Chapter 15: Withholding Storms

A weak beam of sunlight slipped through the curtains and gently nudged Riya awake. She stirred, blinking slowly—her hand reaching instinctively across the bed.

Empty. Cold. Quiet.

Her eyes snapped open. The pillow beside hers bore the faintest scent of Kabir’s cologne. And on the table… a note beside a pile of chocolates.

“Didn’t want to wake you, sleeping beauty.

I’d have stayed longer if I could.

These won’t replace me—but they’ll help until I’m back.

–K”

Riya stared at the note, then at the chocolates. A faint tear clung to her lashes.

“This isn’t new,” she whispered to herself. “He’s doing what he’s meant to do. What he loves to do! And I’m not going to be the reason he hesitates out there.”

She sat up, wiped her face, and put on her watch.

Time to be strong.

Time to be Kabir’s strength, Riya.

--

Riya walked into the office.

She overheard hushed discussion as she headed to her desk.

“We’ve got his custody.” Shree’s voice.

“Already secured in the holding room. Apparently, the guy Riya caught during that drill has a record longer than your grocery list.” Shree added, smirking.

“And what about those bank account details Sir asked for?”, Chotu reminded him.

“We will have them any moment, but right now…”, Shree cracked his knuckles.

“We going in for interrogation?” Chotu asked.

“Yeah. Arjun sir’s preparing the brief. It’s going to be a long one.”

Riya’s ears perked up.

This was her moment. Her actual job description—psychological profiling, interrogation.

She rushed to the conference room.

“Sir,” she addressed Arjun, who was standing by the digital board, reviewing the initial intel. “I’d like to be part of the interrogation. My skillset could—”

Arjun didn’t even look at her. Last night’s wounds still fresh.

“You have some other important work to deal with today.”, he practiced the best self-control he could.

He handed her a fat file.

“Go through the 2014-2024 case files. Find out about the gangs that could be involved. Keep them ready for my review.”

Riya’s fingers trembled as she took the file.

“But sir… my domain is—”

“That’s not your call to make.”

His tone was final and rude. He didn’t raise his voice, but the wall was there—thick and impenetrable.

Shree and Chotu avoided her eyes.

Arjun returned to his screen.

And Riya stood there, the file in her hands suddenly heavier than her heart.

--

The metal door of the ETF interrogation room groaned as it shut behind ACP Arjun Rawte.

The room was cold. Empty. Harsh.

One steel table. Two chairs. A ceiling fan that whirred like an old grudge.

Across from him sat a man with blood drying on the side of his mouth, a split lip, and eyes that danced between arrogance and fear.

The same man Riya had locked in a storeroom with a bleeding arm — her own.

Arjun didn’t sit.

He stood. Silent. Staring.

The man shifted in his chair, trying to smirk through his bruised cheek.

“You ETF types like the drama, huh? No lawyer? No tea?”

Arjun slammed his hands on the table, making the man flinch.

“You’re not here for hospitality. You’re here to answer.”

The man laughed dryly, a short, cracked sound.

“I got nothing to say.”

Arjun’s eyes narrowed.

“That drill was classified. No civilian, no criminal, no third party was supposed to know about it. And yet, your entire gang showed up with loaded weapons.”

The man looked away.

Arjun stepped around the table.

“Three officers almost got shot. One officer was injured — and she still caught you. Now tell me how the hell you knew.”

The man raised his eyebrows.

“Some people just get lucky. Others… get sloppy.”

Wrong answer.

Arjun’s fist hit the man’s jaw so fast, the chair nearly tipped.

The man groaned in pain, coughing blood.

“You think I’m here to play twenty questions? You’re not facing local cops. This is ETF. You crossed the line the second you bled on my city.”

The man chuckled again through the pain.

“You’re angry. Must be the girl. The one who caught me?”

Arjun froze for half a second.

“Careful. One more wrong word, and you’ll leave with less teeth than you came with.”

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Fine. You want to know? It was a revenge job. Simple.”

Arjun’s eyes narrowed.

“Revenge?”

The man looked up, his tone darker now. Less smug.

“You people cleaned us out two years ago. Half the gang locked up, our arms supply gone, safe houses raided. You made a lot of enemies.”

Arjun leaned in.

“So, you thought crashing a mock drill would settle the score?”

The man paused… then shook his head.

“We didn’t plan it. We were told. We were tipped off—location, time, everything.”

Arjun’s voice turned to stone.

“By who?”

The man shrugged, almost shivering now.

“Don’t know. Never met them. Just a burner phone message. Said if we wanted a shot at revenge, this was it. Drill would be live. Real officers. No backup.”

“Sounded too good to be true. So we took it.”

Arjun’s fists tightened. His voice dropped.

