Casualties Of War - FS (Five Shot)

A/N: This is a headcanon of sorts for what could happen after the hard disc case has been solved. Each chapter is a dive into the characters' headspace. Words in italics are either the character's monologue or flashbacks.

Premise:

Haseena Malik's secret is out and destruction follows.

She was promised loyalty.

She was promised honesty.

He was promised reliability.

She was promised a date after work.

Chapter Index:

chapter 1- page 1

chapter 2 - page 1

chapter 3 - page 1

chapter 4 - page 2

chapter 5 - page 2

Playlist: Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

Chapter 1: Dear Karishma, Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

She was promised loyalty.

Sub-inspector Karishma Singh did not understand why children were told to hold their parent's hands when they crossed the street, went to the supermarket or changed locations. Clammy hands held her own every time she left the house and she would wiggle her tiny ones indiscriminately. Once there was a little leeway in those enclasped palms, she would yank hers away and wander off- observing, understanding and finally, initiating.

She understood the phenomenon now; when she sat before her senior whose untruthfulness and deception lay barren in front of them all.

"How dare you," she growled, low and menacing as Station House Officer Haseena Malik stood in front of her- head bowed and tears wetting the floor beneath them. It wasn't a question of courage. It was a challenge to the audacity displayed.

When children strayed away, they lose the protection a parent could offer, the warmth of affection, and the comfort of a companion. A lost child needed to be found as soon as possible, found by safe hands that could nurture them with warmth and compassion.

Karishma did not believe she needed those. She resorted to protecting herself from any and all danger- a courtesy that was extended to her loved ones as well. Affection and comfort were as unknown to her as the existence of extraterrestrial beings to the ignorant pocket of people. She left that shelter or rather, that shelter was taken away from her the day her mother had departed and her best friend turned her back on the sub-inspector.

Friends wasn't a title she threw around carelessly like the current generation of nonchalant adolescents. She grasped it tightly around her iron fist, encapsulated in the remains of her broken dynasty of stability. It was never to be let loose again after receiving anguish and solitude as a souvenir of said sacred relationship.

She had become a bit of an Alexithymic- someone with an inability to express emotions through words or identify them- thus constantly clashing with Haseena in terms of ideologies. However, she did feel them in every cell of her body- the good, the bad and the ones that were riveting enough to burn her resolve to intangible soot.

People the age of her mother-in-law would oftentimes say that when one has mastered the art of being alone, they are ready to be in partnership with others. Yet, the journey to recovery wasn't easy because she didn't let that pain in. It lingered right outside the doorstep of her house, never allowed to cross the threshold, waiting for an invitation.

Despite the gaping hole in her heart and hypochondriac notions with new people, she was willing to give it- friendship- another chance. To let herself believe in someone else and trust that they would hold her heart, shield it was any harm that was to befall. They would nature it and make it a little less cold and revolting to the touch. They would teach her how to use words and how to empathize with others.

Only when she let that pain through the doors did she heal. Haseena, like the orange ball of fire that raised and fell every day, warmed her way into that cold frozen spot in her chest. After many unpleasant days, she was okay. She found joy again, or maybe it found her in the form of the Station House Officer. She made the arduous journey worth it.

As recalcitrant and obstinate as she was with her beliefs, she accepted that irascibility wasn't always the answer to her problems. Although fear drives changes, it was temporary.

The relegations given by her seniors became efficacious methods from trifling orders. Wavered were the very foundations of her philosophies but it didn't matter. She gave herself up to autocratic powers of emotions that won her over because someone with a frivolous faith in those feelings walked into her life.

It was part of her persona, she figured. She is loved with the intensity of a tigress, protected like a mother bear and was possessive like the roots of a tree about the people she cares about.

And maybe that is why this fallacious and spurious act hurts so much.

I will always stay with you. A promise left unfulfilled, a duty left unmet and a heart left in tethers for a desolate soul to hold onto. The next storm may lug them away into the skies, adrift as they search for one another to become whole again.

Follow your heart, she said. But when it's in a million pieces, which piece do you follow? They all hold different memories of what once made her a person capable of love and empathy.

Haseena Malik was the one she was willing to hold hands with again - no longer wanting to get lost and remain astray in the foreign crowd.

She didn't feel the constant need to release the hold and go astray and hammer out her own path of destruction. When she was lost, only Haseena could find Karishma because she had grown to comprehend and be cognizant of her feelings. She didn't feel so naked when being vulnerable all the time. Even in her worst- losing her sanity and indulging in irrationality that was crumbling her world- she would have always been able to find Karishma and see the best of her.

Karishma worshipped this woman; her idol, confidant, companion and friend. no, best friend. But maybe it was always one-sided or maybe madam sir is still lost.

"Although, I reckon the word lost is kind of subjective in this matter. You enjoyed where you were," she mocked with a snarl. "Who cares about the fact that I was dying every second thinking about how I couldn't save you? Not you apparently. Who cares about the fact that despite my best efforts I could not find your alleged killers as I was out of leads? Definitely not you. Who cares about the fact that I felt like ending myself because living without you was just so damn hard? Sure as hell not you!" Karishma bellowed, getting to her feet and kicking the chair from underneath her.

Controlling her temper wasn't always her speciality. Like everything else, she learned to turn this weakness into a strength- her motivation being Haseena who trusted her when she had already given up on herself.

"How can I trust myself when the person who taught me to do so," she glared at Haseena with those fiery eyes that one cried buckets for her. "Didn't. When she herself found me dubious enough to be a possible accomplice in her murder. Sorry. I mean attempted murder."

"I trust you, Karishma Singh. More than I trust myself. I do." Her words sounded too empty in accordance with her actions and previous suspicions.

