Sense & Sensibilities

Filler (until we figure this out)

Saying sorry comes naturally to Riya. It always has – maybe an uncaring mother looking at her as if she's the reason for everything wrong instilled that in her head to apologise and take things to her head, even when it's not her headache. Paying for penance, Rathore sir had said that once. Even with almost dying once- which felt like long hospitalization and not really fearing about life, the feeling didn't go away.

She prays lesser these days. Not that she has lost faith, she always prayed to God so that she can understand things and how to get through them. Somehow this time, she's unable to understand things and how to absorp them. She's unable to understand Sir's suddenly death, and trying not to think if she's, again, responsible for something. She took a life, she should pay for that, right? Rathore sir thought she had already paid for that. Maybe she hadn't , maybe now it's balanced out.

She don't understand, she has no one whom she can ask questions like this. She isn't looking for comfort or sympathy. Just answers, logic, theory.

Liza hadn't come to office today- just like Rathore sir didn't, a fact which made Aisha frown looking at her phone. Riya discovered her friends absence when she found the empty lab with door unlocked. She sat in a corner of the lab on the ground, spread around her files and laptop bag as usual, and dived into work. She tried hard not to give into urges like take her phone, make a call or send a message to SS. If they had something, she will be informed. She needs to be present here.

Looking at pictures of crime scene of Roshni murder case was simple. She didn't know the woman beyond her death report, she could pretend this is just another case which was presented to her. The picture of wound over ACP's hand was hard to look at. Then she made the mistake of listening to the call recording. 47 seconds of terrifying, blood curling scream, and then tired, spent out panting of the woman. Then, the line went dead.

In the silence of the room, Riya shivered slightly, slowly removing her headphones, her head buried between her hands. She tried to imagine the horror – unknown group of men in her house, the wounds over her body, the slow torture prolonging the inevitable, a last voice mail, full of rage and pain left for loved ones. Death is supposed to be graceful, not ugly and incomplete like this. Not a spectacle.

The door opened suddenly, revealing ACP in the doorway. He frowned at her, then looked around the lab.

"Liza didn't come."

Riya shook head. She was in no state to speak, yet when he turned his back and started to leave, she blurred out suddenly.

"I am sorry."

He faced her, slightly exasperated and angry at her words. Arms crossing over his chest, he asked "For what?"

She djdnt reply.

"For what?"

"I am sorry for your loss." She whispered slowly.

All anger and stiffness melted from his body. He hated pity, he hated sympathy. And yet he knew this was neither of those. A lifetime ago, he had voluntarily revealed his past to her in a few sentences, and she was empathetic enough to make him feel at ease without going overboard. He had thought that tenderness was lost between them somewhere, after all this time. He had thought he wouldn't be able to move past events, process his anger, reach to the other side.

She held out olive branch, so he took it. It seemed that both of them were back to the hole. He can do with a truce.

When he didn't say anything, Riya added. "I should have been here."

He nodded. "Yes."

"I will be from now on." She vowed.

"Okay."