The Deal With Devil Dad

Flashback: 5 Years Ago. Police Station.

Inspector Sharma counted the money. Ten lakh rupees. All cash.

"So it’s final, Raj saab?" he said. "We write suicide. Three people. Family dispute. Case closed."

Raj Sharma, Riya's father, adjusted his Rolex. "And my daughter's name stays out of it. She was never on that terrace. She was in hospital. Chickenpox. Got it?"

"Got it," the Inspector said. "But what about the Chacha? He was there too."

Raj smiled. "Chacha is now MLA. He will give you a promotion. We all win. Only the dead boy loses. And he is dead anyway."

They shook hands. Outside, 16 year old Riya was in a police jeep, crying. "Where is Kabir? He fell! He fell!"

A lady doctor came with a syringe. "For her nerves," Raj told the Inspector. "She is in shock. She is imagining things."

The injection went in. Riya's eyes closed. When she woke up, she did not remember a terrace. She did not remember Kabir. She only remembered chickenpox.

Present: Shanti Villa.

Riya threw her phone after reading the old news article Kabir made her find. "You forged my medical records. You told the world I had chickenpox that week."

YES, Kabir typed. YOU WERE IN HOSPITAL FOR 3 DAYS. BUT NOT FOR CHICKENPOX. FOR TRAUMA. AND FOR THE INJECTION.

Riya dialed her father. Her hands shook but her voice was steel.

"Papa."

"Riya. Good. You are coming home?"

"No. I am staying here. And I am writing a book. About a girl whose father sold her memory for ten lakh rupees."

Silence. Then her father's voice was a whisper. "You found out. That ghost told you."

"He is not a ghost. He is my friend. And you killed his father, and you let his Chacha kill him. And you made me forget."

"Riya, listen to me," her father said, urgent now. "That Chacha is MLA now. He is dangerous. If he knows you remember, he will kill you. I protected you! I made you forget to protect you!"

"YOU PROTECTED YOUR MONEY!" Riya screamed. "You let a murderer go free! You called Kabir's death a suicide!"

"Lower your voice," her father hissed. "Do you want to die too? Shut your mouth, delete the book, and come home. Now. This is your last warning."

"Or what, Papa? You will send me another injection?"

The call cut.

Riya looked at the typewriter. It was shaking. Not typing. Just shaking with rage.

HE IS COMING, Kabir finally wrote. NOT YOUR FATHER. CHACHA. FATHER WARNED YOU BECAUSE CHACHA CALLED HIM. THE BOOK CHAPTER YOU SENT MEHTA... MEHTA POSTED A TEASER ONLINE. CHACHA READ IT.

Riya opened Twitter. Publisher Mehta had tweeted: "NEW BOOK TEASER: 'He fell from the terrace on Poornima. I held his hand. Then a boot stomped on me.' COMING SOON!"

It had 10k likes. And one comment from a verified account: @MLA_Chacha: "Who is writing this bakwas?"

Riya's phone fell from her hand. "He knows."

YES. PACK YOUR BAG. WE NEED TO RUN.

"No," Riya said, standing up. She was shaking but she did not sit down. "I ran 5 years ago. Not anymore. Let him come. This time, you have me. And I have you."

The typewriter typed: THEN WE FIGHT. BUT RIYA... IF I TELL YOU TO RUN, YOU RUN. PROMISE ME.

Riya touched the old typewriter. It was cold. "I promise."

Outside, a car engine stopped. Door slammed. Footsteps on gravel.

Chacha was here.

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