The Internal world

chapter 17. The Jail.

ON MONDAY...

 where James returned from Mumbai after his wife's death anniversary, pol and Neruwan went to that place where they wanted to go! After some time James and Neruwan receive a message.

James had only just returned from Mumbai, where he had quietly observed the anniversary of his wife's death. The memories of her loss were still fresh, weighing heavily on his heart. He was hoping for peace and a chance to gather his thoughts, but the message on his phone shattered hope. The same Neruwan received a message from some police officers after reading that they both went to that spot where the officer told them to come.   

 As they arrived, the scene before them was a blur of flashing police lights and yellow tape cordoning off the area. Officers moved purposefully, their expressions serious. One of them approached James and Neruwan, his face set in a grim mask of sympathy.

That area looks like a horror movie scene, with all the people—it seems like pol and security guards—fighting for their lives.        

"How did this happen?" Neruwan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The officer hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment. "We found Pol alone, near the spot you mentioned. There are no immediate signs of foul play, but we're not ruling anything out. We're still working to piece together what happened."

After some days  the police found out who the person who planned the pol and  his other business partner's  murder and they took him to the court, he was found guilty and he was punishment for his crime as  spend his whole life in jail.

out of the court the all media wait for that person... when he come out from to the jail the reporter's ask him why he kill  his business partner's and he....

 As  he stepped out of the courthouse, a sea of reporters surged forward, their voices rising into a chaotic frenzy. Camera flashes lit up the scene, and microphones were thrust into his path as the media fought to capture his every move.

"Why did you kill your partners, Mr. Neruwan? Was it for the money? Was it something personal? Tell us, why!" The questions came like a flood, each one more desperate than the last. The world was hungry for an explanation.

Standing there in handcuffs, Neruwan paused, his expression unreadable. He scanned the crowd, his eyes cold, detached, as if the spectacle unfolding around him meant nothing. His once-powerful presence was now shadowed by the weight of his crimes, yet something in his demeanor remained unnervingly calm.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The crowd held its breath, waiting for the confession that never came. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Neruwan leaned toward the nearest microphone. His voice was low but cutting, the words sharp enough to silence the entire scene.

"You think you know the truth," he said, his lips twisting into a dark, almost taunting smile. "But the truth? It's far more dangerous than you could ever imagine."

The reporters stood stunned, momentarily caught off guard by the chilling remark. The air grew thick with tension as they scrambled for follow-up questions, their voices rising in desperation. But Neruwan offered no more. His cryptic words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, as if the true answer to their questions was a secret only he would ever know.

Without another glance, he turned away, flanked by officers, and walked toward the waiting police transport. The reporters called after him, their shouts growing louder, but he remained silent. As the van's doors slammed shut, the last glimpse of Mr. Neruwan disappeared, leaving behind a mystery that would haunt the public.