"I look at myself in the mirror every day and think, it should have been me. Not you. I look at that uniform with your bloodstains on it wishing it was mine. Not yours. I come into this station every day thinking that this is all just a dream. Maybe I hit my head too hard and this is just one messed up reality that my messed up brain has conceited. Out there in the real world, I am still unconscious or something and you are perfectly fine and safe."

The moment she fell from that cliff, Karishma was screaming, screaming to get the nonexistent crowd searching too. She looked silly, a little deranged too. If that's what it takes to get her senior back she would do it all over again. However, someone else beat her to the chase.

"Karishma Singh i..."

"What? You didn't mean to look us in the eye and pretend to be someone you are not?"

"I was duty-bound. My hands were tied. I needed to find the captain..." Haseena trailed off because, for the first time since this charade started, she was actually listening to herself.

Haseena walked through the forest with her secrets stuffed in every hidden pocket of her apparel. Unleashing them one by one as she walked further into the dirt. She didn't stop to think about the dangers lurking in the corner, behind the leaves and in the blackened clouds threatening to thunder. If only she had stopped to consider the repercussions, they wouldn't be standing here today.

In times of peril, one can either choose to be a butterfly willing to reenter the cocoon or suffer the fate of the phoenix who rises from the ashes after death. She chose a renaissance living - literally.

The job of a police officer demanded a lot more than blood but relationships were something she didn't want to be stripped off. Especially the ones she spent years building. In that fire, not only did she burn her body but her familial ties too.

"I was wondering how you convinced yourself to deceive us every morning without fail," Karishma scoffed, wiping her nose with the back of her palm. "I've gotten my answer. But you...you have lost a lot more than just your identity, Miss Malik."

"It incapacitated me just as much as it did to all of you."

Karishma was shattered and grounded into the soil by the mucronate heels of one friend. But in that Earth, she healed steadily. The shards of her old self became seeds of germination. The rain of love, friendship and trust came to water them and an ameliorated version of her emerged from the dirt. She grew back better, stronger and more robust because she embraced love - love of herself, of family and of nature.

"Do you know what it means to worship someone?" She posed the question, locking eyes with the guilty party. She held her chin up with her fingers when Haseena attempted to avert her gaze. "When I speak to you, I expect eye contact. You said yourself didn't you, eyes are the window to our soul," She used the other hand to hold her upper arm. "Look at my soul and tell me, Do you know what it means to worship someone?"

"I know you are upset."

"That wasn't the answer to my question. When you worship someone, every word that comes out of their mouth is the final call. When they get hurt, you wreak havoc on their detractors. It's respecting them to the point where no one else dares utter a word meant to insult them. It's loving them unconditionally and with reverence." Karishma explained her definition of the word.

"Sajda karte the hum apka," she jerked the arms in hands away and stepped back a couple of feet while Haseena stumbled in her steps. "I told you before, madam sir, I won't be able to bear another hit like this."

"Uske badh se hum kabhi dost nahi banate hain kyuki hume dar lagta hain ki agar humne doobara se dost banaya aur doobara se usne hume dookha de diya toh yeh dard jo hain na...woh hum doobara jhel nayi payenge." karishma confessed, sitting opposite of haseena in the restaurant.

Haseena felt her lungs constrict further at the thought. When they had officially become friends, Karishma had told her about the reason she didn't trust people. Along with her past, she made it a point to mention how delicate her tolerance was.

"I am setting you and myself free from this relationship. From now on, you and I are nothing but colleagues." Karishma declared with her jaw set, back turned and fist clenched.

She broke her. I broke them all.

"Karishma Singh...I-I want-wanted to tell you all," Haseena spoke through the hiccups that were truncating her speech.

"When?" Head constable Pushpa Singh asked. All eyes except one pair turned to the devastated mother.

A/N: If you ask me what exactly this is, I have no clue. But since the show has stretched this plotline into a black hole, consider this the musings of a frustrated mind.

Don't forget to R&R!

Rinki.........this is so damn good. I swear, i played this scene in my head while i was reading. Ever, action, reaction and emotion of KS and HM was unfolding in my head. I loved you play and choice of your words to portray KS's angst. This was just seriously way too good. I loved it.

I need chapters 2, 3 & 4 jaldi se 😭😭

I loved this take.

I want KS to be as pissed as she can be and all hell should break lose on HM. Even her breaking all ties with HM should be there. Of course, it will be temporary but i legit want to see HM getting out of her comfort zone and moving mountains to pacify KS and the others. I don't want it to be an easily forgive and forget situation just beacuse she's a cop who was apparently doing her duty.

I am jumping in my seat and squealing with excitement anticipating the next 3 chapters 😃

Jaldi se likh, please😳

Playlist: Dynasty by MIIA

Chapter 2: Dear Pushpa, My House Is In Flames

She was promised honesty.

Every child is venerated as a gift and a mother's heart knows their child the best. This is why Begum Noor Jahan Malik recognized her daughter the second she had engulfed her in a tight hug.

Blood was not thicker than water but fire was thinner than love - lock it in a cage and it'll melt the bars to answer the pleas of warmth from the water.

Haseena Malik and Head Constable Pushpa Singh didn't share blood and maybe that is why the latter couldn't identify the woman she had come to acknowledge as her daughter despite the hints served on a silver platter. She believed that the girl they found in Mumbai was simply a look alike.

For those moments her child was lost in a crowd, her soul was in such a wretched state- like a werewolf turning on the night of the full moon. She wished to run in every direction, to shatter her own physical form and become a wandering spirit so as to find her, to bring her home safe and sound.

