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Chapter 4: A New Storm

2 months ago

aakanksha4

@aakanksha4

The heavy silence of the ETF conference room was broken when Rathore finally spoke, his voice casual but carrying undertones of something heavier.

"Tumne naye joinees ki list dekhi?"

Arjun didn’t respond.

He simply stared out of the glass windows, fists clenched on the table, pretending not to hear.

But Rathore — his ex-best friend, the one man who could still read him — didn’t miss the way Arjun’s jaw tightened.

"Of course, tumne dekh li hai." Rathore said softly, almost knowingly.

Arjun let the silence hang for a moment longer before the frustration he had been bottling up finally burst forth.

"Why do we even need one?"

His voice was low, strained, almost wounded.

The Mumbai Police Department had announced the results of their national entrance exam, and the selected candidates had been assigned their respective postings.

ETF — a team still bleeding from its scars — had been sent a new recruit.

Rathore leaned back slightly, studying Arjun’s stormy expression.

"Why? Why did you ask for someone, Rathore?"

Arjun tried, and failed, to keep the anger out of his voice.

Rathore understood. Of course, he understood.

At that moment, Shree and Chotu entered the room, picking up instantly on the tension crackling in the air.

Without missing a beat, Rathore turned to them, continuing the conversation.

"Who was cribbing about hell-lot-of-paperwork? Me?"

He raised an eyebrow.

Shree and Chotu exchanged guilty glances, caught completely off guard.

Rathore wasn’t done.

"Who was crying about increasing workload and no work-life balance? Me?"

Shree and Chotu shuffled awkwardly, trying not to meet his eyes.

Their expressions said it all — busted.

Rathore smirked humourlessly.

"It was all of you!"

His voice was stern, almost scolding.

"That is why, I put forward the request for additional man-power. Staff shortage, I said. But, the department decided to award us with some ‘girl-power’ instead!"

He chuckled dryly at his own wordplay but treaded carefully, knowing the next reaction would not be so light.

Just as expected, Arjun’s anger snapped.

"But why a girl?"

His voice was hard now, full of something deeper than just resistance.

The air thickened.

Everyone knew they were treading forbidden ground now.

Only Arjun, burning with grief he hadn't dealt with, stepped blindly into it.

"It’s not been long enough since... since that day!"

His voice broke slightly before hardening again.

"We still have blood on our hands! How can we forget? We promised—"

"Enough, Raute!"

Rathore’s chair scraped back sharply as he stood, his voice booming with sudden, raw anger.

The words hung between them, brutal reminders of the three teammates they had lost.

Of the promises whispered at their coffins.

Of the ghosts that still haunted them every day.

Realization flashed across Arjun’s face. His fists unclenched slowly.

"No, Rathore..."

His voice was rough with regret as he grabbed Rathore’s arm.

"We promised. We said—never again."

He glanced sideways at Shree and Chotu, and their grim faces echoed the same silent oath.

"Yes, Sir."

They said together, voices hollow.

For a moment, Rathore’s anger deflated into something else — sorrow, maybe.

He sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

"God help us."

He muttered under his breath.

Because he knew — whether they were ready or not — change was already knocking at their battered door.

---

Later that day...

Rathore sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, while Arjun, Shree, and Chotu hovered behind him like silent shadows.

"Sir, you understand the nature of our work."

Rathore said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"The kind of cases we handle — high-risk operations. Blood. Fire. Why not assign us a male candidate instead? Someone... more suited. We—"

The Commissioner’s voice cut through sharply.

"Enough, Rathore. This isn't a marketplace. You’re sounding dangerously like a chauvinist."

The stern reprimand stung.

"We’ve given you one of the highest-ranked candidate. Criminal psychologist. Crime analyst. Top of her class. If the department has cleared her, you have no standing to object. Additionally, she is not going to be the first on Earth to work in the police department. "

Rathore clenched his jaw.

"And for God’s sake, it's time you and your team move on from your ghosts."

The line went dead with a click.

The silence afterward was deafening.

Arjun exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair.

Defeat, anger, helplessness — emotions churned inside him.

Rathore leaned back, closing his eyes for a brief second before pushing himself to his feet.

There was no winning this fight. Not today.

"Prepare yourselves."

He said simply, voice hollow.

He left the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Shree and Chotu slumped back into their chairs, deflated.

