Every Flame | ✔️

66 | a history of sins

"Sach kadwa nahi, zehreela hota hai"

~ meher mathur raizada

~ Meher ~

Mumbai, India

The pendrive felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried the weight of every dark secret I wasn't ready to confront. It lay in my palm, deceptively small, its edges pressing into my skin, a cruel reminder of what it held inside. I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips, an uneven rhythm of hesitation and fear. My laptop was open, the screen casting a dim glow in the darkened room, waiting, expecting. The cursor blinked at me, pulsing in an almost taunting manner.

Two hours had passed, and yet I had done nothing but stare at the empty screen, my fingers ghosting over the keyboard, unable to take the next step. It was a simple action— plug the device in, open the files, watch whatever was stored inside.

But simplicity didn't always mean easy. This was different. This wasn't just any case, any murder, any set of victims. This was my life, unraveling one piece at a time, and I wasn't sure I was ready to see how deep the rot went.

I shifted on the bed, tucking my knees up to my chest, pressing the pendrive between my fingers as though the pressure would somehow make the decision easier. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating even, as though the very walls carried the weight of the truths I was afraid to uncover.

I had spent so much time chasing answers, hunting for justice, and yet now, when the truth was within reach, I hesitated. Because deep down, I knew. I knew that once I saw what was inside this drive, there would be no going back.

No more guessing, no more assumptions— just cold, hard reality staring me in the face. And reality was always far more terrifying than any speculation.

Ahaan. Rishabh. Utkarsh.

Their names drifted through my mind, each one a ghost of the past, a reminder of the people they were and the monsters they had become. All three of them had been powerful in their own ways, untouchable in the eyes of the world. But someone had touched them. Someone had decided they didn't deserve to walk free, that they didn't deserve another breath.

The brutality of their deaths wasn't just random violence— it was personal. Calculated. Ahaan's mutilated body, Rishabh's silenced secrets, Utkarsh's gruesome end. All three of them had sins written in blood, and one by one, they had been erased.

The masked man had handed me this pendrive like it was a gift. A final offering before vanishing into the shadows. But was it truly a gift, or was it another trap? A new game, one where I was the only player left? The thought made my stomach twist. I had been playing this dangerous game for too long, but I still didn't know whether I was the hunter or the prey.

A sharp exhale left my lips, and I rubbed my temples, trying to push back the exhaustion creeping into my bones. My mind was a mess, tangled in questions that had no easy answers. The fear wasn't just about what I would see. It was about what it would mean.