Her heart was always a shelter; an open door whose key was in Haseena's pocket. When that shelter became an inescapable cave, she didn't know. When the freedom given became suffocating, she didn't know. When the key went missing, she didn't know.

"Two months. You watched us suffer for two months, Haseena! 60 days! You were right here and we were grieving like fools for someone who wasn't even dead. You lied to us over and over again." Pushpa accused, pointing a finger in her direction as Haseena cowered back.

"I didn't..."

"You lied by the omission of truth," she hissed. "Perjury if you may."

"Pushpa Ji, you have been an officer for way longer than I or any of us for that matter. Surely you understand what it's like to uphold the orders of your seniors." She repeated the same words she used to convince and strengthen herself time and again to carry on with this false identity.

A beat of silence followed with nodding. "I do," the head constable sniffled, shocking everyone in the room- those who were processing her words anyways. "I understand. You were duty-bound when we met you in Mumbai. You were duty-bound when you arrived in Lucknow. You were duty-bound when we were possible suspects."

Pushpa had been in the force since sliced bread was a thing. That's a little of an exaggeration. Nonetheless, she understands what it means to give up one's entire life and everything in it for said duty. The head constable had seen her fair share of traitors in the skin of family members throughout her career in uniform.

She doesn't care about the fact that Haseena chose her legal obligation over family. She cares about how it was used as an excuse for being dishonest with them after those obligations had served their purpose.

Since the day she had arrived Pushpa had stood in her support against her own daughter in law at times- unconditional, unspoken and uncompromising. Like a good mother, she guided her child should she wish for it. She let her take flight into clear blue skies. yet standing by to catch her if she fell.

Pushpa didn't expect anything in return except for the respect, love and honesty that she thought she was deserving of after these two years.

Was it too much to ask for?

One's experience is a stone of knowledge kept in a jar of memories. Together they give birth to wisdom - a journey that is taken through life. The day Haseena walked into this station, she had seen the immense potential in the sparkle of her eyes- the determination in them to do something worthwhile for this nation. Her methods and mindset enforced a vision for the future of their beloved country. The passage of time since her arrival had seen and embodied her mission in a way so intricate that it was easy to miss. The keen and adroit eye of Pushpa had captured it and she was proud of Station House Inspector Haseena Malik.

Conversely, her daughter Haseena had lacked integrity or courage, she wasn't sure, to reveal her identity- a revelation that would free all of them from ceaseless suffering at the hands of grief. The shackles of despair would have stopped eating away at their skin and sanity.

They had to put on acts to solve several cases in these past two years but she was appalled to think the trick would have been used to play them as well.

She felt the ache in those tiny pieces that the photo frame had smashed into moments before the accident- a fateful event that ripped away true happiness from her family. An auspicious woman like herself should have known a catastrophe was to follow broken glass.

Somewhere deep down, she wanted to believe Karishma's instinct that insinuated the idea of their senior's return from the dead. In the last three months, she had pictured pulling Haseena's ears when she returned and reprimanding her for staying away from them. Then, wrapping her arms around her daughter who returned after a hiatus. Even when she had often joked about being young and vibrant, Pushpa knew she didn't have much time left as old age would start catching up with her soon. So she would shower all her motherly affection to make up for their lost time.

Alas, it was best left as a forgotten dream and dead desire - much like the ghost of Haseena Malik herself. There was a fine line between personal and professional. They crossed it in former time and were too ravelled to be inextricable.

"But what about after you cleared your doubts? You didn't have any problem telling Anubhav the truth. So why not us?"

"He forced it out of me!" Haseena was quick to defend herself.

"Fine, he forced it out of you. What about when you wanted to tell him? It's insulting really but why didn't it occur to you to tell us too?" she lowered her voice instantly seeing Haseena wincing. "Have we been attenuated?"

When Haseena thinks of it, the aromas of her mother figure's freshly made sweets come flooding into her brain. Her heart leaps and there is that moment of serenity. She sees her in that attire, arms wide, a hug just a few steps away- the few steps she was no longer entitled to cross.

"Pushpa Ji, I had no choice." she whimpered in defeat.

"No choice," Pushpa sniggered at her

explanation- excuse. "We always have a choice, darling. Do you know what qualifies as a lack of options? When you lose one daughter and have to watch the other wake up screaming in her sleep every night. You sit there and hope that a hug or caress of hair could soothe the guilt and woe. That they would find enough solace in your lap to have a peaceful night's sleep. Because other than that you are unable to do anything," Pushpa paused, going to stand behind Karishma whose body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I watched her helplessly every godforsaken night." Pushpa shut her eyes as the screams of anguish rang in her ears.

Pushpa's tears were a staple of Haseena's childhood, unending like her biological mother's when her father died.

"Having no choice is when you come to this station in the morning and realize that a vital part of your family is missing. The cabin remains empty because the person who it belongs to can never again be here to use it. We can't let anybody use it and neither can we ourselves step in because your essence, that irritating floral perfume, still lingers around. We have to remind ourselves you are dead and never coming back."

Haseena remembered the early days incident. She had returned to the station for some work and found Pushpa discussing her perfume choices with Cheteshwar. She had dotingly pointed out how weird it smelled as Cheteshwar shivered at her sudden appearance. "You never liked that fragrance," Haseena chuckled sadly and Pushpa gave her a faint smile with a nod.

The corners of her lips twitch upwards until her assertive mind regains control. "You have to pretend that everything is okay and the way that it is supposed to be. You have to lie to people who don't deserve that abuse of trust just so that you can give your dead daughter the justice she deserves."

I am not worthy of that much devotion, Pushpa Ji.

