Hey darlings!

An attempt to divert my mind other than studies. This story is a product of my exam tension *LOL*

Thus, a dark one.

This story contains few trigger scenes, so don't read further if you're uncomfortable.

This is a work of fiction by me. Do not steal or copy. All rights are reserved.

See the cover here... 😅

Now this is one cover, I am proud of, irrespective of the fact that I made it within 7 minutes *LOL *

Long story down... enjoy...

*****

I let out the breath, I knew I was holding back.

Of course, the people here always had to show their immense talent, in how to thrash a train toilet. God forfid! I could have lost my olfactory sense by that horrible stench.

Alas, I couldn't chid more. After all, sullying the toilets to the point at which, one snif could make your family mourn and land you at your funeral pyre, was an art. Wasn't it?

I just had to be the first hand witness of their piece of art.

Gulping down gallons of air to meet the oxygen demand of my screaming cells, I made my way towards my compartment.

That feeling, the same where you stared at the compartment-confining-glass-windows and you muttered, life couldn't be more monotonous.

I felt my lips curling into a devilish smirk just at the thought of smashing the glass and letting all air flow in.
One glass-less window in the A.C. compartment of countable glass-adorned windows, would it matter?

Perhaps, it would.

I sighed and sat down. Like on a treadmill, my legs kept vibrating. There was an itching urge to waltz across the compartment and pull off, a step or two of Ballet.

I, Riya Bharadwaj at the age of 22, was the most weird human specimens, according to my acquaintants.

And it was alright, perfectly alright; I wasn't in denial. I was weird and I was, certainly, proud of it.

I cleared my throat; once, twice, repeatedly. The urge to sing a karaoke was back, with full force I might add.
I held the reigns of my insane urges.

I swore, if I ever encountered someone as weird as me, I would straightaway ask him to marry me. Period that.

Tapping my feet on the floor, I shifted my gaze from the window to the seat infront of me. My supposed co-passenger was meant to be seated there.

I could actually feel the nightmare clouding my vision. Would I have to sit alone?

Alone! Oh god, no!

Window gazing was definitely not my thing. I would die without a company.

I looked at the ceiling with with big puppy-doggy eyes, thinking that would somehow bribe the god sitting above.

Up with it girl
Rock with it girl
Show dem it girl
Bada bang bang

Like a note of melody craved by a hearing impaired person, my ears were blessed with Sean Paul's voice.

I narrowed my eyes. Seriously though, that man's way of speaking always led me to put extra strain, on making out the words he spoke. No offense.

I raised my gaze so as to know who was Cheap Thrills -ing inside my compartment and... damn.

Damn.

A man who could only be defined as epitome of exquisite finery walked in, with a fluidity of a model walking on a red carpet.

That nose, those eyes, those lips, that perfect moustache, his whole freaking body, spoke volumes of how patiently and concernedly god had decided to carve him.

He was a walking piece of art.

He was towering over me with his height above 6 feet, while I was sitting on my seat.

He stared at me, his dark hazel eyes bored into mine and my heart did a lot more than just flip-flop, that was enough to put world's greatest dancers to shame.

"What a shame?"

Few strands of his midnight black hair fell upon his forehead, at that moment I wanted to do nothing but sing hymns of prayer and worship the very ground he was standing on.

"Excuse me."

The angel like man opened his mouth and poured the heavenly elixir of his voice, blended with rich huskiness and suave masculine strength.

My lips parted, "Yes."

Well, that came out as a whisper. Nevertheless, I waited for him to speak.

Slowly but undeniably, a smirk lifted his lips. He grinded his teeth with a strange poise and blew a bubble from his bubblegum.

The blown bubble popped, urging his tongue to flick over his lips. Gathering the remnants, he pulled them inside his mouth.

The act was enough to send my heart on a pumping spree.

Placing a hand on the handle of the seat above me, he leaned languidly.

"Babes, you done checking me out?" He asked me.

I was about to exhale a 'yes' when his words dawned upon me.

"Excuse me?" I said incredulously.

He rolled his eyes at me.

He freaking rolled his eyes at me.

I was fuming inside.

