POV: Wishakha Bhalla / Arth Rathore / Swara Malhotra
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PART 1: THE FILE THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
POV: Wishakha Bhalla
Photographs don't lie.
That's what I used to believe.
Before I realized—
They just don't tell the whole truth.
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The newsroom smelled like burnt coffee and ambition.
Mumbai hadn't changed.
Just… upgraded its lies.
I sat in the corner, my laptop open, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The screen glowed with the last story I had published—The Vartan Collapse.
My biggest hit.
My biggest mistake.
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"Wish."
I didn't look up.
Kabir never knocked.
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"You're trending again," he said, tossing his bag onto the chair opposite me.
"I never stopped."
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He didn't laugh.
That was new.
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"There's a courier for you," he said quietly.
That made me pause.
"From?"
"No name."
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Now I looked up.
Kabir's face wasn't casual.
It was tight.
Controlled.
Like he already knew something I didn't.
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"Open it," he said.
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The package was small.
Black.
No label.
No return address.
Just… weight.
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I slit it open carefully.
Inside—
A flash drive.
Silver.
Blinking.
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My breath hitched.
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"No way," I whispered.
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Kabir leaned closer.
"You recognize it?"
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I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
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Because I already knew.
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It was identical.
To the one from the Vartan heist.
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My hands moved before my brain could catch up.
Plug in.
Wait.
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The screen flickered.
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NEW DRIVE DETECTED
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A single folder appeared.
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"LEDGER_02"
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My stomach dropped.
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"No…" I whispered.
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Kabir's voice was low.
"Open it."
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I clicked.
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Files exploded across the screen.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Transactions.
Names.
Photos.
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And then—
One title.
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"ST. JUDE'S: PHASE ONE SUCCESSFUL"
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Silence.
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My heartbeat became the only sound in the room.
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"Phase… one?" Kabir muttered.
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I scrolled.
Faster.
Faster.
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And then I saw it.
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A list.
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TARGET INSTITUTIONS
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Stanford.
National Sports Academy.
Delhi High Court.
Media Houses.
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My hands went cold.
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"This isn't corruption," I said slowly.
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Kabir looked at me.
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"What is it then?"
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I swallowed.
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"It's infrastructure."
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The screen glowed brighter.
Like it was alive.
Watching me back.
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And then—
A new file opened on its own.
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No click.
No command.
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Just…
Access granted.
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"WELCOME BACK, WISHAKHA BHALLA."
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The room went silent.
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Kabir stepped back.
"What the hell—"
---
The cursor blinked.
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"YOU FINISHED PHASE ONE."
"ARE YOU READY FOR PHASE TWO?"
---
My reflection stared back at me from the black screen.
---
And for the first time—
I didn't feel like the hunter.
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I felt like…
I had just been recruited.
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PART 2: THE PRINCE WITHOUT A KINGDOM
POV: Arth Rathore
Redemption is a myth.
No one tells you that.
---
London was supposed to fix me.
Therapy. Silence. Distance.
---
It didn't.
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Because the problem wasn't where I was.
It was…
Who I was.
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My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
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I almost ignored it.
Almost.
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"Hello?"
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Silence.
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Then—
A voice.
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"You burn things very easily, Arth."
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My body went still.
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"I don't know who this is."
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A soft chuckle.
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"That's disappointing. I know exactly who you are."
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My grip tightened.
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"What do you want?"
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A pause.
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Then—
"Redemption."
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I laughed.
Cold.
Bitter.
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"You're late."
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"No," the voice said calmly.
---
"We're just getting started."
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Something shifted in my chest.
Wrong.
Dangerous.
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"What do you mean?"
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A click.
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A file appeared on my email.
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Attachment.
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I opened it.
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And the world…
Stopped.
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It was a video.
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My father.
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Not the public version.
Not the politician.
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The real one.
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Blood on his hands.
A deal being made.
Names being erased.
Lives being traded.
---
I staggered back.
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"No…"
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"You see," the voice continued,
"your father wasn't the system."
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My breath shook.
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"He was just… a manager."
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The room felt smaller.
---
"What do you want from me?" I whispered.
---
Finally—
The truth.
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"You already destroyed Phase One."
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A pause.
---
"Now help us build Phase Two."
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I closed my eyes.
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"I won't."
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Silence.
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Then—
Soft.
Deadly.
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"Then we release the rest."
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My heart dropped.
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"Everything."
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A pause.
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"And this time…"
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A whisper.
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"You don't get redemption."
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The call ended.
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I stood there.
Alone.
Again.
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But this time—
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It wasn't guilt eating me alive.
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It was a choice.
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Become the monster again.
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Or let the world burn me with it.
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PART 3: THE GIRL WHO LOST "ONCE"
POV: Swara Malhotra
Love doesn't leave.
It mutates.
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Mumbai felt louder than Delhi.
But emptier.
---
I drove Bluey through traffic like I owned the city.
Like speed could fix things.
---
It couldn't.
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Because no matter how fast I went—
I couldn't outrun him.
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Kabir.
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I hadn't said his name in months.
---
Not out loud.
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Because if I did—
It would become real again.
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My phone buzzed.
---
Unknown number.
---
I ignored it.
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It rang again.
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And again.
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Annoyed, I picked up.
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"What?"
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Silence.
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Then—
Breathing.
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Familiar.
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Too familiar.
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"Swara."
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My world cracked.
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No.
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No no no—
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"You don't get to call me that," I snapped, my voice shaking.
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"I know," Kabir said softly.
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And that hurt more.
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Because he sounded…
Different.
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Quieter.
Broken.
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"What do you want?"
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A pause.
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Then—
"I need your help."
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I laughed.
Sharp.
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"Find someone else."
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"I can't."
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My fingers tightened on the handle.
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"Why?"
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Silence.
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Then—
Because I'm not the only one who left.
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Something inside me froze.
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"What does that mean?"
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Kabir exhaled slowly.
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"It means…"
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His voice dropped.
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"…they let me leave."
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The world slowed down.
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"Who is 'they'?"
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A long pause.
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And then—
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"The people who built Vartan."
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My heart stopped.
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"They're not done, Swara."
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A whisper.
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"They're just invisible now."
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The road blurred in front of me.
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"And you?"
I asked.
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Another pause.
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Then—
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"I think…"
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A crack in his voice.
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"…I work for them now."
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Silence.
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Total.
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Absolute.
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And just like that—
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"Once in a day" died.
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Because this time—
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There was no safe minute left.
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FINAL LINE:
Some wars end with victory.
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This one…
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Just changed its name.
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