Manish Murthy

I was standing in front of the coordinator’s room of my college. It was a big room with a polished wooden desk in the center. Behind the desk was a grand book-shelf and beside the door too. The door was closed, and two persons were talking inside. “Sir,” One of them said. “I guess that we should, first of all, declare a holiday in the college. The criminal who attempted murder yesterday is still on loose.”

“I know that you’re worried being the coordinator of the college, but I guess that the criminal is, in fact, a student of your college. That’s because the way the murder was attempted seems to be, you know, kinda unprofessional. Killing in the public is not what professional murderers do. It could have been done due to personal grudges. Therefore, he won’t strike again. Moreover, we’re aiming to solve this case itself by today. So, don’t worry, we got this in our hands.”

“See, I don’t find any man I teach to have done this. M-My heart says so, sir. I guess you should aim at other things too. At last, why would a child do such a thing?”

“We don’t know, sir. As I said, it could have been personal grudges. Moreover, this age is just like this, you know. Children tend to get very, very angry very fast.”

“I see,” The coordinator nodded at the policeman’s words. The policeman wore his usual blue uniform and seemed old, more like fifty. The coordinator looked the same in his grey coat-suit and white hairs. The policeman stood up from his desk, turned back at the door and moved away towards it. I was standing outside beside the door, with my back on the wall and a leg rose on the wall. I was pretending to use my phone, with my earplugs connected to the phone. But, I had one of my earplugs out to listen to their conversation. Then I heard the man opening the door and quickly put my other earplug on. He opened the door, stopped and turned at me. He suspiciously took out one of my earplugs and moved it towards his ear. “Listen to some slow beats too, kiddo. I don’t know what this generation is becoming,” He said. I said nothing, just stared at him as he took it out and gave it back to me. With the earplug in my hand, I looked at him walking away in the corridor on my right as I moved it back at my ear and continued. “Fortunately, I had a song on,” I thought. “Now, I should plan on going to India until all this is cleared out.”


Naina Sharma

“So, are you gonna say it up or not?” Kavita asked me, who was chained in a wooden chair.

I had my head tilted down, with my wet hair covering my face. “See, I got nothing else to--”

“Don’t make me take out all of my anger on you, Naina!” she threatened. “Just say it out, and go home fine.”

“I-I don’t have a home anyways,” I replied. I was not on my mind. I was in trauma. “It all got separated out six years back…”


“I can’t tell ya, as I said,” I replied.

“Oof!” She turned back and covered her eyes and forehead with her palm. “Just say it out, Naina.”

“Never in my seven births.”


Manish Murthy

The policeman disappeared, and so I turned the other way, to my left, and started walking away. I was checking flight tickets on some website when I suddenly got a mail with the title ‘Come Back to India, Manish’. My eyes narrowed as I clicked on the mail and started reading it. It was from my sister Kavita, as I read in the ‘From’ section. “Dear Manish,” I started reading. “I wanted to tell this to you person-to-person, but I think that I don’t have enough strength to tell this to you. I tried calling you several times, and that one time I was able to click on the ‘call’ button, you were busy, so I didn’t want to unnecessarily disturb you. But, as two days have passed, I again gained the courage to write this mail up to you.

“Actually, our mother and father are no more. They were just murdered in our homes. Yes, my brother, you’ve been bereaved, but don’t worry, because you still have my shoulder to cry on. I’ve booked the tickets to India for you. I hope you come back soon. Regards, Kavita Mukherjee.”


“W-What?” I thought. “I-Is it supposed to be a joke?” I looked at the attached files below the mail, and opened them. I saw that it had ‘Delhi Police’ written on top of it, with its logo too on the top left side. I looked further down some lines and read ‘Subject: Amitabh Murthy Murder Case - File Report no. 1’. “I-It’s real…” I closed it and looked that there was also a link attached at the end of the mail. I clicked on it and a site opened. ‘Ticket to India - booked’ I read on it. MY face had a wide grin after reading this as I thought, “M-Maybe God is helping me. I needa pack my bag fast, because the flight’s tonight!”


Naina Sharma

“Okay then,” She turned her head backward and said, “I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” She turned at me and said, “Don’t think about Shekhar, Naina. Think about Rohini first.”

“W-What do you…”

“Yes,” She gave a smug and then said, “What will happen to her mental health if she looks at you, going through such a harsh treatment. It’s not safe for parenting, girl.”

I glared at her, with my eye wide open in shock. I was breathing hard as I said, “O-Okay, I will tell you everything tomorrow night. Bu-But, don’t call Rohini.”

“Piece of cake,” She said.


About the author

Dhruv Pabreja

Bio: Just a fifteen year-old trying to make it big in this world through his world of stories.

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