| 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 |
Akanksha, a forensic expert and her husband Vihaan, a CBI officer must work together through the gulf in their marriage to catch a serial killer threatening to expose their secrets.
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When Aka...
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"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real." ― Cormac McCarthy
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Jaipur, India
My heart had stopped as my thumb was over Ruhi's black and white photograph beside her name. Eight years and we were kept in the dark. Who do I blame for this? I didn't even know if someone was involved in not letting us know that the case was opened again.
No matter how much we tried to run away from it, that past always came crawling back to us in one or the other way. Today it was just the list. I couldn't imagine myself reading the whole document now aware of the fact she was a victim to a sexual predator and that she might be raped.
My eyes glanced over her passport-sized picture. Though the picture was black and white I couldn't miss the gentle smile that had spread across her face. That innocence in her face when she spoke to us or that light smirk when she won over Pranav during some challenge, that face was killing me.
And what about Pranav? How do I tell him about all of this? How do I tell him the fact that the girl he loved all this time might be brutally raped before she was killed?
My heart pained with guilt and sadness. I felt a thousand daggers stabbing my heart as I slowly came to know what went wrong. Today was the day when I actually lost the battle I had with my fears; I couldn't do anything for Ruhi to help her, even when she was dying and even after her death.
I was, I am and I will always be a coward.
The regret that I had in me only led me to what ifs— what if I had done something then to make the situation different today?
We were all there that day, on that cold new year's night, in that dark woods that ripped away every good we had in our life.
That day someone lost their best friend, someone lost their daughter and someone lost their love. What were we? A mere spectator to that gruesome show.
My ears could never forget her screeches for help, my eyes could never forget her getting burnt alive.
Nobody believed us then. For there was no evidence, their words not ours.
