" What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
-T.S. Eliot
In the enigmatic town of Kshaya lurks a figure shrouded in infamy: SHAITAN, the most wanted criminal whose true id...
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a solitary lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The clink of two glasses echoed in the stillness as Ashwath and Anand raised a toast.
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"Cheers," Anand said, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and melancholy. His smile, though faint, illuminated his face—a rare flicker of joy amidst the turmoil that had engulfed their lives.
"Finally," Anand continued, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "we’re sharing a drink together, father and son. I've waited a long time for this."
Ashwath mirrored his father's gesture, his own smile laced with bittersweet undertones. "Let’s make it a ritual, Dad. Every week. Just us," he said, his tone firm yet tender, as if clinging to this fleeting moment of connection.
Anand took a slow sip, savoring the whiskey, before placing the glass down with a resolute thud. "Give me your gun," he said, his voice low but brimming with intensity. "Let me handle that bastard myself."
Ashwath stiffened, his jaw tightening as he set his own glass aside. "We have protocols to follow, Dad. You know I can’t do that. If it were up to me, I’d—" He stopped short, exhaling deeply, the frustration in his voice barely concealed. "But if I take matters into my own hands, I’ll lose everything. My badge. My ability to fight for justice. I can’t risk suspension. Not now."
Anand’s eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenching. "I don’t care about the consequences! I’ll go to jail if I have to. But I won’t sit here while that monster breathes free air. I’ll kill him myself, Ashwath."
Ashwath leaned forward, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "I promise you, Dad, he will suffer. He won’t escape the law, and he won’t escape me." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken anger and determination.
Anand's fiery demeanor softened slightly, his gaze turning searching, piercing through Ashwath's composed exterior. "You can fool the world, son, but not your father. Stop hiding your pain. I see it. I feel it."
Ashwath looked away, his throat tightening. "It’s not what you think," he replied, his voice quiet. "I’m fine. Really. Just being here with you, sharing this moment, makes everything better."
Anand studied him, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. "If you’re fine, then why do you keep refusing a drink? Why do you bury yourself in your work, refusing to rest?" he pressed.
Ashwath sighed, his fingers tapping the rim of his glass. "Because I have a mission, Dad. I need to make sure no one else loses what we’ve lost. I can’t let anyone else suffer this pain. Until then, I can’t afford distractions—not even this." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the storm raging within.
Anand leaned back, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted his glass. "You know," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "every father dreams of the day he can look his son in the eye and say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ Tonight, I can say it without hesitation. You’ve become more than I could have ever hoped for, Ashwath."