"The seat at the lunch table remained empty for an entire month until Urmilla- or should I say you, came back with us. When I saw Urmilla, I had to remind myself that you, the real Haseena Malik, was dead. This was just a look-alike. You weren't coming back because people who pass over don't return. That's the law of nature. Little did I know how big of an idiot I am. As Karishma would say. Ek number ke choran hain hum."

"I didn't mean to be disingenuous or insult your motherly love. That was never my intention, Pushpa Ji," she wailed, crumbling under the guilt. "I was misguided."

"If only you had given me the chance, Haseena, I would- will walk through the gates of hell to keep you safe and feel honored to be given the chance, feeling only gratitude."

It was so easy to break a person - lies, manipulation, pain, hurt, anger and deceit amongst others. But it takes so very long to repair them. Yet, from her substantial experience, Pushpa could tell that they would heal and become convalescent over the course of years. A wound as wicked as this would become salubrious. All of them would be restored to health in due time.

The ground felt shaky beneath her feet as she dropped onto a chair beside her. Haseena rushed to steady her mother figure but halted in her attempt as Pushpa held up a palm. She had lost the right to tend to the aging woman who was no less than a mother to her like how Karishma knelt beside her to make sure she was fine.

Haseena sighed and fell to her knees. The distance between them was ever-present like a vacuum pocket- empty and cold. How did things become so messed up? "Pushpa Ji, I love all of you."

Cheeteshwar who was standing mum as the mother and daughter in law expressed themselves, spoke gaining her attention. "You sure have a funny way of showing it, madam sir."

Pushpa sincerely hoped that this was a black passing cloud. No matter what, these five adults were her children whom she would willingly sacrifice everything for. She didn't have the strength to watch them break and fight amongst each other.

A/N: Don't forget to R&R!

Arre re re! Rinki!! Kamaal! Wow!

All the anaologies, the symbolism, the syntax, the diction, the emotions...the everything re! Are you a literature student? Your vocabulary and metaphors are so polished!

I totally could imagine the whole scene, with their dialogues, facial expressions and all. You portrayed it all that effortlessly, and its exactly how I was wishing to see on the show!

Both parts were just awesome. Read them back to back and itni senti ho gayi ke lagaa mere saath bhi dhoka hua hai.😆 (Viewers ko bhi Haseena ko sunaane ka mauka milna chaiye, hamaari maange puri karo makers!)

Mere liye bhi, next part pleaseeeee😊

Playlist: Total Eclipse by Natalie Major

Chapter 3: Dear Cheteshwar And Billu, Break Me To Heal Me

He was promised reliability.

He used a finger to rub the marked lines on his palm- the sturdy and confident palm used to hold a degree in woman psychology upon graduation. He absently thought about how it would feel like to have a lit matchstick running along those lines. Would it be liberating? Would I be feeling gleeful to punish these hands who held that degree that clearly wasn't used correctly?

Machines are made of metal scraps and then eventually they decay and are disposed of. Animals like humans are born to grow, to adapt, to become superior beings, to pass the mantle of maturity on to the next generation and return to their creator.

But they are also egoistical. Be it a woman or man, they believe to be haughty beings who were in perfect control of themselves and their actions. As a woman psychologist specialist, he was trained to identify and pick up discrepancies in words and actions.

How did I not realise this is none other than madam sir?

Constable Cheteshwar Chaturvedi was like a gentle river- flowing, bringing harmony and emitting laziness in its approach to life. Haseena though him how to brave the storm, how to turn that gentle river into a tsunami and how to find happiness in an affront to their misery. She thought him all of that by shoving the mirror of truth in his face. It takes a great deal of fearlessness to do that and he respected her valour. She sought to control to exert power- the power to make them virtuoso people. When tragedy struck he would be no defender. He would channel the river and roar, stand his ground, protect himself and others.

He likes the person he became and maybe the child version of me would too. I am the same boy, living to love and here to make a difference through this uniform I adorn.

A person who possesses the ability to change one for the better should be appreciated- a person like this can be relied on, to be honest with them. What changed?

Haseena was engaged to her job in a way not everyone could be. She sang its lyrics, hummed with the melody of authority and danced to the tune of guns fire. Being an officer was like listening to good music to her. He considered himself lucky to have been able to spend some time with Haseena malik- a woman who inspired him every day to continue dedicating his life to the nation.

So when Cheteshwar didn't lose this commitment for a single beat when she was presumed dead, he thought she was still here- watching, guiding, encouraging and in some way of form tangible enough to touch. It sounded cliche for someone who knew how the brain worked. But, he knows the heart is never wrong. The presence he felt around him was because Haseena was indeed around them this whole time in the form of Urmilla.

Urmilla was an illusion but he chose to believe it and that was where the phycologist in him failed.

Before assistant sub-inspector Mira was shut down, he had an interesting conversation with her.

"Khabhi soche nahi the ki esa bolenge. lekyn aaj...Jindagi main esa phela bhaar esa feel horaha hai na madam... kash hum bhi machine hote. Kam se kam itna takleef toh na hota jitna horaha hain."

Like all other machines, she would eventually decompose and be sent to the junkyard. Perhaps, it was better to be a disposal piece of metal with wirings because though it was humanoid in appearance, there were no emotions in them. They stayed in equilibrium without any effort unlike himself who was breathing heavily to control the frustration in him as to not lash out.

He didn't mean it then. Being racked by the pain of losing someone dear to him had caused the thoughtless opinion slip. But now, he isn't too sure if being a robot was that bad of an idea - a palatable solution to these irrepressible feelings emanating from Haseena's prodigious perfidy. At least as a machine, he was dependent on a bunch of codes and didn't need to experience this stinging sensation, unwanted cattiness and dejection. He didn't need to fight himself to be a good person- machines didn't have to worry about morality.

