Chapter 3: Shadows in the Light
It had been a long day. The lecture halls felt like an oven, the air thick with restless energy as exams loomed closer. Aanya had returned to the hostel tired but determined. Her books were open, highlighter in hand, when Tara pushed the door open with a groan.
"Yaar, I’m done with today," Tara huffed, tossing her bag onto the bed. "Professor Desai’s voice should be declared a sleep-inducing agent."
Aanya chuckled softly. "You almost snored in class."
"That’s because I was trying to escape that boredom dimension," Tara grinned and flopped down beside her. After a moment, her smile faded. "Hey... can I ask you something?"
Aanya nodded, sensing a shift in Tara’s tone.
"Do you ever wonder why Meher is always so... distant? Rude, even?"
Aanya hesitated. "I thought maybe she just didn’t like me."
Tara shook her head. "It’s not just you. She keeps everyone at arm’s length. But... I know something about her."
Aanya looked up, curious.
Tara lowered her voice, glancing toward the closed door as if to make sure no one was listening. "She wasn’t always like this. Back in her first year, she used to be one of the most cheerful girls in our batch. Confident, always organizing fests, top of her class."
Aanya blinked. That didn’t sound like the aloof, sharp-edged Meher she had met.
"But then something happened," Tara continued, her voice growing softer. "She fell in love—with a professor. Not just any professor, but someone powerful. Respected. He was married, Aanya. But he led her on, made promises. Meher was young, blinded by it."
Aanya’s eyes widened.
"She thought he would leave his wife. She kept it hidden for months. But one day, someone found out. The rumors spread like wildfire. She was humiliated, called names, her scholarship was nearly revoked."
Aanya swallowed hard. "That’s horrible."
Tara nodded. "The professor resigned before an inquiry could begin, saved his name. But Meher was left to face the fallout. Alone."
Aanya’s heart twisted. "That’s why she doesn’t trust anyone."
"Exactly," Tara said. "She rebuilt herself from that mess. But the softness she once had—she buried it. Now she’s all sharp edges and walls."
Aanya fell silent for a while, staring at the soft rustle of the curtain.
"No one deserves that," she whispered.
"She was betrayed by someone she believed in," Tara said. "That kind of pain changes people."
There was a long pause.
"I won’t judge her anymore," Aanya finally said.
Tara gave her a small, sad smile. "Neither do I. We all have shadows we carry."
Outside their window, the city buzzed on. But inside their little room, a quiet understanding bloomed—a soft space carved from shared pain, and the courage it takes to survive it.
The city never truly slept. It simply hid its sins better in the daylight.
Raaz stood on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the night wind whipping his coat as he stared down at the streets below—his streets. Beneath the illusion of law and order, his empire thrived in silence.
Inside the building, a dozen monitors flickered—live feeds from hidden cameras across warehouses, docks, clubs, and luxury apartments. Business was good. But peace was an illusion.
His rival, Kartik Singh, had been getting bolder. Shipping weapons through Raaz’s territory. Recruiting from his own loyal men. Testing him.
That wouldn’t go unanswered.
Raaz turned and descended into the shadows of his command center, where Zubair waited.
"The deal with the Port Commissioner?" Raaz asked, lighting a cigarette.
Zubair handed him a sealed folder. "Done. Fifty lakhs. He’ll shut down Kartik’s next consignment."
Raaz smiled coldly. "And the ACP?"
"Paid off. Gave him footage of Kartik’s boys roughing up a politician’s son. He’s on our side now."
Bribes were just the beginning. Raaz played a deeper game.
He’d arranged for one of Kartik’s own men to flip—a desperate cousin with gambling debts. Tonight, he’d be arrested with fake documents and a planted gun. By morning, he’d be a ‘terror suspect’ plastered on every news channel.
Raaz didn’t need to shoot to kill. He could ruin a man with a whisper.
Later, at a luxury bar, a senior MLA from the ruling party sat across from him. They clinked glasses over silent deals. In return for turning a blind eye, Raaz would ensure ‘donations’ flowed before the elections. Everyone had a price.
By dawn, Kartik’s network would be bleeding. His warehouse raided, shipments confiscated, men arrested.
Raaz stood alone on his penthouse balcony, city lights shimmering like broken promises below.
This wasn’t just business. It was survival. Power was fragile—and Raaz never let his guard down.
As the first light touched the skyline, he whispered, more to himself than anyone:
"In this world, it’s not the strongest who survive—it’s the most ruthless."
And Raaz had no equal in that regard.
The soft sun peeked through the hostel window, scattering a golden haze across the room. The college was officially closed for a day, giving students a much-needed break. Aanya tied her hair into a loose braid and looked at Tara, who was busy stuffing her tote bag with sunscreen and a pair of sunglasses.
"You ready?" Tara asked, already slipping into her sandals.
Aanya nodded, tucking a few notes into her small purse. "It’ll be nice to get out for a bit. This week’s been exhausting."
The two girls stepped out into the humid Mumbai morning, the streets buzzing with life as usual. They chatted and laughed, enjoying the break from assignments and library deadlines.
But as they walked past a busy signal, their laughter faded.
Aanya stopped abruptly. Across the road, near a dimly lit alley beside a rundown shop, a group of men stood in a semicircle. At first glance, it seemed like a heated argument—but then Aanya saw one of them punch a man in the gut, hard. The victim crumpled to the ground as the others took turns hitting him, merciless and silent.
She froze.
Tara grasped her hand, tugging her forward. "Don’t stare. Keep walking."
"But—he's—"
"I know," Tara said grimly, her tone tight. "Come on. You don’t want to get involved."
As they crossed the signal and moved away from the scene, Aanya couldn’t stop glancing back.
"Who were they?" she asked quietly.
Tara let out a sigh. "Mafia. Or their henchmen. Mumbai has them in every corner—politicians, businessmen, even cops in their pocket. That guy must’ve crossed someone important."
Aanya’s stomach churned. The violence, the indifference—it felt wrong. Unnatural. "How can people just let this happen?"
"Because most are afraid. And some are paid to look away," Tara said. "It’s a dirty world, Aanya. One most of us pretend not to see."
Aanya didn’t respond. Her thoughts were spinning. She hated the helplessness, the injustice. But as they walked through the mall's glass doors, the world changed. Bright lights, shops filled with colors and laughter, soft music playing from speakers—it was a surreal contrast.
They browsed shops, tried on sunglasses, even shared a chocolate sundae at the food court. Tara bought a new handbag on sale, and Aanya picked out a second-hand novel from a stall. But even as she smiled, the image of the man being beaten stayed with her.
Back at the hostel that evening, Aanya sat on her bed, lost in thought. Her father’s death, her mother’s absence—everything had taught her one thing: she couldn’t afford to be helpless. She had her younger brother to think of. She had to be strong.
Tara looked over from her bed. "You okay?"
Aanya nodded slowly. "I think... I want to take a job. Maybe at the library. I need to start saving. For tuition, for my brother’s school. Everything."
Tara’s eyes softened. "That’s a big step. But I’m proud of you."
Aanya gave a small smile. "I want to stand on my own. Even if the world is dark... I want to make my place in the light."
Outside, the city was alive with secrets and shadows. But in her heart, Aanya planted a quiet resolve. A step toward independence. A step toward survival.
And unknowingly, a step closer to the world Raaz ruled.