The ETF headquarters was dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air smelled of coffee and gunpowder—an odd combination, yet strangely familiar to Riya Mukherjee. She sat at her desk, flipping through case files, her mind preoccupied. It wasn’t just the serial killer they were chasing that haunted her—it was him. ACP Arjun Suryakant Rawte.
He was a man of few words, his presence commanding without the need for theatrics. A storm brewed within his dark eyes, an abyss of pain that even time had failed to heal. He carried his scars in silence, and yet, Riya found herself drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Riya,” his voice, deep and authoritative, pulled her from her reverie. She looked up to find him standing beside her, arms crossed.
“Haan, Sir?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“Tum distracted lag rahi ho,” he observed, his gaze piercing through her.
She forced a smile. “Bas thodi tired hoon, case ki wajah se.”
Arjun studied her for a moment before nodding. “Tumhe break lena chahiye.”
Riya blinked, taken aback. ACP Arjun Rawte was telling her to rest?
Before she could respond, the alarm buzzed—there was an emergency. Without another word, Arjun turned, his black leather jacket swaying slightly as he strode out. Riya followed, her heartbeat strangely erratic.
The operation was intense. They were chasing a criminal who had taken a woman hostage in an abandoned warehouse. Arjun moved with his usual precision, while Riya covered his flank. The tension was suffocating, the silence only broken by the sound of their footsteps on the cracked concrete.
A sudden noise. A gunshot.
“Riya, neeche jhuko!” Arjun barked, pulling her behind a pillar just as a bullet whizzed past them.
Her breath hitched as she felt his arm press against her waist. For a fleeting moment, she was painfully aware of his proximity—the scent of gunpowder on his skin, the way his muscles tensed protectively around her.
“Tum theek ho?” his voice was lower now, but laced with concern.
She nodded, her lips dry. “Haan, Sir.”
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary before letting go. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, but something had shifted between them.
A week had passed since the mission, but Riya couldn’t shake off that moment—the way Arjun had held her, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.
She sighed, flipping through another case file when she felt his presence behind her.
“Riya,” his voice was softer this time.
She turned, startled to find him standing so close.
“Sir?”
“Mujhe tumse baat karni hai,” he said, his expression unreadable.
She frowned. “Boliye.”
He hesitated—a rare sight. “Tum kyun ETF join karna chahti thi?”
She blinked. “Sir?”
Arjun exhaled, his jaw tightening. “Tum jaisi ladki... forensic analysis, reports likhna… yeh sab theek hai, par field mein kyun?”
Riya tilted her head. “Agar aap keh rahe hain ki main weak hoon, toh main aapko galat prove kar dungi.”
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “Mujhe pata hai ki tum weak nahi ho.”
She stared at him, stunned. Did ACP Arjun Rawte just admit he respected her?
“Main chahti hoon ki insaaf ho,” she said softly. “Chahe kitna bhi mushkil kyun na ho.”
Arjun nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a second too long. Then, in an unexpected move, he lifted his hand and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Riya’s breath caught in her throat.
“Apna khayal rakha karo,” he murmured before walking away.
Her fingers ghosted over the spot where he had touched her, her heart pounding wildly.
Something was definitely changing between them.
It had been an exhausting day. The team had just cracked a major case, and exhaustion was evident in everyone’s posture.
Riya was the last to leave the office, gathering her things when she heard a voice behind her.
“Riya.”
She turned, surprised to see Arjun still there. He was standing near the window, his back partially turned.
“Aap ab tak yahan?” she asked.
“Tum bhi toh yahin ho.”
She smiled tiredly. “Bas files wrap up kar rahi thi.”
Arjun was silent for a moment before he finally turned to face her. “Tumhe pata hai, maine kabhi socha nahi tha ki kisi se dobara…” He trailed off, as if the words were too heavy to say.
Riya took a tentative step closer. “Dobara kya, Sir?”
His jaw clenched. “Dobara kisi par vishwas karne ka.”
Her heart clenched. She knew he was talking about Roshni—his past, his pain.
“Tch,” she clicked her tongue, stepping even closer. “Agar vishwas nahi karna tha, toh mujhe uss din bachaane kyun aaye the?”
Arjun looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Main kisi ko bhi bachaane jaata.”
Riya chuckled. “Haan, par kisi ka baal kaatne nahi jaate.”
He stilled. She had caught him.
Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. And then, in a move so uncharacteristic of him, he took another step forward, closing the gap between them.
“Tum special ho, Riya,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her pulse raced. “Aur aap bhi,” she confessed.
There was no dramatic confession, no poetic declaration of love—just the quiet acknowledgment of something profound. A bond that neither of them had asked for, yet couldn’t deny.
And as Arjun reached out, hesitantly threading his fingers through hers, Riya knew—this was just the beginning.
The End
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Saraf
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