Cheteshwar approached the fallen woman, a slight hesitation in his movements. He was never comfortable with how Haseena- Urmilla - flirted with him. Naturally, he was all the more uncomfortable to touch her as it would only make things more awkward for them, for him at least. Where Haseena stood about this matter, he didn't know. That was a discussion none of them was in the right state of mind to have as of this moment.

Most people were morally white or black- switching allegiances when the situation presented itself. But his father always told him to choose his morality and stick to it no matter what. Cheteshwar was a man of principles. So despite the rage brewing inside of his silhouette, he felt the need to comfort and assure the older woman. He couldn't use his words because his voice was threatening to betray him.

Cheteshwar carefully wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her off the hard floor. Making sure she was comfortably seated on the chair, he offered her a handkerchief.

She took it, silently wiping away her tears and getting mascara smudged on it. The ruined white clothe had invigorated her tear ducks once again. She tried to look at him and apologize but he shook his head, telling her to keep it.

Cheteshwar kept his head bowed in respect as he spoke. "I respect you alot madam sir. I see you as my guide and mentor. Which is why it mortifies me to say this," he breathed in shakily standing infront of her. "This act of yours has been detriment and has hurt me." Does that make me a bad person?

"I am sorry, cheetah," she said, no longer certain how else she should be responding. What can I possibly say to overhaul this piffled situation?

"I know," he nodded. "I am too,"

she snapped her eyes up to his face, confused as to why he was feeling apologetic. "Why?"

"I want space...from you." as soon as Cheteshwar got the last syllable out, he was back to his previous position. His eyes keep wandering, feet moving faster until he almost spins to a stop. His cession of walking stop - mouth buckling, eyes wet.

Haseena didn't think it was possible for her chest to grow tighter but it did. In the pursuit to make them believe Urmilla was a legit person and identity, she had crossed the boundaries set. She flirted with him knowing that he was committed to someone else.

When did I become so insensitive? How did I not realise that to him, Urmilla was still like madam sir?

This man who was always a silent supporter of hears, who wouldn't have hesitated to stand beside her if the situation called for it was now standing far away unable to meet her big brown eyes, silenced- like his thoughts tailored into silken threads.

Things would grow taut once again as formality returned. As the sun peeked out at them, warm companionship would open its gate to let the light enter. Right now, letting the sunset was for the best. This is the true path toward peace and healing. There will often be rocks under their feet- discomfort is a part of life- but it is the way into the sunlight and warm sands along the shore.

As Haseena choked on her cries, a glass of water was forwarded to her trembling hands. She didn't need to look to see who it was.

---Casualties Of War---

"One moment I'm important. next minute I'm a background showpiece at best. Honestly, I can't say which one I prefer."

Billu Champat was a career criminal turned spy of this police station which he considered his home and its occupants his family. Haseena had given him this roof over his head by allowing him to stay.

He had been in and out of many police stations but never one like this. The other station house officers he encountered found this job more of a thrill than responsibility. they gushed over how the adrenaline rush was the best feeling about their work. There was nothing wrong with that. The country needed this enthusiastic bunch of people to jump in headfirst without the concern of their safety in mind- they couldn't do their jobs if they feared for their life.

Then there were others who he never saw a genuine motion cross their face other than greed. To them, no one was indispensable and every single person they met fulfilled a purpose.

Haseena was not like them. She was the perfect leader in his eyes- the finest one he'd ever seen. She put everyone at ease, drew them into liking and wanting to be like her. This was both a thrill and a responsibility to her - it was her favourite badge by which to identify herself. Maybe that's where it all went wrong.

If a friend or even an acquaintance, was in trouble she was right there with both boots on, gun in hand and mind spinning with solutions. In any crisis, she took charge, steered the most efficient course of action to the problem. It wasn't always the correct solution but she tried. To him, that was more than enough- not everybody would be ready to stand in the line of fire for him. He could only fantasise to be like that.

He didn't feel disappointment often. Perhaps it was reserved for people he expected more from- Haseena being one of them. She came back pretending to be someone else and never told them. She only watched as they cried and lost themselves in a sandstorm of grief. It was like all her promises died in that crash and didn't return with her.

"Do you know why I stay here despite having an actual house?" he asked taking the seat beside her on the other chair.

She shook her head afraid to speak.

"Because the people here are my family. I have a mother who cares about my well being. I have a brother who I enjoy irritating but he is always there for me. I have three sisters who bother to give me the time of day despite their various commitments," he explained. "All you had to do was tell me once. I would have raised hell and brought heaven down to find your culprits."

Lehron main doobi, Sumardar se hoon nikli.

Ek nayi pechan ne thi awaz di.

Ek naye maqsad ke saath hoon ayi.

Bas zindagi se yeh puch na payi, Kyu di yeh tanhai.

Iss dard ki guhar kisi se kyu na keh payi?

"I am so-so sorry billu."

Before he could respond to her, they heard laughter echoing in the mansion- loud but hollow and sad.

A/N: Don't forget to R&R!

This is so painful and such a realistic approach to the betrayal of love and trust. A mother-daughter bond got tested and the daughter failed in giving the same level of trust that her mother was giving to her. As HM's truth comes out, the most awkward confrontations will indeed be Haseena's and Cheetah's. The boy sees Haseena as an elder sister he probably never had, and here is her lookalike openly flirting with him, mercilessly. I loved every word and emotion that I read but I know the worst is yet to come! Santu will be stabbing daggers in Haseena's heart and other will be absolutely nothing that Haseena can do about it. Santu lost her innocence due to Haseena's death and Urmila has been the witness of the extent. Can't wait for it. Write soon ❤️

Playlist: paralysed by NF

Chapter 4: Dear Santosh, The Tide Rose, The Waves Crashed And I Fell

She was promised a date after work.

