Chapter 13 : Sameer-Shristi Version

The bullet sliced through the air just as Sahil collapsed onto the asphalt. His glasses flew from his face, skittering across the pavement and fracturing into pieces. Around him, the bustling airport terminal erupted into pure chaos. Screams pierced the air as passengers dropped their luggage and scrambled frantically in every direction, desperate for cover.

A few yards away, the black-and-yellow taxi had just begun to pull out into the airport traffic. From the backseat window, Shristi caught a glimpse of the unfolding madness. Her eyes widened in horror as she spotted a familiar figure crumpled on the blood-stained concrete.

"Driver, stop the car! Stop the car right now!" she screamed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

On the ground, Sahil clutched his bleeding arm, his vision blurring. He forced himself to look up through the sea of panicking legs. Through the crowd, his eyes locked onto a man stepping forward with a smoking gun. It was Tawde.

Before Sahil could process who the man was, Shristi slammed the taxi door shut and sprinted through the fleeing crowd. "Sahil! Sahil!" she cried out, her voice laced with sheer panic.

She threw herself onto the pavement beside him, her hands trembling as she reached for his injured arm. "Are you alright? Sahil, look at me!"

Tawde cursed under his breath as he realized his first shot had missed his target's chest. He was convinced this was Sameer—the man he was supposed to have killed a year ago. Stepping fully out of the shadows of the concrete pillars, Tawde raised his weapon again, aiming straight for the center of Sahil's back.

BANG!

"Duck!" Sahil roared.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Sahil threw his uninjured arm around Shristi’s shoulders, dragging her down to the asphalt just as the third bullet whizzed inches over their heads, embedding itself into the airport wall. More screams echoed through the terminal. Tawde raised his gun to charge at them, but the sheer wave of stampeding tourists forced him backward, blocking his path.

Taking advantage of the split second of chaos, Sahil gripped Shristi’s hand. "We have to move! Come on!" Shielded by the rushing crowd, they scrambled to their feet and vanished into the labyrinth of the airport parking lot, escaping into the city.

A few miles away, inside the dimly lit, buzzing corridor of a local Mumbai police station, Inspector Pradhan’s phone vibrated violently against his desk. He picked it up on the second ring. "Pradhan here."

"Hey, Pradhan! We have a massive problem," Tawde’s voice hissed over the line, punctuated by the distant sound of blaring airport sirens. "I just saw Sameer."

Pradhan froze, dropping his pen. "What? His body was finally found?"

"Arey, not his body, you idiot!" Tawde spat, ducking into an alleyway away from the arriving police cruisers. "His walking, talking body! The b@$tard is alive."

Pradhan rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy, irritated sigh. "What absolute rubbish are you talking, Tawde? Are you even in your senses right now? How much did you drink before going out?"

"I knew it! I knew until I catch him by the collar and drag him right in front of your eyes, none of you will believe me!" Tawde growled, his knuckles turning white around his phone. "Just do me a favor, Pradhan. Put a round-the-clock police watch team outside Sameer’s old house and Shristi’s apartment. And tap their telephone lines immediately. If he's alive, he's going back to her."

*

The shrill ring of the landline echoed through the Arora residence. Her father, Mr. Arora, walked over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Daddy..." Shristi’s voice crackled through the line, laced with exhaustion and fear. She was leaning against the cold metal of a public telephone booth on a busy Mumbai street corner.

"Shristi!" Mr. Arora’s face lit up, but his brow instantly furrowed. "Where are you calling from? You didn't even send your flight details to let me know you were arriving today."

"Daddy, I’ve reached Bombay. I'm okay," Shristi said hurriedly, her eyes darting around the crowded sidewalk.

A few feet away from the booth, Sahil was leaning heavily against a concrete pillar. He slipped out of his torn suit jacket, wincing in agony as he inspected the bullet wound on his arm. Blood was soaking through his white shirt. He pulled out a white handkerchief, pressing it firmly against the wound to staunch the heavy flow.

"I'm on my way home, Daddy," Shristi continued into the receiver, her voice trembling. "But... someone is trying to kill my friend, Sahil. Daddy, we need your help."

Mr. Arora’s tone shifted instantly into full parental alert. "Where are you right now?"

"We are right outside the Globe Shopping Center. I'm calling from the telephone booth directly in front of it."

"Don't panic, Shristi. Stay right there. I am coming to get you right away," Mr. Arora commanded.

"Okay, Daddy." Shristi hung up the receiver with a heavy click.

