ll Ghuroor Ke Badal غرور کے بادل ll

13. ** Chapter Thirteen**

A month had passed since the articles were published, and while the public storm seemed to have quieted, Meher's resolve remained unshaken. The calmness in the air only strengthened her determination to uncover the truth. Her father's condition, confined to a wheelchair, was a constant reminder of the injustice they had suffered. The lack of progress from the police was infuriating, but it wasn't enough to deter her.

Meher had begun taking matters into her own hands. Several times a week, she found herself returning to the site of the accident. The area was a bustling urban stretch, with its chaotic mix of street vendors, commuters, and the occasional pedestrian stopping for chai. She moved purposefully through the streets, speaking to shopkeepers, fruit sellers, and anyone who might have been present that fateful night.

"Bhai saab, do you remember the night of the accident?" she asked an elderly man tending to a roadside stall. "It was late-a taxi was hit by some speeding cars. Did you see anything?"

The man scratched his head, a look of pity crossing his face. "Beta, I remember the commotion after, but I didn't see who was in the cars. It all happened too fast."

Frustration welled up in Meher, but she pressed on. A tea vendor nearby chimed in, "There were some big cars-expensive ones, like those rich people drive. But they sped off so fast... and it was also raining. Nobody got a proper look."

"Do you know anyone else who might've been here that night?" she probed further, her voice edged with desperation. "Maybe someone saw something-anything."

The vendor shook his head apologetically. "A few people talked about it the next day, but no one knew the details. You know how it is... no one wants to get involved."

Meher's shoulders slumped momentarily, but her resolve was not diminished. Each piece of vague information only fueled her desire to find answers. The rumors of wealthy boys being involved still lingered in the air like smoke, unproven but impossible to ignore.

One evening, as she stood at the corner where the collision had occurred, staring at the faint tire marks still visible on the asphalt, a young boy approached her. He looked no older than fifteen, his clothes tattered and his eyes wary.

"You're looking for something, aren't you?" he asked cautiously.

Meher turned to him, her pulse quickening. "Yes. Were you here the night of the accident? Did you see anything?"

The boy hesitated, glancing around nervously. "I saw the cars," he admitted in a whisper. "They were racing-big, fancy ones. One of them hit the taxi. But... I didn't see their faces."

Meher knelt slightly to meet his gaze. "Anything you remember could help. Anything at all."

"It was late night..the lighting in this area isn't great and that day it was also raining when the accident happened, the one that collided with the taxi had a big dent in the front," the boy said, his voice barely audible. "Meanwhile the other three were ahad... "

"Do you remember the color? The number plate?" she asked urgently.

The boy shook his head. "It was dark. I'm sorry."

Though the boy's account was limited, it was enough to confirm what Meher had suspected all along: this wasn't just a random accident. There was more to uncover, and she wouldn't stop until she had every piece of the puzzle.

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The sun was beginning to set over the lush grounds of the Evergreen Country Club, casting a warm golden glow on the perfectly manicured lawns. Rohan was on the tennis court with Kabir and their other friends, the sound of rackets meeting balls echoing in the air. The group had been competitive as usual, but Rohan was feeling slightly off, distracted by the remnants of guilt and restless thoughts that had plagued him for weeks.