Neither did the meeting happen nor did the person who was meant to bring her out return. She waited, eyes sun-baked, bones weak and festering scenarios of sleep-inducing movies that rendered her mind ineffective.

A confetti cannon in hand, she waited almost like being put on a back burner. The only thing that returned was the news of her older sister’s death from the mouth of her other sister.

It felt like a sick joke that made her stomach churn. Maybe it was a sordid dream, she thought.

Dreams were visual jokes, the conjuring of a playful subconscious mind. Some endings were good and some were bad. But in the end, she always woke up and everything would go back to the way it was. Her loved ones were safe and she didn’t need to think beyond that.

Her soul that was travelling on the different planes would return to her body come daybreak - only she wasn't sleeping.

Blood was lost. Blood on Karishma's clothes was answerable to their misery. Blood was blameworthy of someone’s death.

Santosh clenched her first, digging the recently sharpened manicured nails into her skin until she felt moisture- blood. The offender would pay with his life for the bloodshed.

Madam sir is not dead.

Urmilla Mahadev Mathre is Haseena malik.

Madam sir is not dead.

Because people see the truth from different perspectives, their narratives of the same exact events are often completely different- just like these six different stories that started to blend together forming a discourse of fantasies.

What is my narrative?

As the baker turns flour and water to bread with the mesmerizing movements of the soft push and pull that calms a tangled mind, as the blue-grey brindle skies turn buried seeds to blossoming flowers, Haseena turned the most impossible scenarios into doable tasks; she was my superhero.

Her superhero made her less burdened by the need to set things straight. She could rely on her to do things right- to model the path of veracity. Like a puppy, she followed behind quietly and ardently imprinting each detail, each action and each word into her mind.

Then, Haseena was gone along with the tranquillity she brought; never again seen on the road of righteousness- vanished by the wind that swept her away. Her world was suddenly upended.

She looked everywhere- whipping her head in every direction, lost in the route, unable to find the destination to peace. Wisdom comes with age just like clarity comes with patience and time. But somehow, she could not find it- she was a prisoner of this incomplete voyage.

She saw her other family members scattered across the hardened cement street. She could not call out to them for they were lost too in their own turmoil. The tears that didn't dry, the weeping that didn't calm down, the memories that wouldnt stop tormenting them, they couldn't find reclamation to blissful slumber. Their foibles in managing loss left them incompetent to do their jobs.

The road infront of her was a bifurcated pathway. One taken by her family- the journey into a dark cave where they were blindsided by grief and the exit was blocked by an air of melancholy. The other was best known as the road not taken. Classic Robert frost. Only her inner compass could embolden her to take the right path.

The compass pointed in a completely different direction. From the parched ground, a new passage was craved. She knew the destination before she even bypassed the gate.

Constable Santosh Sharma forged her own path to the destination they had originally intended to reach - a country and society with democracy. That could only be done when crime decreased and townsmen put thier convictions in the police force. The destiny of a warrior was to fight the good fight and take away unnecessary suffering so others could live with good health no matter what the cost was. Haseena would have wanted for them to continue bringing criminals to justice and help the citizens of their constitution. The station was the legacy left behind by Haseena. She could not let it cripple and come crumbling to the ground. She couldn't be left cleaning up the debris of shattered faith.

They say wisdom is slow to develop, like a good old fashioned photograph that was dipped in acetic acid and then hung up to dry. Much like the head constable in Mahila police thana who despite her regular disagreement to her actual age, possessed - a form of hard-earned wisdom through assiduously traversed experiences.

Santosh gained it too after realizing that the blood on Karishma's clothes was real. The experience of being drowned in anguish, sorrow and ire day in and day out until she finally learned to cope on her own gave rise to a kind of maturity that should have taken years to develop. She was an adult and meant to deal with this loss as such.

As the rain settled into little drizzles, Santosh transpired from a scared kitten to peacock- majestic and brave enough to conquer the storm. She was in the eye of it and yet it seemed serenity had finally knocked on her doors. She intromitted it and therein stood the courageous woman who silently took up the responsibilities of a team member or leader.

In her strive towards the terminus of the road, she grew up from a puppy to an underdog manning the station as best she could - lost was the innocence of a child who shouldered responsibilities she wasn't ready for.

There is a murder on the loose. Get it together, Santosh. There isn’t time to grieve.

It was all worthless - every attempt to find the killer, every bit of effort, every lie spoken to their seniors, the risk taken to ensure justice was served, every penny sacrificed and the tears that had fallen in the wake of her departure. While she was scrambling to restore things to working order, Haseena was standing there watching them run around like mindless idiots.

That's where the narrative ended because no matter what justification she had, they had all lost something- a friend, a daughter, a sister, a mentor and a loved one. Nothing she did or say could make up for months' worth of excruciating torment this ordeal gave them.

Maybe that pain isn't worth the truth. So what was the good of this enlightenment if there was no coming back from these gates?

Santosh was often termed confused and innocent. At times dumb too.

Today, here in this moment of her existence, she knew with every fibre of her being what this feeling was. No confusion, doubt or second guesses.

Beneath these turbulent waves of vehement anger, sadness, disappointment and malaise, It was the feeling of hurt. Betrayal in its rawest form.

The noise around used to distract her from the grief by giving her something else to focus on. The swarming market with customers and utensils clanking against one another was like a piece of melodious music proving imperturbability. The voices of Karishma, Pushpa, Cheteshwar and Billu eased her anxiety. They were here - distant but alive.

