Episode ------48
Rain battered Kolkata's ancient streets, turning blood to rust and secrets to mud.
Inside Sharma & Sons Press, Dev's vision blurred around edges soaked in pain. Blood dripped from his temple onto half‑printed sheets.
---
Boots thudded on cracked tiles. Malik's man, knife gleaming, raised it high.
"You should've stayed behind your desk, reporter," he snarled.
Dev's breath rattled, lungs burning. His hand tightened on the single stack of pages he'd torn free.
Even if I die, let these words live.
---
The blade slashed down — pain exploded white‑hot across Dev's ribs. He crumpled, pages scattering like dying birds.
---
"Check the press!" another man barked.
They kicked aside ink buckets, ripped fresh pages, stomped what they found. The old machine rattled to a dying halt, rollers spitting torn parchment.
---
Dev's heartbeat slowed, pulse drowning under rain and blood.
But in trembling fingers, one page clung to his chest — Malik's shipment list, blood‑smeared but legible.
Dev's lips moved in a prayer he half‑believed: "Let someone find it… please."
---
Outside:
Wind caught torn sheets, rain driving them through broken shutters.
One page snagged on barbed wire, another swept down a narrow lane — words running where ink met blood.
---
Farther still, a barefoot boy selling tea found a half‑printed sheet drifting near his cart.
Eyes wide, he tucked it under his shirt, never guessing what truth lay on soaked paper.
---
At the ruins:
Aria's breath rasped, every inhale sharper than broken glass. The tallest attacker raised his knife, rain sliding off steel.
"Say goodbye, doctor," he mocked.
---
Aria's eyelids fluttered. Memories surged behind cracked vision:
Raian's voice, rough yet gentle. "What scares you more? The darkness you see in me… or in yourself?"
His blood on her hands. Her tears on his cheek.
Don't let it end here.
---
The attacker's arm tensed, blade poised.
---
A shout split the rain.
Ayan crashed into the man, shoulder slamming with desperate force. Steel scraped stone; the knife skittered away.
---
Lina, bruised but fierce, swung a rusted rod into another man's side. Bone crunched; the attacker fell, gasping.
Bashir staggered behind, pistol shaking in blood‑streaked hands.
---
The last attacker turned, knife raised — but Bashir fired.
The shot cracked louder than thunder. The man crumpled, rain pooling around him.
---
Aria's gaze blurred, lips parted.
"Ayan…" she whispered, voice like torn silk.
Ayan dropped beside her, eyes wild with terror and relief. "Aria! Stay with me!"
---
Her pulse fluttered, thin and fading. Rain mingled with blood on her cheek.
Lina pressed shaking fingers to her throat. "She's alive — but barely!"
---
Ayan's voice broke. "Please… don't leave. He won't survive it. I won't."
Aria's lashes flickered; breath caught in her throat. Raian…
---
In the prison cell:
Raian's trembling hand set down the ledger of betrayal: Malik's routes, bribes, names.
The warden's smile was cold triumph. "Well done, Raian Mehra."
---
Raian's voice came ragged, raw: "Now… keep your word. She walks free."
The warden nodded to a guard. "Send word. Doctor Kaur leaves the list. No harm."
---
As the door slammed shut, Raian sagged against chains. His vision blurred with guilt.
I gave up my father's legacy… for her life.
And for the first time, he wondered: Will she forgive me, if she knows?
---
In Kolkata's maze of alleys:
Rain drove half‑printed pages along gutters. Names, dates, secrets spilled across stone.
A pickpocket paused, eyes catching ink: Malik's shipment schedule.
Brows knitted; he folded the paper, slipping it into his coat.
Even a gutter rat could smell power in names whispered only by men with guns.
---
At the ruins:
Aria's breath rasped, body limp. Lina pressed cloth to her scalp wound; Bashir tore sleeves for bandages.
Ayan's hands shook. "She needs a hospital."
"They'll be waiting," Bashir warned. "Malik's men control the gates."
---
Aria's eyelids fluttered. Her whisper barely rose above rain: "Raian…"
Ayan gripped her cold hand. "He's alive. You'll see him. Stay awake."
---
Across the river:
Malik stood under a rusted awning, suit unmarked by rain. A phone buzzed in his hand.
"Boss," the caller rasped, "the print shop burned, but some pages got out."
Malik's jaw tightened. "Find every scrap. Anyone caught reading — silence them."
---
He turned, gaze colder than steel. "And what of the reporter?"
"Dead, boss."
Malik's nod was a funeral. "Then kill his story too."
---
In the print shop:
Smoke coiled where rain couldn't reach. Dev lay sprawled against shattered wood, eyes glassy.
Blood seeped from still wounds, mixing with ink on the floor.
---
Yet even in death, one page clung under his arm — truth printed, barely dry.
---
At the ruins:
Thunder cracked overhead. Aria's breath faltered; her pulse skipped.
"Aria! Look at me!" Ayan begged, voice raw.
She blinked once, lips parting. "Raian…"
---
In prison:
Raian's heartbeat stumbled, as if some invisible thread tugged taut.
Aria…
He lurched against chains, iron biting wrists. "Please," he rasped to empty stone, voice breaking, "don't die."
---
Beyond rain and stone:
Blood met ink on torn pages. Secrets flew into alleys. And love, stubborn and bruised, clung to life.
Between truth and silence, hope flickered — fragile, but not yet gone.
---
Teaser for Episode 49:
Aria hovers at the edge of death; Raian risks everything for a glimpse of her fate. Malik tightens his grip — but truth, once spilled, refuses to drown.