"Get the hell up! That's my seat you are resting your ass upon," he said casually like he had just greeted me.

I puffed up my cheeks and checked the number of the seat. Indeed, he was right.

Without further embarrassing myself, I moved my belongings to the other one.

I bent down and slid the luggage beneath the seat.

"Nice ass."

I heard him mutter.

Cheeks flooded with red, I faced him to meet his brazen gaze.

"Excuse me?" I said incredulously, again.

He put his earphones on and royally ignored me. Folding a leg, he rested an arm upon his bent knee, while planted his other one on the seat for support.

What an impressive style to sit.

And I wasn't kidding. The way he sat, I found that quite pleasing to my eyes.

He was weird, I had to give him that but now I was certain, this journey wouldn't turn out to be boring.

"Nope," I smiled.

.
.
.

Few minutes into his company, and I was ready to swallow my words.

My so called co-passenger was slumped against the seat. With his eyes closed, he was listening to god only knew what.

"Quit glaring, babes. You'll bore holes through my skull," he said, eyes still shut.

I gaped. How on earth did he see me doing that?

I raised three fingers and waved the digits infront of his shut eyelids.

Suddenly, he laughed boisterously and opened his eyes.

"Are you runaway from mental asylum? Say it, don't be shy babes," he asked smugly.

I pursed my lips and withdrew my hand.
"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, not sorry. You aren't excused." He grinned.

I glared at him, before heaving a sigh.

"I am bored to hell!" I exaggerated.

He stared at me for few seconds befored he pulled out the earplugs and stuffed them inside his bag.

"We didn't introduce ourselves, did we?" He said.

"Hi! I am Vihaan Narayan."

"Hi! I am Riya, Riya Bharadwaj."

We shook our hands cordially.

I unscrewed the bottle cap and gulped some water.
"What do you do?" I asked.

"I am a police officer."

I sputtered out the water.

"Pfft, haha."

I laughed till my stomach ached.

"You look more of a thug than a police officer. I mean, which police officer eats bubblegum?" I stated while wiping the tears from the corner of my eyes.

He looked at me dead in the eye.
"You sure know how to praise a D.C.P."

"P-uh-lease D.C.P sir, don't put charges against me," I pleaded before bursting out in laughter, again.

Vihaan scratched his forehead.
"What do you do, by the way?" He asked.

I smiled my one of those carefree smiles.

"You see, I am a free-lance writer. I love my job, mind it."

His lips curled up into a smirk.

"Relatable," he said with a sigh.

Huh!

I kept looking at him, contemplating whether or not he had just insulted me.

.
.
.

"Will you stop tapping you feet? It's irritating," Vihaan scowled.

I blew a wisp of hair and pulled my legs in an Indian style sitting position.

"This is so boring," I whined.
"You are so boring."

He spared me a leisure glance and again indulged himself in scrolling down his phone.

"Did you just ignore me?" I screeched, raising my eyebrows.

All of a sudden, he threw his bag on the floor with a thud, making me jolt.

Stuffing his phone inside and sliding the bag beneath the seat, he faced me.

"What a weirdo," my inner self whispered and I found myself nodding in agreement.

Maybe, this was how my acquaintants felt in my company. My face scrunched up in self pity.

Vihaan snapped his fingers.

"What do you want me to do? Sing you a lullaby or recite you a story?" He asked.

I scoffed. What did he take me as, a kid?

I pulled off one of my sweetest smiles, capable enough to turn him into a diabetic patient.

"As entertaining as your first idea is, no thanks, I love my ears," I said in a teasing tone.

"I will settle with a story."

His eyes scanned me from head to toe, quite blatantly.

"You sure, you can take this?" He quizzed, throwing me a smug smile.

The nerve of this guy. How dare he?

"For your information Mr. D.C.P, I am above 18 and I think I can take your so-called mature story. After all, it's a story," I stated with an eye roll.

"That's where you are wrong, babes. This isn't a story. It's a real account," he said seriously.

I looked at him, my mouth forming a perfect 'O'.

"Oh! Then I ought to hear it," I chirped, jumping with excitement.