She rushed over to Sahil, who was clumsily trying to knot the blood-soaked handkerchief around his bicep with one hand. "Let me," she whispered gently, stepping into his space. She unwrapped her long silk scarf from around her neck and carefully but firmly began to tie it over his wound to form a tight tourniquet.

As her fingers worked deftly, Sahil looked down at her. His gaze softened, filled with a quiet, undeniable affection despite the throbbing pain. Sensing his eyes on her, Shristi looked up. Their gazes locked for a brief second before Sahil became self-conscious, breaking the tension with a wry smile.

"What a strange city this is," Sahil muttered, leaning his head back. "People just start shooting at you anytime, anywhere? I literally just landed in India and this happens. If that bullet had hit me a few inches to the left, straight in the chest, I’d be checking into heaven right about now."

Suddenly, the loud roar of a motorcycle engine cut through the street noise. Sahil’s eyes widened as he spotted two men scanning the crowds as they rode past. It was Tawde and Inspector Pradhan.

"Shh! Look," Sahil whispered, grabbing Shristi's hand. They ducked low, slipping away from the pillar just in time to hide behind the thick concrete wall of a neighboring building.

Tawde slammed the brakes, bringing the motorcycle to a screeching halt right in front of the Globe Shopping Center. Both men dismounted, their eyes scanning the area like hawks.

Finding no immediate sign of their targets, Tawde turned on Pradhan fiercely. "There is no one here! Did you hear her properly on the wire or what?"

"I did exactly what you asked, Tawde!" Pradhan hissed back, adjusting his civilian jacket. "I tapped her house line. She explicitly gave her father this exact telephone booth address."

Behind the edge of the wall, Shristi and Sahil held their breath, peeping through the narrow gap.

Tawde paced toward the booth, his boots clicking against the pavement. Suddenly, his eyes caught a flash of red on the ground. He knelt down and picked up Sahil's discarded, blood-stained handkerchief.

A sinister smile crept across his face. "Pradhan... he’s right here. Somewhere close. Search the area!"

*

Realizing the perimeter was shrinking, Sahil gripped Shristi’s shoulder and signaled her to move silently. They retreated further down the alley, slipping quietly through the beaded curtain of a dusty, dimly lit antique shop to take shelter.

Inside, surrounded by old clocks, brass artifacts, and vintage furniture, Shristi finally let out her suppressed panic. "Sahil, what on earth is going on?"

Sahil put a finger to his lips, making a quiet sign, and guided her deeper into the shadows of the shop. "I don’t understand it either. Some dangerous people are trying to kill me, and they’ve somehow managed to tap your family’s phone lines."

"It makes absolutely no sense," Shristi whispered, her eyes wide. "Who are they? And why do they want you dead? You told me yourself, this is your very first time setting foot in India! You don't know a single soul here."

"Exactly," Sahil reasoned, his mind racing. "Without knowing anyone, how can someone have a deadly vendetta against me?"

As he spoke, his eyes drifted to a large, ornate vintage mirror resting against a velvet-draped wall. He walked closer to it, staring intensely at his own reflection under the dim antique lamps. Shristi followed his gaze, standing just behind his shoulder, looking at his image in the glass.

Sahil slowly raised his uninjured hand, pointing directly at his own face in the mirror. "They recognize this face, Shristi."

Shristi stared at the reflection, confused. "What do you mean?"

Sahil turned around to face her, the realization striking him with absolute clarity. "Just like how you completely mistook me for Sameer when we first met... these hitmen are making the exact same mistake." He leaned in closer. "They aren't trying to kill me, Shristi. They are trying to kill Sameer."

The air left Shristi’s lungs. "What? Sameer?

Then Sahil says, " Was he involved in something dangerous?"

Shristi then clarifies " No, Sahil, he was just a normal, ordinary boy!"

Sahil’s eyes narrowed as the pieces of the puzzle began to align dangerously. "Shristi... how exactly did he die?"

"It was an accident," she stammered, her voice trembling as old grief resurfaced. "He drowned."

"Think about it," Sahil pressed, his tone dead serious. "Is it possible that it wasn't an accident at all? What if Sameer didn't just drown... what if he was murdered?"

"Murdered?!" Shristi gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "What are you saying, Sahil?"

"I can't say it with absolute certainty yet," Sahil said, looking back toward the shop entrance where the shadows of the street loomed. "But the circumstances are pointing straight to it. Otherwise, why would professional killers hunt down a complete stranger, and why would the police be wiretapping your house? Somewhere, somehow... something is deeply, deeply wrong with Sameer's past."