However, when Karishma started speaking, her eardrums started throbbing. She was in a bubble with the words booming around as she tried to comprehend them. It was loud, so god damned loud.

She wanted it to stop.

She wanted them to stop.

She wanted this tribulation to stop.

Placing her hands on her ears and squeezing her head, Santosh had shrunk into a small ball, back leaning against the erected pillar of the station. She pulled her knees close to her chest and hid her face in them. She didn't want to see Haseena - that face held distrust and accusation.

She remained quiet as the rest spoke because now the silence is her way of dealing with it. A meaningful silence is always better than meaningless words, her father had taught her. That’s how she has dealt with her trauma all her life- hiding it in some area of her tired muddled mind.

She couldn't cry. The tears had stopped appearing the day she chose to leave mourning aside and focus on her duty- something she had learnt from Haseena herself.

She was empty, enervated of all emotional expression.

“I am so-so sorry, Billu.” she caught Haseena lamenting in the bubble.

Sorry?

The word brought a burst of contempt laughter out from her - it rang and echoed in the mansion in waves of hollow amusement- and loud round of applause. Slowly uncurling herself she stood up, the mocking laughter still falling from her lips. The numbness in her limbs didn't slow her down as she advanced towards the Station House Officer who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Sorry?” she titled her head to the side crouching down beside the chair and staring at Haseena. “Why are you sorry? This isn't your fault. You should be given an Oscar for this spectacle displayed. We are always the last to find out what the plan is anyway so this is normal.”

Haseen couldn't decipher the look in Santosh's wide inky russet brown eyes. A lopsided smile, staring like a cobra seeking its prey, hardened features with an evil glint in the eyes and a bright false smile that didn't seem friendly. She internally flinched at the sinister shadow that lurked beneath those eyes.

Where is that innocence and naivety of a kid?

“You are not to blame here. We are the dumb ones,” Was this considered gaslighting? Maybe. But she didn’t care. If Haseena didn’t, why should I? “This is a game to you, right? It was a lollapalooza watching us run around like headless chickens after your culprits right? Seeking justice for someone who didn't care enough to spare us from undergoing this daily hell.”

“I care, Santu,” she wanted to grasp her little sister’s hands but wasn't brave enough to do so. “I care a lot.”

As tears continued polling on Haseena’s cheeks, Santosh quickly raised her hand to wipe them away. “No. no. you don’t look good with tears,” she feigned concern, using a soft tone as if talking to a child. “You should do that thing instead.”

“Wh-what sh-should i-i do?” the senior asked, saddened and perturbed by the batty behaviour her junior was displaying.

“Do that classic Haseena…” she shook her head with a chuckle. “sorry. Urmilla…what was it?” Santosh turned around to her other colleagues who watched her in what she thought was pity.

They exchanged worried glances amongst each other, wondering how there wasn't a trace of tears on the young girl’s face. It looked like she was having a manic episode and they didn't know how to help. Before Karishma could draw nearer to her, Santosh was back to peering at Haseena.

They weren’t going to answer, she knows. “Urmila Mahadev Mathre.” She imitated the actions Haseena had previously done when introducing herself as Urmilla. She frowned when Haseena only spun her head to the other side and used a hand to cover her mouth. “No. No. Madam sir. We don’t need to play hide and seek anymore. Your secret’s out. Look at me.” she demanded, cupping Haseena’s cheeks to make sure they were making eye contact.

“I used to think you were boring as hell. All you did was talk about emotions and preach about honesty. What was that poetry of yours? Insaan wahi jo padh ka pakaa, imaan wahi jo sach ka pakha. Jaan jaye toh jaye par sach par khabi anch na aye. Aur sach ki hifazat ki shapath le tabhi, jab tera irada ho paka,” she parroted the words once spoken to imbued others. She didn't realise the extent to which she embodied it. “Your probity is truly remarkable. Protecting the truth from everyone. Even us.” she dropped her hands to the side and slumped back.

“I didn't want to hide this but…”

“But you were having too much fun pretending to be someone else. Teasing us with nicknames, flirting with cheetah, making fun of Billu Ji’s balding head, roiling us with your messes.” Santosh accosted her, remembering all the actions Urmilla did- madam sir did.

“I am sorry…” she cried.

“Which part of ‘this isn't your fault’ did you not understand?” Santosh raised an eyebrow. “Wait sorry. My bad,” she said placing a hand on her chest and bowing her head. “Understanding us has never been your claim to fame. After all, we were possible suspects for murder. You know since Karishma madam tried to get you to a hospital in the car that a truck was trying to trample over.”

“I was wrong,” It felt like pins and needles were pricking every inch of her body, burning it away intolerably slow. “I know.”

“Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. What’s your excuse?” she snarked, unable to recognise how deep into the fog this road she took led.

“Being blindsided by...”

“Your duty. I get it,” No, I don’t. “And how can I forget myself. The cyber specialist. Pretty obvious, wasn't it? Of course, it would be me since I vowed to protect you with my life and followed through with it as best I could. The fact that you actually died, fake died,” she corrected herself almost immediately. “notwithstanding.”

Haseena found herself tongue-tied. She tried to look away but Santosh wouldn’t let her. “I know I messed up…”

“Stop,” Santosh uncharacteristically rolled her eyes and halted her. The insincere smile returned to her face and Haseena couldn't help but grimace. “We are not that different, miss malik,” she caught a glimpse of the other members- once again on opposite ends. She recalled the times when she wanted to run into their arms and just be allowed to fall apart with the peace of mind that they would be there. She couldn't because Mahila Police Thana that was known for its teamwork and comradery had become fragments of splinted glass. “You lost your family and so did I.”