He raked his fingers along the length of his hair. Sighing deeply, he looked at me, then at the glass-adorned window.

"This case goes almost 4 years back," he paused and spared me a glance.

"Back then, I was barely out of college and preparing for my competitions. My father, a police officer... "

"Did you get the inspiration from him?" I interrupted.

Couldn't bury my inquitive self, could I?

He smiled and shrugged.

"Kind of. I always had this fascination for that uniform and all. Now back to the story."

I nodded like an obedient child and waited expectantly.

"Knowing my fancy for the job, he always used to to discuss his cases with me, to the point where the confidentiality wasn't hampered. And this case, it captured quite an attention, back then."

"On a cold winter's morning of December, a dead body of a man was found, lying in a pool of his own blood, in an alleyway... "

"Wait, wait, wait," I intervened.
"This is a murder mystery. Sorry dude, I can't take murder mysteries."

He threw me a bored look.

"I am a D.C.P. What did you expect, Romeo and Juliet?
I don't do romance nor fantasy, and definitely not comedy. Nuh! Not my thing."

"Speaking of which, this isn't a story. It is a real account. I gave you fair warning before," he spoke casually.

Well! He was right. I wasn't going to back out now, this was a question of my dignity after all.

"Oh! Umm... continue then. I am all ears."

He nodded but gave me a scathing glance.

"I do not want any interruptions, here on. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," I mock-saluted him to add emphasis.

Suppressing his smile, he again started with the story.

"The body was unidentifiable. The face was mangled badly. One thing was clear though, the man was stabbed to his death.
They even collected the murder weapon from the crime scene."

"What was it?" I quipped.

"A kitchen knife," he said, averting his gaze out of the window.

"Furthermore, the body was sent for an autopsy. Few days later, finally the body was claimed as a missing person who was reported in the area's police station."

"The autopsy report created quite a buzz in the locality. The police squad wanted to keep it confidential but it spread in the area like a spreadfire."

"There were few broken bones and dislocated joints. A head injury, probably he was hit by a blunt object. His face, cut to the point where it couldn't be identified," he paused.

"He was stabbed... 9 times in the abdominal region and 3 times in the heart. No chance of survival.
The murderer, whoever he or she was, must have had any personal grudge because he or she didn't give him an easy death. He died painfully, very brutally to be precise."

I stared at him while he did the same. My nerves were simmering with thrill.

"Must have done something bad or cruel to die a death like that," I muttered, a frown marring my forehead.

"What after then?" I quizzed, finding myself much into the story.

"This case became a hot topic. It pointed towards many directions, all at once.
Maybe, the man was was killed due to personal vengeance, or worse, was it a start of serial murders.
Nothing could've been said at that point."

"The enquiry team investigated and interrogated his family.
They came up with 4 prime suspects... "

"His wife for 7 years.
His brother who was his rival in business.
His twenty years old step-son and,
His eighteen years old step-daughter."

"All of them were under police's radar. Time and again, they were interrogated."

"The wife had signs of abuse. Yes, she was a victim of domestic violence. So were the children.
Expected.
Given that he had a bad reputation in society and often indulged in a tussle with his brother, this was expected."

"The case took an interesting turn when a man came forward, claiming to be the sole witness of the argument between the brothers."

"It was brought to light that the brother had infact threatened to kill the man.
Ironically, that was what happened three days later, he was found dead," Vihaan exhaled.

I furrowed my brows, deep into thinking.
"That means, his brother was the murderer."

Vihaan leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

"No," he breathed out.

"His brother was able to present a perfect alibi for himself.
He had been attending a business meeting with his associates on the night of the murder.
With enough surveillance footages and witnesses, he managed to bail himself out."

"But what if he hired someone? That could have been possible," I reasoned.

Vihaan shook his head and stared at me.

"Not a chance," he scoffed.

"The intensity of the crime was gruesome. It was personal.
No professional killer would do that. They don't believe in creating mess or marking the body.
Murder in swift, that is what they follow most of the times."

I hummed, suddenly my brain clicked.
"The wife.
You said, she was a victim of domestic violence. What if, she decided to end that, for once and for all?"

