[Warehouse – Dhruv's World]
The air in the warehouse was thick with dust, but it was the suffocating fear that hung heavier.
Three men, once untouchable, now sat trembling—hands tied, blood streaking their clothes. Their eyes darted around the dark room, desperately searching for a way out that didn't exist.
In the corner, a single lightbulb swung from the ceiling, casting erratic shadows over their huddled forms.
A door creaked open.
The softest sound, yet in that moment, it was as deafening as a thousand thunderclaps. The men stiffened, eyes snapping toward the entrance.
The figure in the doorway was a silhouette at first, but then the shadows seemed to part, revealing the man who had become more legend than flesh.
Dhruv.
His figure was sleek, imposing—dark clothes drenched in rain, black boots that seemed to absorb the very light around him. The only thing that gleamed was the coldness in his eyes.
The men had heard rumors. Stories whispered in alleyways. But nothing could prepare them for the presence that now filled the room.
One of them, the eldest, tried to speak but the words stuck in his throat. His body trembled uncontrollably as his eyes locked with Dhruv's.
The youngest man, Rajeev, couldn't even make a sound. His mouth was dry, his eyes wide with terror.
"Please…" Rajeev whispered, barely audible, "Please, we didn't know—"
But Dhruv didn't flinch. He didn't even acknowledge the words.
From behind him, the door creaked again. This time, two figures stepped forward. The girl's parents—a mother and father—eyes hollow with grief, their faces pale as death itself.
The mother's voice cracked. "How could you—how could you take away our little girl? She was always kind… always kind to everyone… and this is what you did to her?!"
Her hands shook as she clutched the photo of her daughter, the image of a smiling girl frozen in time. "She had a future… she was supposed to live! You killed her!"
Her husband, fists clenched, stared at the men with a fury that no one could mistake for anything other than a father's broken heart.
"She trusted you! She trusted every one of you!" His voice was hoarse, strained with emotion, but beneath it was a fire that couldn't be extinguished. "You thought you could hide behind your money and connections, but you didn't know what you were dealing with."
The men, once confident, now quivered. The eldest of them, his eyes wet with fear, started to speak again. "We didn't know her… we never… we never wanted—"
But his words were cut off by the sound of a crowbar hitting the concrete floor, its brutal echo filling the room.
Dhruv stood motionless, his presence swallowing everything around him. He stared at them with that same empty look.
The men looked at each other, terror rising as they realized the situation had spiraled far beyond their control.
And then it happened.
Without warning, Dhruv moved. His arm swung out with chilling precision, grabbing the first man by the throat and lifting him off the ground. The man gasped, unable to breathe, his eyes bulging with panic.
The fear in the room was palpable now—raw, primal, like the air before a storm.
One of the men fell to his knees, hands outstretched in a desperate plea. "Please! Please don't—please don't kill us! We'll do anything! Please, we can't—"
Another one joined him, his voice cracking as he begged for his life. "I have children! I have a family! Don't… don't do this to me…"
Dhruv looked at them, his face unreadable, cold as ice. His hand tightened around the man's throat. One snap, and the man would be gone. But Dhruv didn't end it there.
He dropped the first man and turned to the others. In the dim light, they could see the fire in his eyes—the kind that would burn through everything in its path.
The youngest man, Rajeev, was now sobbing, pleading with everything in him. "Please! Please! I'll pay! I'll give you everything I have! You don't understand—I didn't… I didn't want to…"
But his pleas were only met with silence.
Dhruv moved again, his crowbar rising in the air like a silent executioner. The sound of it smashing down onto the concrete floor was deafening. It was the signal.
Without another word, he swung the crowbar with deadly precision—each strike a promise, each hit a warning. His motions were so quick, so clean, that it was over before the men even realized it.
The three men now lay still—broken, battered, and silent. The warehouse seemed to hold its breath for a moment, waiting for the last of their cries to fade.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Dhruv turned to face the girl's parents.
The mother's face was streaked with tears, but she nodded at Dhruv. A silent understanding passed between them. Justice had been done.
The air was thick with a sorrow that would never fade. The girl's parents stood together, their faces etched with loss. They didn't look at the broken men on the floor; they didn't need to. The sight of their daughter's killers was enough to bring the weight of justice crashing down on them.
The mother's trembling hands reached out toward the open sky, her voice barely a whisper but heavy with the grief of a thousand unspoken words. "Look, my darling...Look at how the bastards who took you away from us… look at how they're getting their karma."