Arjun stood rooted to the spot, still staring at the blank wall, lost in the past.

Because no matter what the world said —

they weren’t ready.

And deep down, they knew they might never be.

---

The evening mist had begun to settle over Dehradun’s sprawling valleys when the old Mukherjee mansion buzzed with excitement.

Inside, the grand living room — polished wood floors, antique chandeliers, and walls lined with photographs of generations past — seemed warmer than usual, brimming with life and love.

The tablet was set up on the central table. The entire Mukherjee family was gathered, practically crowding the camera in their eagerness.

And on the other side, seated cross-legged on her bed in Mumbai, wearing a simple sweatshirt, was Riya Mukherjee, grinning ear to ear.

"Arey Dadu, thoda side ho jaao! Mujhe kuch dikh nahi raha hai! Thoda peeche karo screen, aapke handsome face mein itna zoom mt karo!" Riya laughed, trying to make sense of the blur of faces.

"Bas ek second, bacha!"

Her Dadu chuckled, adjusting the screen with shaking hands.

"Tujhe dekh kar toh lagta hai Diwali aa gyi h!"

Beside him, Dadi wiped a tear discreetly from the corner of her eye, already emotional.

“Main hoon hi patakha!”, she exclaimed earning a chuckle from everyone.

Ma and Papa leaned forward, their faces shining with pride, while Bade Papa and Badi Mummy jostled behind, their mischievous twin sons, Tirth and Trupt, making faces in the background.

But Riya’s eyes immediately searched for the one face she missed the most — and there he was, leaning casually against the doorway:

Her Baba — the eldest Mukherjee son, her silent guardian, her biggest fan.

He didn’t say much — he never needed to.

His small nod and soft smile were enough to convey a thousand blessings.

"So, kya news hai?" Papa asked, although his tone already hinted, he knew.

Riya grinned wider, her cheeks glowing.

"Tomorrow is my final document verification with the Emergency Task Force!"

"Agar sab theek raha, toh main officially join kar loongi!", she shouted on the top of her voice, then shut her mouth realizing where she was.

A chorus of cheers erupted from the Dehradun end.

Tirth and Trupt hooted exaggeratedly in the background.

"Gayi police kaam se, ab!"

Everyone laughed, but the pride was genuine — and so was the undercurrent of unspoken worry.

Baba finally stepped forward, sitting down properly in front of the screen, his face serious.

"Proud of you, champ. Bas yaad rakh — duniya hamesha waise nahi chalti jaise kitabon mein likha hota hai. Apne dil ki sun, par duniya ke baare me jan-na aur samjhna bhi seekh."

Riya nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

She knew they worried. She knew they wished, silently, that she had chosen an easier, safer path — maybe carrying forward the family's colossal business empire.

But they never showed it. They had never once made her feel lesser for choosing to fight for justice instead of profit.

She was their pride.

Their heartbeat.

Their little girl who dared to dream differently.

"Aur haan," Ma added, adjusting the pallu of her saree, "khaana time pe khana. Aur thoda dhyan rakh apna."

"And please," Badi Mummy added, laughing, "Mumbai m vada-pav, pav-bhaji, aur kya-kya hota hai, sb ek saath mt khaa lena! Tera delicate stomach nahi jhel paega!"

Riya laughed, a true, bright laugh that lit up her tired features.

"Main sambhaal loongi, sab! Don't worry!" she promised, her heart full.

They chatted for a while longer — light teasing, playful scolding, promises to send homemade pickles and warm sweaters for Mumbai's "cold" winters.

Finally, as the call ended, Baba raised two fingers in their secret gesture — a silent promise between them since she was a little girl.

Strength and Heart. Always Together.

Riya mirrored it, her eyes glistening.

Tomorrow was important.

---

The glow from the video call had barely faded when Riya placed her phone down beside her, still smiling from the love her family had showered over her.

She leaned back against her pillow, the fancy ceiling of her temporary home, the tenth floor of a five-star hotel, stretching out above her.

The world outside was quiet — a rare calm before the storm of tomorrow.

Her eyes drifted to the phone again.

This time, not to see her family.

This time... waiting for one particular name to flash across the screen.

She unlocked the phone, pretending to scroll through random apps, her heart beating a little faster in hope.

Nothing.

No messages.

No missed calls.

She refreshed her inbox once.

Twice.

Still nothing.