“That kind of information doesn’t come from outside. It came from someone who knew the layout. Knew the timing. Knew the drill protocol.”

The man said nothing.

Arjun slammed his fist again, making him jolt.

“It was an insider, wasn’t it?”

The man flinched — not from fear, but because he didn’t know the answer.

“I swear on whatever’s left of me—I don’t know who. Just… the tip was clean. Inside-level clean.”

Arjun stared at him.

No lies. Just a pawn.

A pawn being moved by someone who wanted bloodshed.

“You’re going to write everything down. Every call, every number, every word from that tip. Then I’m tossing you back in a cell so deep, you’ll forget sunlight exists.”

The man leaned back, blood crusting on his temple.

“And if I don’t?”

Arjun didn’t speak.

He just stared.

And this time, it was the silence that broke him.

“Fine,” the man muttered. “I’ll write it.”

Arjun turned and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Outside the Interrogation Room, the two silent spectators, Shree and Chotu were waiting.

Shree spoke first.

“Anything?”

Arjun didn’t stop walking.

“Yeah. We’ve got a leak.”

They followed him down the corridor.

“From inside?”

Arjun nodded once.

“No one else could’ve known. Find out who had access to that drill schedule. Security staff. Cleaning crew. Clerks. Start small. Go deep.”

“Someone inside this building wants blood on our hands.”

The air grew colder.

They didn’t speak.

But all three knew this wasn’t just a breach.

It was war.

--

At the terrace, Riya leaned against the low wall, a file in her hand, but her eyes blurred with tears. She tried to blink them away—tried to breathe.

He was gone. Kabir was gone. On a mission she couldn’t protect him from.

And here… her capabilities were being questioned by the very people she worked with.

“I studied for years… trained endlessly… and I still end up behind a desk, flipping paper like I don’t matter.”

Her voice cracked to herself.

She didn’t notice the footsteps behind her—Arjun, stepping out to attend a call. But his voice faltered when he saw her.

She swallowed hard, wiped her tears roughly, and turned to leave.

Unaware that someone had been watching.

Arjun stood behind the terrace door. He hadn’t meant to listen, but he had heard enough.

And the sight of her—crumbling but holding herself together—did something to him.

Something unfamiliar. Uncomfortable. Painful.

He looked away when she passed, not wanting her to know he'd been there.

And then she walked past him, unaware of his presence.

Arjun stood frozen for a moment.

Phone still in his hand, eyes locked on the door she’d just passed through.

There had been something about her in that moment—fragile and strong at once. And it hurt.

He didn’t know why.

“Don’t get involved,” he muttered to himself, forcing his gaze back to the phone.

But for a long while, he didn’t make the call.

--

The next few days, the office buzzed with the usual rhythm—cases pending, paperwork stacking, coffee brewing. But amidst the routine, one presence felt disturbingly out of tune.

Riya Mukherjee.

The spark in her eyes had dulled. Her stride, once full of stubborn bounce, now dragged in silence. She smiled less, spoke only when required, and stared too long at her phone screen—hoping, waiting, wishing.

Kabir hadn’t called. Not even a message. It had been 5 days.

--

The ETF briefing room was dimly lit, the projector casting pale blue light over the glass board. Arjun sat at the head of the table, eyes fixed on the screen as Chotu paced near the window, and Shree walked in holding a thick manila folder.

The air was heavy—not with smoke or dust—but with something more difficult to clear: suspicion.

Shree dropped the file onto the table with a soft thud.

“Bank statement. Took time, but we got it.”

Arjun grabbed it without a word. His sharp eyes scanned the pages, one after the other. His forehead creased more with every line.

“Multiple deposits. Small amounts. Spread across three months. All to the same account,” he murmured.

Chotu leaned forward, trying to read upside down.

“Whose account is it?”

Arjun didn’t reply. He reached the last page, then looked up at Shree with the kind of stare that could pierce through bone.

“You said these are Riya’s statements.”

Shree hesitated, scratching his head.

“Uh… no, sir. These are from the caretaker’s account. Shambhu Das. You told me to pull statements from the person she transferred money to.”

Arjun sat back, lips tight, the file still in his hand.

“I told you to look into Riya’s statements.”

“Sorry, sir,” Shree said quickly. “I thought maybe this was what you were aiming for. Since she sent money to him…”

“Next time—do both,” Arjun said sharply. Then, quieter. “But maybe… this mistake wasn’t a mistake.”

Chotu, frowning, folded his arms.

“You think this Shambhu guy could be involved?”

Arjun’s mind was racing.

A caretaker. Access to the entire office. A face no one pays attention to. Inside long before Riya joined. Friendly with her. Present on the drill day.