She swallowed hard, her throat raw from the tears she had shed. "Look at them. They're gone... they're nothing now...Nothing."
Her husband stood beside her, his eyes locked on the mangled bodies of the men who had torn apart their world. He didn't speak; he couldn't. The words felt so insignificant now. But his hands shook as he took his wife's hand, and together, they gazed at the destruction that had been wrought in the name of their daughter's lost life.
Then, they turned to Dhruv.
Standing in the shadows, a figure that seemed as cold and unyielding as the night itself, Dhruv watched them—silent, unreadable, his bloodied hands now resting at his sides. But there was something in his eyes—a certain clarity in the cruelty he had delivered. He had given them what they needed, even if it had been done in the most brutal way possible.
The father, overwhelmed with a complex blend of grief and gratitude, stepped forward. His voice was hoarse, like a man who had lost all hope, yet now found something he never thought he would. "You've given us what we needed... Justice," he said, his voice trembling, but firm. "You... you gave us our daughter's peace."
The mother nodded, her tears still flowing freely as she walked toward Dhruv. She reached out, trembling, and took his bloodied hands in hers.
"Thank you," she whispered, a soft sob escaping her chest. "Thank you for bringing our daughter's killers to justice. You've given us a chance to heal. We will never forget you."
Dhruv didn't flinch. He didn't speak. His hands, stained with the blood of those who had wronged, remained motionless in the mother's trembling grasp. He knew this moment wasn't about words; it wasn't about anything other than the fact that, for a moment, in the wake of all the chaos, he had done what was right in the only way he knew how.
He turned slightly, nodding toward the men who stood a few feet away. One of his men stepped forward at the signal.
"Take them home. Keep them safe."
The parents didn't speak another word. They just clung to each other, the weight of what had just transpired sinking into their bones. Slowly, Dhruv's men approached, and with one final glance at him, they led the girl's parents away.
Dhruv stood there, alone once more, watching as they disappeared into the distance. His work here was done.
As the couple was escorted away, their sobs slowly faded into the distance, swallowed by the silence of the night. Blood pooled around the corpses, the cold wind the only witness to what had just unfolded.
Dhruv stood still for a moment, then calmly pulled out a black cloth from his coat pocket. Without haste, he wiped his bloodstained hands—each stroke deliberate, meticulous. The warmth of the blood didn't faze him. He had done worse. He had seen worse. This… this was mercy compared to what he was capable of.
Once done, he tossed the cloth to the ground beside the lifeless bodies, not even sparing them a glance.
He turned to his men, his voice sharp and emotionless. "Clean the place. No traces. Burn everything."
They nodded instantly, springing into motion like shadows obeying their master.
Dhruv walked to his car parked a few feet away. The door opened silently, and he slipped into the driver's seat like a phantom returning to the dark. He pulled the door shut with a soft click, isolating himself from the chaos behind him.
Inside, silence wrapped around him.
He leaned back in his seat, head resting against the cushion, and closed his eyes.
The engine was silent.
So was the world.
He closed his eyes, and there she was again.
Shruti.
The way she smiled at him. The way she trusted him.
And the way he destroyed it.
The memory of that night was a blur—heat, confusion, the haze of drugs clouding his mind. But what he remembered was enough. Enough to know he crossed a line he swore he never would.
And the next morning… she was gone.
No messages. No calls. No goodbyes.
Just silence.
He had searched for her. Hunted for answers.
But in the end, he stopped.
Because deep down, he believed he deserved her leaving.
"You trusted me… and I failed you."
His chest tightened, the familiar guilt anchoring itself deeper.
He thought punishing monsters tonight would silence it.
It didn't.
It never did.
"When will you forgive me, Shruti?"
"Will you ever?"
He opened his eyes, the same coldness hardening his features. The same emptiness sitting heavy in his chest.
Starting the engine, Dhruv drove away — from the blood, from the screams, from the lives he ended.
But no matter how far he went, he could never outrun her absence.
The car hummed steadily as Dhruv sped through the deserted streets, the city lights flickering past like dying stars. His mind stayed locked in that hollow space where her absence lived.
Then, his phone buzzed against the dashboard, slicing through the heavy silence.
Caller ID: Rajveer.
Jaw tightening, Dhruv picked up the call without shifting his gaze from the road.
He didn't speak first. He never did.
Rajveer's voice came through, low and heavy, but there was a caution in it—one only Dhruv could command from the man most others feared.
"Where are you?"
A brief pause. Dhruv's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.
"Cleaning up." His voice was cold, detached, as if he hadn't just delivered death with his own hands.
