Chapter 4: New Pages, Old Wars
Aanya’s POV
It was a breezy Saturday afternoon, and the college corridors felt unusually empty. With classes off for the weekend, most students had retreated to their hostels or ventured out into the city. Aanya had chosen the latter, not to relax or shop, but to find a part-time job.
She had spotted an advertisement pinned to the college notice board a few days ago. It was a simple, handwritten note: *"Looking for a part-time assistant for a local library. Evening shift. Inquire within."
The address was scribbled at the bottom, and Aanya had carefully torn the paper to keep with her. That little slip of hope had stayed in her wallet, like a quiet promise. Today, she finally mustered the courage to follow it.
Winding through the modest lanes of the old neighborhood, Aanya arrived at the library mentioned in the note. It was nestled between a rundown stationery shop and a tea stall, its old wooden sign reading: "Gyan Prakash Library – Estd. 1963". The building looked aged but well-kept, its windows dusty yet charming.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The scent of old paper and ink filled the air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with books of all sizes and genres. At the counter sat an elderly man, spectacles perched on his nose, reading a yellowed copy of a Hindi classic.
"Namaste," Aanya said softly.
The man looked up, a warm smile spreading across his wrinkled face. "Namaste, beta. How can I help you?"
She hesitated before pulling out the advertisement. "I saw this notice about the part-time assistant job. I... I was wondering if it's still available."
He took the paper and nodded. "Yes, it is. Are you a student?"
"Yes, first year. Humanities," she replied.
He looked her up and down, then smiled again. "You seem sincere. The evening shift is from 4 to 8 PM. Mostly organizing books, issuing them, and helping readers. It's quiet work. Will that suit you?"
Aanya nodded quickly, trying to hide her excitement. "Yes, sir. I would be very grateful."
"Then welcome to Gyan Prakash Library," he said, reaching out his hand. "I'm Mr. Rao."
Aanya shook his hand, barely able to contain her joy. Her heart swelled with pride—not just for getting the job, but for doing it on her own.
That evening, when she returned to the hostel, she rushed into the room and found Tara flipping through a magazine.
"Guess what! I got the library job!" Aanya beamed.
Tara sat up. "Shut up! You serious? That’s amazing! Finally, you won’t be broke like me."
They both burst into laughter, the sound echoing in their tiny room. Aanya told her everything, from the dusty shelves to Mr. Bhardwaj’s kind eyes.
"This means I can finally help Bhaiya with some expenses," she said, her voice filled with hope.
Raaz’s POV
The room was filled with smoke and fury.
Raaz stood in the dim warehouse, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. The broken crates at his feet leaked powder and glass. One of his lieutenants knelt before him, blood on his lip and fear in his eyes.
"Who did this?" Raaz asked quietly.
No one answered. The silence was more terrifying than a scream.
His black eyes burned with rage. "This consignment was worth crores. You let it burn. You let them make a mockery of my name."
The man began to plead, "bhai, we were ambushed—"
Raaz moved before the sentence could finish. A sharp, brutal punch. Then another. The man collapsed with a cry.
"I want names," Raaz hissed. "I want them bleeding on my floor before sunrise. Bribe the cops, double the watch on the docks. I want every politician in my pocket to remember who runs this city."
His men nodded, scrambling into action. But Raaz didn’t move. He stood there, staring into the smoke. Somewhere in the chaos, a memory of soft brown eyes flickered—the girl who had saved his life days ago.
He still didn’t know who she was. But he would find her. He had to.
Even if he had to turn the whole city inside out.
Back in her room, Aanya curled up with her books, a peaceful smile on her face.
Across the city, Raaz plotted revenge in the darkness.
Their worlds didn’t know it yet, but they were already spinning toward each other.
The room was dimly lit, the single overhead bulb swinging slightly, casting shadows that danced across the blood-streaked floor. The muffled sound of dripping water echoed off the concrete walls. Yash stood with arms crossed, expression blank. Raaz sat calmly in a worn leather chair, legs crossed, as the mole knelt before him—bruised, bound, and shaking.
Raaz (calmly):
"You know what disappoints me the most, Kunal?"
Kunal (trembling):
"P-please... I didn't mean to... I was scared, Raaz bhai..."
Raaz (coldly):
"Scared? You should be. But not of Kartik. Of me. You ate at my table. Took my money. Called me 'bhai.' And then handed over my route plans to the man who wants me dead?"
Kunal:
"I was desperate. He offered more... I thought I could manage both sides—"
Raaz (sharply):
"Manage both sides?"
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"This is not a stock exchange, Kunal. This is the underworld. Loyalty is life. Betrayal is death."
Yash (stepping closer):
"We lost three men. And a shipment worth crores. Because you wanted a little extra cash?"
Kunal (sobbing):
"I swear... I didn’t know they'd attack! I thought... it was just info..."
Raaz (cutting in, ice in his voice):
"Information kills, Kunal."
He stood, walking around him slowly like a predator sizing up wounded prey.
Raaz:
"You think I built this empire on kindness? On second chances?"
Kunal's sobs grew louder. Blood dripped from a gash on his temple.
Kunal:
"I have a daughter... please, let me go. I’ll disappear. I’ll never cross you again, Raaz bhai. Please..."
Raaz stopped behind him, silent for a moment. Then leaned close to his ear.
Raaz (whispering):
"And when Kartik comes again, who will he buy next? Maybe Yash? Maybe my guards? Should I start doubting all of them too?"
Kunal froze. Yash watched silently, jaw tight.
Raaz (stepping back):
"I don’t run a business with cracks. I bury them."
He gave a simple nod to Yash.
Yash (stoic):
"You heard him."
Kunal screamed once before Yash dragged him away into the shadows. The warehouse echoed with silence once more.
Raaz stood there, unmoved, staring into the darkness.
Raaz (to himself):
"Let them come. One by one. I’ll bury them all."