Haseena joined Santosh on the ground, knees touching each other. She tried to lean in for a hug similarly to how she did when her doubt on the cyber specialist had been freed from her suspicious and needed to be comforted. Santosh jerked her hands away stubbornly and rose to her feet.

How do I seek comfort from the very person who afflicted his agony?

“Too late to play the big sister act, madam sir,” She shook her head, ridiculing her attempt to play the big sister. “Since we are already doing this, let me be honest too. I don’t expect you to understand this agony despite the constant preaching about emotions. After all, it takes a considerable amount of self-awareness to realise the extent of your ignorance.”

“Santu!” Karishma chided finally coming closer to her. “That's enough.” despite all, she still couldn't let anyone blaspheme her beloved senior.

Santosh jutted her hands out to stop her sister from grabbing hold of her. She was walking a thin line here but could bring herself to stop. She had been holding herself together for the last three months. Whatever damage there was to be done had already manifested itself into their reality. The weavers of this storm nor its casualties were implacable - the people sucked into the domineering blizzard were condemned to a fate of disquietude days.

“I was so wrong. Not only can you talk about emotions, but you can also play one hell of a game with them.”

“Santu,” Karishma tried interrupting again only to get ignored, her pleas falling on deaf ears - no longer listening and barely hearing.

“You like poetry, right? So let's give this a poetic spin shall we?” she pretended to think for a moment adn cleared her throat. “Chahe kitni bhi ho tapish usme, sujraj toh roj dobta hai. Sach batane ki taqat tu bhi toh rakhta hain. Samunder main sawan nazar ata toh hai magar, teri baparwahi ki kashti uski khobsurti cheen rahi hai. Khel tha yeh mujhe nahi thi kabar, chal lagate hain ek baazi. Tera jhot jeet tah hain yah taqat mere pyaar ki.”

Haseena sucked in a sharp breathe - realisation at its peak.

“And guess what?” Once again the constable knelt to make sure the Station House Officer knew just how pernicious this act of hers was. She leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “You won, Miss Malik. You won.”

Santosh did not wait for anyone to call out to her and walked out of the police station. The place once provided solace in her darkest of days- days where the waves wouldn’t stop pestering her. The same waves managed to infiltrate her home. The shelter was engulfed in the tide and she had no intention of stopping it because the brawn had been stripped away from her- just like her innocence.

One is born to believe themselves to be either angels or monsters. Those that stood on the fence were neither. Santosh didn't know which one she chose. Maybe we dont chose them. Maybe they chose us. But right now, the two of us stand somewhere on the spectrum not too far from each other.

Mom used to say after a thunderstorm the day was always much brighter and refreshed. It washed away the cobwebs, disdain, skeletons in the closet and brought with it a new ray of hope. Santosh didn't believe it to be true anymore.

The thorn in her side was still there. The disappointment blurring her vision was still there. The waspishness of her outrage was still there. With each step, t they become harder to push away. She knew the time had come to fall. All she needed was a strong pair of arms to hold her as she came undone- someone to share the agony with.

Alas, once again she was alone in the quest for consolation.

On a shore somewhere, a tide had risen, crashed and taken out everything in its path. Left behind was the seashells who burned in the sun’s intense glare, boulders broken into tiny pieces and families dispersed across the shore looking for someone to piece them back together.

A/N: Don't forget to R&R!

Chahe kitni bhi ho tapish usme,

sujraj toh roj dobta hai.

Sach batane ki taqat tu bhi toh rakhta hain.

Samunder main sawan nazar ata toh hai magar,

teri baparwahi ki kashti uski khobsurti cheen rahi hai.

Khel tha yeh mujhe nahi thi kabar,

chal lagate hain ek baazi.

Tera jhot jeet tah hain

yah taqat mere pyaar ki.

“And guess what?” Once again the constable knelt to make sure the Station House Officer knew just how pernicious this act of hers was. She leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “You won, Miss Malik. You won.”

These lines just stabbed my heart and tore it apart.

Amazing writer you are, Rinki. Iska ek epilogue with Haseena's monologue toh banta hai! Especially after all these confrontations. Will look forward to it.

Originally posted by: Chir-Cute

Chahe kitni bhi ho tapish usme,

sujraj toh roj dobta hai.

Sach batane ki taqat tu bhi toh rakhta hain.

Samunder main sawan nazar ata toh hai magar,

teri baparwahi ki kashti uski khobsurti cheen rahi hai.

Khel tha yeh mujhe nahi thi kabar,

chal lagate hain ek baazi.

Tera jhot jeet tah hain

yah taqat mere pyaar ki.

“And guess what?” Once again the constable knelt to make sure the Station House Officer knew just how pernicious this act of hers was. She leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “You won, Miss Malik. You won.”

These lines just stabbed my heart and tore it apart.

Amazing writer you are, Rinki. Iska ek epilogue with Haseena's monologue toh banta hai! Especially after all these confrontations. Will look forward to it.

awww thank you! an epilogue with haseena's POV? ahhhhh fine, ill do it soon!

Behen what more can I say than raw, heart-wrenching, gutting, mind-blowing...I don't have as good a vocabulary as yours haha. But really, all the emotions hit the heart straight!

I loved how uniquely you portrayed Cheeta, Billu and Santu's outburts, each exactly matching to their characters development so far. Takes a great analyzer to write a fan-fiction perfectly consistent with the original.

Epilogue already? I know its a 4 shot, but pleaseeeeee, thoda extension kar do na 😳 Atleast to a scene where we see hope of MPT getting back to normal, allbeit a new normal. I have little hope of seeing these kind of outbursts in the show, so inka resolution bhi dikha dete toh dil ko tasalli mil jaati.