On the other end, Rajveer's voice crackled to life, hesitant but controlled.
"Dhruv… I need to ask you something."
Dhruv's brows furrowed, his instincts on edge. His father's tone was different—more careful than usual. There was something important, something that made Dhruv's gut twist with anticipation.
"What is it?" Dhruv's voice hardened. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
Rajveer paused, clearly treading carefully. Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, more measured.
"Do you know Sruthi's date of birth... and the time she was born?"
Dhruv's heart stopped. The words hit him like a freight train, his eyes going wide. His fingers instinctively clenched around the steering wheel, but he didn't dare respond immediately. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating.
"Say that again," Dhruv rasped, voice barely above a whisper, his throat tight. The sound of his father's name on his lips felt foreign.
Rajveer hesitated again.
"I asked if you knew her birthdate... and the time she was born," Rajveer repeated, but his voice betrayed the same tension that had settled in Dhruv's chest.
Dhruv slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt, sending a jolt through his entire body. He stared out the windshield, seeing nothing, yet hearing everything. The words didn't sink in immediately—his mind was reeling, scrambling to make sense of it.
"Why are you asking me this?" His voice had a harsh edge, as if the question itself was too painful to ask. His grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. "What do you know about her?"
Silence stretched between them, and Dhruv's breath quickened. The questions began to spill from him, raw and desperate, no longer allowing for pauses.
"Did you find her?" His voice cracked, each word dripping with urgency. "Where is she? Tell me, damn it. Is she alive? Is she safe? Where is she?"
He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his chest tightening with every second that passed without an answer.
"What did you find? Did you find any clues?" His voice grew sharper, more demanding, his hands now shaking as he gripped the wheel. "Is there anything you know about her? Anything at all?"
The words tumbled out, relentless and unyielding.
"Has anyone seen her? Do you know where she is? Do you know if she's okay?"
His frustration began to bleed through, his control slipping with each question.
"No, You wouldn't be asking me this if you found her," Dhruv muttered under his breath, his voice low and cold. "So what the hell did you find? What's going on?"
His knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel, his pulse pounding in his ears. The questions didn't stop, flooding his mind like an unstoppable wave. His eyes burned with the need for answers.
"Where did you look?" he demanded, his voice sharper now, every word cutting through the air like a blade. "Who did you talk to?"
The silence on the other end gnawed at him, fraying his nerves. Dhruv's grip tightened on the wheel, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him harder than ever.
"Why the hell aren't you saying anything?" he snapped, his voice rising, no longer controlled. "What's going on? Why are you silent?"
He could feel his chest tightening with each passing second, each unanswered question driving him closer to the edge.
"Is she hurt?" Dhruv's voice cracked, a vulnerability slipping through his usual cold demeanor. He swallowed hard, desperately clinging to whatever was left of his composure. "Tell me, is she okay?"
The silence stretched on, and Dhruv felt himself unraveling, the panic beginning to claw at him as he waited for the answer.
Dhruv's grip on the phone tightened, the words "Where are you?" coming out more forcefully than he intended. He could feel the urgency bubbling up in his chest, a knot tightening in his stomach. Rajveer's response only made it worse.
"Rana's house."
A cold shiver ran down Dhruv's spine. The way Rajveer had said it—there was something off, a hesitation in his voice that didn't sit right with Dhruv. His mind raced as every unanswered question about Shruti flooded his thoughts, the mystery surrounding her, the hidden pieces he couldn't seem to put together.
"I'll be there in an hour," Dhruv said, the words clipped. His pulse was pounding in his ears, his eyes narrowing with a single, consuming thought—he had to see Rajveer in person. He couldn't trust anything over the phone, not with the way Rajveer was avoiding his questions.
Before Rajveer could offer any response, Dhruv ended the call sharply, the phone slipping from his hand as he rushed to grab his keys. His breath was shallow, his body already moving on its own accord, fueled by a gut instinct that something wasn't right.
His mind raced as he sped through the streets, barely registering the passing buildings. Every part of him was focused on one thing—getting to Rajveer, confronting him face-to-face. Dhruv's thoughts were scattered, his frustration mounting as he replayed the conversation over and over in his head. The lack of transparency, the deflection—it all pointed to something hidden, something Rajveer wasn't telling him about Shruti.
The fear gnawed at him, but it was the need for answers that pushed him forward. His emotions were raw, his body tense, but Dhruv couldn't allow himself to pause. He was determined to force the truth out of Rajveer, even if it meant breaking through every wall the man had built around his words.