Vihaan clicked his tongue.
"Exactly."

"She was the next one on their interrogation list. They even created the mock-murder scene, to actually recreate the murder.
But then, she was released, she wasn't the murderer."

I looked at him in a confused manner.
"How could they be so sure?" I questioned.

"Because she was left-handed," he answered.

"The autopsy report clearly stated that the cuts and stabs were deep and straightaway clean. The thrusts were inflicted repeatedly, in a single motion."

"A left-handed person cannot do that. They always leave a kind of zig-zag pattern, probably because they can't apply proper wrist pressure."

"Laterlity test was conducted to check her handedness. No way, the woman could inflict those injuries."

"She came out clean. So did her son and daughter, with each of them presenting a perfect alibi.
Not a single loophole."

Vihaan slumped against the seat. I was still pondering over the case, my mind creating and replaying the scenes like a movie roll.

"Days went by," he started.

"My father too took a break from his job, that time. A new head for the enquiry team was assigned.
With no headstart and further evidences, the case eventually turned cold."

"My father, despite handling the case for a short span of time, termed it as his carrier's one and only failure.
He was quite depressed with the way the new head handled the case that gradually led them nowhere."

"Lest, things moved on, everybody moved on. The case might still be piled up somewhere in between those hundreds unsolved case files, eating dust maybe."

I glanced at him.

"Did no one find out what actually happened that night? Who was the murderer? Did anything like this happened again, like a serial murder?"

Heaving a sigh, Vihaan folded his legs. With his head reeled backwards, he rested against the wall.

"No. The murder remained a mystery unsolved and its killer, undiscovered...  to the world."

I frowned. I was kind of enjoying it? I wished somehow the mystery could unravel and...

Wait!

"What do you mean 'to the world'? Did you, did you figure out who it was?" I  asked.

A sweat bead rolled down my neck and before I could wipe it, it seeped into the neckline of my clothing.

His lips curled up minutely.

"As an aspiring police officer, I was much into the case than my father ever knew. I had somewhat started my own investigation, sneaking into his room, peeking into evidences, whilst the case was still under his custody." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

I grinned. There was a twinkle, a glitter in his eyes.

"So Mr. Aspiring police officer, what did you find?"

He gazed out of the window, again.
"An information, a key material which no one ever found out."

He bent down and pulled up his bag. I was left agape.

"Don't tell me you still have it with you," I squeaked.

"I am shifting due to my posting, and I had to stuff it along," he said while diving his hand deeper inside the bag.

"However unofficial, it still was my first case." He winked at me.

I let out a breathless chuckle, shaking my head. This man was a bigger weirdo than me.

He finally pulled out a... a diary?

He brought it along my line of sight and my breath hitched.

It was a diary, its colour fading with time and condition.

Weary, but I could almost see how beautiful it had been once.

The small lock was ripped, the lock where the key was meant to be inserted.

"Did you rip it?" I found myself whispering.

"I had to. To dig further, to find the buried secrets within these pages," he said solemnly.

My fingertips brushed over its surface.

Time had worn it out.

"Going through the years on every page, I was able to jot the age of its owner," he paused.

"The owner of this diary, his step-daughter," he uttered.

My gaze snapped at him. Steadily, he withdrew his hand and leaned back, fully allowing me to access the diary.

I flipped to a random page.

Age 12

Dear diary,

Today I am so happy. Finally,  we got a father. You know, my papa passed away so soon. I always felt a void, somewhere deep here. I wanted to experience a father's love, always have been deprived of it.

Guess what? God decided to hear my prayers.

I finally got my papa.

Yours Pinky

P.S. I am so happy.

A smile flitted across my face as I read the coming enteries too.

Age 13

Dear diary,

I am growing up.

Today, I thought I was dying but mommy consoled me, she told me I was growing up.

Isn't it nice, diary? I will become a big girl.

Yours Pinky

P.S. It's painful and eww, though.

A soft chuckle left my mouth, I could imagine a thirteen years old girl scrunching her face.

Age 14

Dear diary,

I feel scared.

It has started again. I can hear mommy's screams. Bhaiya has slumped against the door, after his numerous attempts to unlock the door.

