky, but it was not the vibrant blue of a clear, carefree day—it was cold, almost hollow, as though the heaven above had stretched too thin. Wisps of cloud, pale and frail, clung to the horizon like forgotten whispers, their edges bruised with hints of violet and gray. Yet, somewhere beyond the bleakness, a faint glimmer shined—a promise, perhaps, that even in the fading light, something still waited to break through.

Mr. Ravi stood on his balcony, a cup of tea in his hand. However, his expression was bleak. The dark sky formed long and twisted shadows on his face, making him appear more brutal.

The residence stood at the end of a bustling path, its ancient walls steeped in peaceful dignity yet exuding an undeniable impression of grandeur beneath its simplicity. A high slate roof tilted upward, defied time, with chimneys rising like watchful sentinels into the fading light. The entrance door, substantial and ornately carved, exuded a sense of power, its aged handle shining against the pale wash of moonlight.

Despite its welcoming warmth, something about the way the shadows gathered under its eaves appeared to deter the curious, as if the home itself hid secrets in its stillness, waiting for those who ventured to enter.

A gentle breeze tugged at the loose strands of his hair as he took a slow sip of tea, eyes half-closed in the rare moment of calm.

The sound of footsteps echoed, breaking the stillness in the air. A soft creak from the front gate signaled the arrival of someone unhurried yet unavoidable. Turning slightly, he caught the shadow of a tall figure moving through the garden. Mr. Rathod's silhouette soon emerged from the dimming light, his presence unmistakable even from afar.

"How's the company holding up?" Mr. Rathod asked him, his voice sharp and professional. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was well set, giving him an imposing look.

"Not too good. We might run into the ground if there's no contracts." Mr. Ravi explained as he took another sip of his now lukewarm tea.

"You've got a reputable company, Ravi; why not take a loan and solve your issues?"

Ravi looked at Mr. Rathod, contemplating his decisions. He had considered the idea, but there was too much at stake—data, privacy, screening. But his friend working for a finance company meant he could give him some ideas.

"With the digitalization taking over, a lot of data could be at risk. I don't want that to happen."

Mr. Rathod smiled and said, "I've got an idea."

"This place looks like it has been abandoned for a long time." Jay observed as he walked through the rubble. "Why did you think hanging out here was a good idea?"

He stepped carefully over the cracked concrete, the crunch of rubble beneath his boots breaking the eerie silence that hung in the air. His eyes scanned the rusted beams and crumbling walls, their edges softened by creeping vines and years of neglect. Dust stirred in faint swirls around his feet.

Arav responded enthusiastically, "It was a grain mill. The owner was forty and lived with his eldest son—genuinely one of the sweetest people I'd ever met. His wife died in a tragic accident, and it left him scarred for his life, but he never gave up; he wanted to serve people, and considering the fact that there were not many mills in the neighboring areas, he decided to open one, perhaps in order to keep himself occupied."

He was standing a few feet away near the shadow of a rusted, old grain chute, his voice softening at the memory as though he could still picture the man vividly.

"Wow, that's quite the story," Karan murmured from the far side of the room, his hand absently tracing the outline of an old mill machine, now rusted and silent. His earlier unease was replaced by something softer, almost reverent. "Did his son not continue the factory?"

Arav shook his head, his eyes reflecting a somber memory: "He tried, but he wasn't into business, so it shut down just as quickly. His fingers brushed the edge of a crumbling windowsill, a melancholic tension tightening his jaw. "Competition arose between him and his younger brother. It didn't go well... and now," he gestured vaguely around them, "here we are."

The quiet hum of the wind outside filled the space between them, brushing past broken panes of glass and stirring the dry leaves that had gathered in forgotten corners.

Jay shifted his weight, looking around with new appreciation for the place's history. "It's quite cozy here," his voice softer now, as if careful not to disturb the fragile peace of the abandoned mill. "Too bad we're the only three here."

Arav's lips curled into a faint smile. He straightened, hands slipping into his pockets, his expression lighting up with a mischievous glint.

"I've got an idea."

The dim storage area buzzed with the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, casting a harsh glow over the rows of crates and metal shelves stacked high with goods. The air was thick with the smell of dust and engine oil, a faint draft slipping through the cracked window near the back of the room.

Mihir stood by the corner, flipping through a clipboard stacked with order forms and inventory records, his brow furrowed in concentration. Nearby, a truck was parked with its back open, revealing half-empty pallets.

"We're running low on stock," Mihir said, glancing up from the clipboard. His voice echoed slightly in the spacious storage room. "I checked the records—there's barely enough to cover the next shipment."

Reema, who had been leaning against a nearby stack of crates, straightened up and narrowed her eyes. "Low? Already?" She crossed the floor with quick steps. Her boots made a soft thud against the concrete as she approached Mihir. "I thought we sent a batch just two days ago! How did they run out so quickly?"

Mihir flipped back a few pages on the clipboard, as if searching for an explanation in the scribbled notes. "We did, but the demand's been unusually high. They're placing more requests by the hour. My job's just to keep up with whatever we send them, but...," he paused, his gaze shifting from the clipboard to Reema, "the deadline's close."

The shelves seemed emptier than before, and the looming deadline gnawed at the back of her thoughts. She stepped closer to the truck, eyeing the remaining stock with a calculating gaze. Her fingers drummed lightly against her arm, a familiar habit when she was thinking through a problem.

A beat passed, then her expression shifted, a spark of determination lighting up her eyes.

"I've got an idea."

Vignettes of deception and deceit lay bare, like scattered fragments of a shattered mirror, each reflecting a different truth. The key to unfolding it all lies in the hands of the beholder, but with every revelation comes a new shadow, a deeper mystery lurking just beneath the surface.

Welcome to the world of second chances, where every step forward can lead you down paths both beautiful and treacherous. Here, hate paves way for flowers to bloom, and love paves way for the tragedy of doom.

❛tainted souls and buried graves
burn in the skies of blue and gray.❜