The sky over Mumbai hung low and heavy, reflecting Spandana's state of mind. The suicide of the girl from the chain case had splintered something deep inside her something she had tried to keep intact even through years of fieldwork. She hadn't gone home in over 24 hours. Her phone buzzed endlessly with missed calls from her mother back in Hyderabad.
Her muscles trembled from rage, not exhaustion.
But she couldn't answer. Not now. Not until justice had a face She had caught the monster. She had dragged him, bruised and screaming, out of a public bus, every passenger watching in stunned silence as she forced him to the ground and cuffed him. She had brought him to justice or so she thought.
The case was handed over to compromised officers, the evidence conveniently lost, and the man smirked in the courtroom, as if mocking her resolve. Spandana wasn't suspended for what she did to him in custody though she expected that. She was suspended for being too passionate, too unstable, too... loud for their liking.
She stormed into the gym that evening without a word. Tied her hands, shoved in her mouthguard, and faced the punching bag like it had insulted her entire existence.
"You'll rot in hell," she whispered under her breath, imagining every man she failed to get punished. "Every one of you."
When she finally collapsed to her knees, breath heaving, blood dripping onto the gym mat, she still didn't cry. She just sat there.
Before he could react, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into the aisle. Passengers gasped, one started recording. She didn't care.
Then her phone vibrated.
she growled and it was a video call from home. Her mother, father, and sister, all huddled in the frame, faces tense.
her mother said first, voice trembling. "Where were you yesterday? We couldn't reach you. We were scared—what is happening there?"
Spandana sighed and ran a shaking hand through her sweat-drenched hair.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Don't lie to us," her father said sternly. "You've lost weight. Your hands are... bleeding. What happened?"
"Come back to Hyderabad," her mother finally whispered. "You don't have to fight all this alone, Spandana. You're not well."
"I'm not running," Spandana said sharply. "I'm not giving them that satisfaction."
Her sister's eyes welled up with tears. "Akka... I just want you to be safe. You don't sound like you anymore."
Crack.
"I am me," Spandana said, her voice breaking a little. "This is me when I'm not chained by the damn rules. They don't want justice. They want obedience."
The next morning, a memo arrived at her desk.
Subject: Mental Evaluation Request for Officer Spandana Reddy
The junior constables outside didn't interfere. They looked away. They knew what this was.
"Due to erratic and emotionally volatile behavior observed during active duty, Officer Spandana Reddy is hereby mandated to consult departmental psychological professionals. Effective immediately, she is unfit for field duty for a period of one month."
Afterward, she sat alone in the darkness of the interrogation room, her shirt bloodstained, eyes empty Unstable. That's what they called her.
Her hands followed, slamming down onto her desk, knocking everything over.
Spandana didn't go home that night either. She stayed in the corner of the police quarters, a blanket around her and guilt curled inside her ribs like a second heartbeat. Justice hadn't been served yet but punishment had begun.
—
And it wasn't over Two hours later, Spandana sat in the office of Dr. Mitali Rao, a government-assigned psychologist. The woman wore glasses, spoke in soft tones, and had Spandana's file open in front of her.
"I read your history. Your performance as a cadet was exceptional. You're fearless, bold, and meticulous. But Spandana, when did it start feeling like the system was your enemy?"
"When they made it impossible to protect victims without risking my job."
"Anger is natural," Dr. Rao said. "But it's consuming you. You've begun taking justice into your own hands. That scares the department. You scare them."
"I don't care if I scare them," Spandana said. "I care that girls are dying while these men walk around in SUVs."
"Do you want help?" the doctor asked softly.
"I want freedom," Spandana replied. "To burn their system to ash and build something that works."
Dr. Rao scribbled something into her notebook.
"You're on mandatory medical leave. But you'll come here every week. And if you miss even one session, your suspension will become termination."
Spandana stared at her.
"Fine. But don't expect me to open up. I've seen more horror than this city admits exists."
"I know," Dr. Rao said. "And it's killing you from the inside."
—
That night, Spandana sat on the floor of her empty apartment. The silence was deafening. Her phone was gone, her badge suspended, her fists sore, and her purpose questioned.
But her fire hadn't gone out. It never would.
They could call her unstable. They could call her broken.
But they'd never call her silent.