Mommy won't let us come out. She won't let us face him.

The man whom I called my papa.

Yours Pinky

P.S. I am crying, I can hear her cries. Someone stop it, please!

Age 16

Dear diary,

I am happy.

We are happy. Most of all, mommy's happy. He is a changed man now.
He cares now. He cares for me, for Bhaiya. He drops us school, takes us on vacations.

We spend most of our times, bonding like a father and daughter.

Yours Pinky

P.S. Today he patted me lovingly.
Then why did I feel it was wrong?

My fingers stopped. They loomed over the line. A feeling of dread rose up in my chest.

Age 17

Dear diary,

I was wrong.

I was fucking wrong.

He is a monster, diary. A monster.

I feel dirty. He touched me at the wrong places.

He isn't my papa. He is a monster. A monster.

Yours Pinky

P.S. I don't want to be a big girl.

I felt my cheeks getting wet. I knew for a fact that I was crying, weeping.

Age 17

Dear diary,

Worst day of my life, diary. He tried to... force himself upon me.

Had Bhaiya not walked inside the room, he would've done that.

I feel violated, at so many levels.

I feel dirty.

Yours Pinky

P.S. I feel the pain, finally it's making its way.

The page was blotched with blood.
The page was getting stained with my tears.

So much pain in the world, not a way to escape.

Age 18

Dear diary,

It has all started again.

Why? Because my mommy finally had the guts to say no. No, when he again tried to violate her daughter.

Like all those years ago, we are again in the confinements of this room, while my mother is out there, battling against that monster.

Who knows that monster better than me?

Today, Bhaiya has said something that caught my attention.
'I wish this bastard dies in cold blood. I wish to murder him.'

Am I a cruel person? Because I want the same.

Never truly yours, Pinky

P.S. So much pain in the world, not a way to escape.

Sobs echoed in the confinement of the compartment. Drowning in the misery called life with no escape, was the worst pain one could experience.

Unfortunately, I was blessed with this pain.

The hounds of past that I  left behind were back to haunt me. Not really, though.

I had known there was no escaping, no running. It was inevitable.

What happened then, what I was back then, everything was attached to me. It won't change.

I wailed, wailed over my fate.

I cried, cried over the fact that I would remain who I was, despite how much I wanted to leave it behind.

However painful, truth it was nonetheless, Pinky would always remain as an integral part of Riya Bharadwaj, of me.

The part that had always remained undiscovered.

Clutching the diary to my chest, as if protecting the vulnerable and undiscovered part of me from the cruel world, I stared at Vihaan. 

Tears never stopped streaming down.
His eyes never stopped boring into mine.

"The girl who always hid the pain behind her smile," he said softly.

"Headstrong, ready to fight. Who knew what she had been hiding?
No one," he whispered.

"No one knew," he whispered again.

I closed my eyes but tears found their way out.

"Not even Vihaan Narayan, her 3 years senior," he paused and stared at me.

"Her secret admirer."

I howled and wailed, all over  again. God! It was so painful. I wanted to rip that part out, that was hurting so much.

Rain hurtled against the train window. The darkened sky seemed to mourn, mourn over my grief.

I slid down my seat, splaying myself on the floor unceremoniously.

Vihaan kneeled infront of me. Not touching, not caring, not whispering sweet-nothings yet...

Yet... doing a lot more.

"No one knew... until one day," he spoke.

I clutched the diary in a vicious grip.

"Until one day, Riya unknowingly dropped her diary where Vihaan was waiting for his bus. He was ecstatic that he was able to steal few glimpses of her. She never knew, though," he said.

"This," he pointed towards my dairy.
"This," he waved his hand towards me.

"These all, everything would have had remained undiscovered by me, had I not managed to peek into your diary,"

I broke into another fit of tears. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see. My chest was heaving, my vision was blurred.

I was a mess, my life was a bigger mess.

Nothing mattered to me, except the excruciating pain, the feeling... so indescribable.

My soul was being ripped layer by layer.

'Stop', I could've shouted  but I didn't, I stayed there, lying there pathetically.