He flipped through the statement again, pointing to a sequence of deposits.

“These are coordinated. See this? Two accounts, same city, transferred money within the same two-hour window. That’s a pattern.”

Shree’s brows furrowed.

“Like someone spreading bribes? Or passing information?”

Arjun stood up, pushing the chair back with a screech.

“He fits everything. Internal access, familiarity with our schedules, invisible but always there. And most importantly—no one suspects him.”

Chotu crossed his arms, now more serious.

“But sir… why would Riya give him a lakh? That doesn’t fit.”

Arjun looked at the statement again. A single debit: ₹1,00,000 from Riya Mukherjee’s account to Shambhu Das, about two days before the drill.

“That’s what I want to know.”

Shree leaned against the table.

“Maybe she just helped him out. She’s like that. Remember, she offered to buy snacks for the whole office on her first week.”

“She’s too helpful,” Arjun muttered. “And maybe too trusting, FOOL!.”

He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. But somewhere deep within, it made something twinge. Not suspicion.

He turned to them, all commander again.

“For now, we lie low.”

“Shree—I want a complete surveillance tap on Shambhu. Phone calls, emails, everything. Go back six months.”

“Chotu—you keep an eye on his movements. His timings, breaks, off-days. If he meets someone outside, I want to know *before* he does.”

“And Riya?”, Shree asked carefully.

Arjun hesitated. That question always carried a second meaning when it came to her.

“I’ll handle Riya.”

“Sir,” Chotu said, voice tentative. “You don’t think she’s involved?”

Arjun looked up. His voice was calm. Controlled.

“No. But if she’s being used, even unknowingly, we need to know. Before it costs her more. Rather, it costs us, more!”

Shree and Chotu exchanged a look. Something had shifted. They’d seen Arjun lead investigations for years—but never with this strange tightness in his tone when it came to someone. What was even more suspicious was the way, he was trying to mask it all.

A beat passed before Arjun looked up again.

“He was under our nose all this time.”

The room fell quiet. There was a weight to those words.

“This time, we finish it before it finishes us.”

And their past came rushing back to them in a blink.

--

It was Friday again. The day for the next module test—Indian Penal Code and Crime Classification Systems, a subject covering everything from bailable offenses to Section 302, organized crime structures to the framework of special task forces.

Riya had studied it all before.

But today, her pen scratched slowly across the paper. Her mind drifted, her thoughts fuzzy. Kabir’s smile haunted her more than any criminal case she’d studied. Her hands trembled more from worry than pressure.

After two hours, she turned in her sheet. Arjun barely glanced up.

By evening, the results were up.

Riya had scraped through. Barely.

--

Arjun stared at her answer sheet with a furrowed brow. It wasn’t just a bad day—it was not her. She had always been sharp, observant, articulate. Today, her answers were vague. Disconnected. Mechanical.

“She can do better than this,” Arjun muttered to himself.

He left his cabin.

--

In the evening, he found her at the rooftop, sitting cross-legged on the bench, staring at the skyline.

Her phone lay untouched beside her. The wind played with her open hair, but her eyes didn’t move. That old sparkle—gone. Arjun stood a few feet away, watching for a moment before breaking the silence with his usual armour: sarcasm.

“You do realize this is a police training program, not a poetry retreat?”

Riya blinked slowly, turning her face towards him, “Sorry, Sir.”

The emptiness in her voice unsettled him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing. I’m just tired,” she said, her voice quiet.

He narrowed his eyes, not buying it. “Tired or distracted? Because if this is how you perform under pressure, you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

She didn’t flinch. “Maybe I am,” she whispered.

That reply knocked the wind out of him for a split second.

“You’ll be on archive duty tomorrow. Full records sorting. No breaks.”

Riya nodded, still expressionless. “Yes, Sir.”

He turned and walked away quickly; jaw clenched.

What was troubling her? Was it someone connected to the breach? Was it Shambhu? What was wrong?

So many questions that Arjun dared not ask her.

--

In the evening at the record room, Riya sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes. She didn’t complain, didn’t stop. She just worked like a machine, as though the task was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

When the last file of the day was stacked, she wiped her brow and stretched her sore back.

As she reached into her locker to keep away her scarf, something odd fell out.

A plain brown envelope. No name. No seal.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Inside was a small photograph—an old ETF group photo.

Seven people. Four faces circled in black ink. Three of them… crossed out in red.

And a note:

“It’s always the innocent ones who bleed first.”

Riya’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers tightened around the photo.

She looked again. The faces in red... they were women. Did she know them? But she couldn't place them. Had she met them? Seen them in files?

The silence around her felt heavier now.

For the first time, fear didn’t feel psychological.

It felt personal.