Between The Blue

35

Hiral stepped out of the car, her eyes acutely shifting to the small building in front of her. She had never been to a court before, and the sight overwhelmed her. The air felt heavy with tension and the pungent smell of old paperwork. As she looked around, her eyes followed the hustle and bustle around her. Men in white shirts and black coats walked briskly, talking to their clients, some hurriedly discussing last-minute strategies, others scanning the crowd, looking for potential cases.

Lawyers were scattered everywhere—some sat outside the courtroom in the shaded lobbies, balancing thick case files on their laps while scribbling furiously; while others lounged on wooden chairs and tables, their voices a mix of banter and negotiation. A few were deep in conversation, their laughter at odds with the seriousness of the surroundings. Nearby, clients were busy settling fees, handing over small bundles of cash before disappearing into the chaos.

Hiral's eyes darted to Riddhan, standing tall by the entrance. His presence as calm as ever, his expression unreadable. While Rajat stood on his side, holding files in a firm grip with his arm pressed against his body. She watched as Riddhan took long strides, people looking in his direction, and cameras flashing, as he walked with authority. Hiral walked meekly behind them, at a little distance not wanting a single gaze on her.

She didn't feel prepared for this. Courtrooms had always seemed like something distant and unreachable in her mind—places where power ruled, where truth could be bent and twisted, a place she has only seen in movies, with dramatic setups. But today, as she stood in the middle of it all, she wondered how did she even reach here.

As they entered the building, the noise faded into a dull hum, the distant voices of lawyers and clients reverberating off the walls. Hiral's gaze shifted around the narrow hallways lined with wooden benches, the walls plastered with notices, some yellowed with age, others freshly pinned up, detailing upcoming cases. The room they were headed to loomed ahead—a door labeled Courtroom 3.

Riddhan stepped forward, pushing the door open.

Inside, the courtroom felt stark and imposing, filled with rows of benches for spectators, a wooden podium for the witnesses, and a large, elevated seat for the judge who hadn't arrived yet.

As she walked behind them, she halted seeing him stop at the sight of a man and watched as Rajat threw an arm between them, already by Riddhan's side and holding his arm and muttering something in his ear.

Hiral stood rooted to her place before taking a few more hesitant steps, her gaze flickering between the men as she stopped a little near them.

Riddhan smoothly pulled his arm out of Rajat's hold, brushing off his blazer and taking steps ahead–a sharp smile, cold and cutting, forming on his lips as his eyes zeroed in on the man in front of him.

"Thakur," He acknowledged, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze unyielding and hooked.

Hiral's eyes shifted to the man called Thakur—-an imposing figure, tall and broad, his large mustache perfectly groomed, though doing little to soften the menace he radiated. His square glasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose, and his bald head gleamed in the dim light of the courtroom. The man stood there, surrounded by his entourage of lawyers and men who screamed power and privilege.

Thakur's smirk was slow, calculated. His eyes, bloodshot with barely concealed rage, gleaming with a kind of hatred that felt rather old, deeply rooted and dangerously close to the surface. Yet even beneath that palpable anger, it felt like his ego loomed larger—his need for dominance and possession seeping through, with the twitch of his lips. Even from afar that man exuded danger, the kind that came not from strength but from an unyielding sense of superiority, bolstered by years of manipulation and unchecked power.