"My heart had been ripped out of my chest," he said quietly.

I glanced at him, he had his head bent down.
I wasn't able to see his eyes.

"Vihaan... "

"I cried, Riya. I punished myself," he said, breaking my heart.

"I banged, thrashed, screamed, inflicted every amount of pain upon me in an attempt, that perhaps the amount of pain I felt here would reduce," he said, pointing towards his heart.

Cupping my mouth, I wailed again. Wasn't crying a way to let it all out? Then why, God why? Why wasn't the pain going away.

"I didn't," I uttered.

"I didn't kill anyone. I ain't a murderer," I muttered, making him stare at me.

"Although every nerve, every fibre in me begged me to end the pain, I couldn't. No, I was too much of a coward," I yelled.

"I was a coward when I backed out that day. I was a coward, I couldn't jump.
When I looked down the terrace, I couldn't, Vihaan.
Neither could I kill him nor could I end my life," I cried.

The agony of undiscovered emotions were surfacing, like dead above water.

"You have to trust me, you have to... " I trailed off.

Suddenly, I felt tired, too tired to even defend myself.
Was this how she felt? Was this how Mommy felt? Too tired to defend herself?

"I trust you," Vihaan said.

"I trust you, Riya."

For what seemed like hours, a smile graced my lips.

It would have been a sight to behold, because I saw it in his eyes. They lightened up.

"Why didn't you hand them this?" I asked, fatigue creeping in my tone.

"What would you say, if I answer, I didn't want to?" He counter-questioned me.

"You are an idiot," I stated.

"Maybe I am. Maybe, that's what I want to be," he said, a lopsided grin adorned his face.

"How can you be so sure, I ain't the killer? For all you know, I might've burried my sins," I spoke, my eyes did not leave his.

"I know. I was much deeper into the case than what my father ever knew," he said.

"What anyone ever knew," he leaned back, resting his back languidly against the edge of the seat.

"My first unofficial case was a success," he spoke with a smile.

I was intrigued. Did he mean he knew who killed the fucking bastard?

"Yes," he said, knowing my thoughts well.

"Broken bones, do you know what it means?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"The killer and the man indulged in a fight. Do you think, it was possible for a woman to give the man of a stature like that, such fight?"

I frowned, trapping my lip beneath my teeth.
Unwillingly, my mind was pointing towards only one direction.

"I wish this bastard dies in cold blood. I wish to murder him."

The words replayed. Bhaiya?

"A young man could, right?" He said.

"Whoever he was, did plan well. To avenge with no evidences, no witnesses, clean and painful murder in cold blood."

I crushed the hem of my shirt under my palm.

All of a sudden, Vihaan let out a chuckle.
"Bloody morons! Couldn't even find him when he was around them."

My gaze snapped towards him. His face was lit with a smile.

"Who can plot a murder better than...

... an aspiring police officer?"

I was stunned, rendered speechless.

"On a cold winter's night of December, Vihaan Narayan stabbed Mr. Subhas Bharadwaj to his death and avenged his first and only love, Riya Bharadwaj," he smiled.

"The murder was cold blooded, brutal. No one could ever suspect the killer to be none other than, the son of the former head of the investigatory team."

"No allegations, no charges put and killer?" He said with a glint.

"Remained... undiscovered."

"No court, no judge, no lawyer and the justice was served." I whispered.

That night, I laughed, I clapped, I rejoiced in Vihaan's arms, within the confinement of the compartment.

Did it make me any less of a human to rejoice over that man's death? If yes, perhaps it was okay to be a little less of a human.

What Vihaan did was wrong but sometimes, perhaps it was right to be wrong.

There were still numerous Pinkys out there, all of whose voices had drowned out in the farce of system.

Years of pain, years of suffering, was brought to an end.

I was free.

Finally, Pinky smiled wholeheartedly.

However, that was within his arms.

Vihaan and Riya exchanged very much, that they would leave behind in that compartment...

... Probably undiscovered.

Because a new dawn, demanded a new beginning.

I smiled whilst getting down the train, his arms coiled around my waist, protecting me...

Forever and ever...

*****

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