𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-61

"Challenges may break our comfort," Siddharth said gently, "but they build our character. And it is character that leads us to triumph." He turned his head toward Ira. "Always remember-when the going gets tough, the tough get going."

A moment of silence slipped between them, settling into the cold air of the rooftop.

Ira remained quiet, her head lowered. She folded her left knee closer to her chest and looped one arm around it. Resting her chin on her kneecap, she tilted her head, watching him from beneath her lashes. A half-dry smile tugged at her lips, carrying the sharpness of a devilish smirk rather than amusement.

Siddharth's brows twitched, but his lips curved into a soft, steady smile. He blinked slowly, absorbing her expression, choosing not to react.

Ira clicked her tongue against the inside of her cheek and inhaled deeply. "Why do you think narrating a motivational story to me will change the truth of this country's circumstances?" Her voice was low, smooth, and emotionless.

Siddharth tilted his head, his forehead creasing.

Ira tugged the edge of the blanket around herself, cocooning in its warmth, then met his eyes again. "Your story summarises that despite everything, we should keep going, be productive, be resilient, blah, blah, blah-cause after all, life is all about that, right?" Her eyebrows arched at him.

Siddharth gave a faint nod.

Ira mirrored the gesture, her head bobbing in a slow, absent rhythm. Her lips pressed together, then twisted, reshaping into a series of fleeting expressions.

Siddharth's face remained still, patient, quietly waiting for her.

"Okay. Done." She exhaled. "But what next?" She paused, her eyes narrowing as though trying to read the flicker behind his steady gaze.

"In our country, every fifty-five minutes, one student commits suicide. Commits, not attempts." She paused, gulping. "Why?" She looked at him, her eyes glistening. "Were they not... hard-working, studious, brave enough to keep going until they couldn't?"

Siddharth parted his lips, breath gathering on his tongue, but before the words could roll out, Ira cut in.

"Barrister Babu, I can write a whole book on philosophy and motivational quotes. But that's not how life always works." Her eyes dropped to the floor for a noticeable stretch of silence before lifting again with quiet steadiness. "You... you were the victim's representative in Rafiq Ansari's case, right?"

Siddharth's eyes widened, a smile pulling at his face. "You know that?"

"Of course, I do." She shrugged nonchalantly. "The first time I saw you, I had this feeling-I've seen you somewhere." She extended her hand toward him, palm open, fingers steady.

Siddharth reached out instantly.

But the moment their hands met, Ira spoke up. "Congratulations. Do you think the culprit will stay imprisoned for more than a couple of years? He'll be out in no time and will try to avenge himself. You should be prepared."

Siddharth blinked. His grip loosened. He stared at her as though she had suddenly grown horns, wings, and a tail.

"I'm telling the truth. These things happen," she continued, her voice flat. "My father is an advocate. And in his more than twenty-five years of practice, he's been threatened countless times. As a result, for a very long time, he never let his colleagues or clients know about his marriage or children. Safety, you know."

"Are you serious?" Siddharth's brows shot up. He snatched his hand back from her loosening grip.

Ira glanced at his hand, then at her still-extended one, and quietly placed it back in her lap. "I'm being... realistic." She leaned forward just a little, as if about to share a secret, her tone hushed, eyes narrowed. "You need to be friends with a couple of criminals. Trust me. In times of crisis, they can help you."