First Love

"Aunt, just take a closer look. You'll see the difference for yourself."

Rim, puzzled, stepped forward in Mohit's place. She studied the painting carefully, and this time, the moment her eyes fell upon it, they widened in shock.

The scene had changed. What she had previously perceived as a burning factory in the heart of a jungle now depicted something far more sinister—enslaved men and women, shackled and awaiting their turn for sacrifice.

Amazed, she murmured, "Incredible! This is anamorphic art. Who created this? Where did you find it? I've never seen it here before."

A faint smile played on Mohit's lips. This was the very painting Devika had made in school—one she had left behind, never returning to claim. Mohit, drawn to its eerie brilliance, had brought it to Singhania Palace, unable to part with it.

"Aunt, there's something even more astonishing," he said. "This masterpiece was created by a girl from my school. With both hands… in just five minutes."

Rim was rendered speechless. Anamorphic art—a form of illusion painting that shifted perspectives depending on the viewer's angle—was as rare as it was challenging.

The notion that a mere schoolgirl had crafted something of such profound depth, that too in mere minutes, seemed utterly implausible.

"Mohit, you must be joking! A high school student achieving this level of complexity? And with both hands? Even though I don't know much about painting, I've heard grandfather speak of anamorphic art. It's not something just anyone can master—certainly not a teenager."

Mohit chuckled. "I understand why you'd think that, but it's the truth. I saw her do it with my own eyes. She was extraordinary. As captivating as she was talented. I've never met anyone quite like her."

Devika's careless grace, her lazy elegance, and those unreadable eyes had left an imprint on Mohit's mind—so much so that, without realizing it, he was utterly enthralled.

Rim nudged him playfully. "What's this, nephew? You seem quite taken with this girl. Could it be love at first sight? At your age, it wouldn't be surprising."

"Aunt, come on!"

"Oh, don't be shy. If it's love at first sight, just admit it. Your aunt will gladly help you win her over."

"Aunt, you're reading too much into this. There's nothing like that."

"Oh, but if there is, you should act fast. Otherwise, by the time you realize your feelings, someone else might have already stolen your first love."

Mohit, eager to change the topic, quickly said, "Alright, let's go. Didn't Dad call me? We should meet him."

Rim smiled knowingly. She could see the truth in his eyes.

They stepped into the lavish living area, where Anand Singhania and the rest of the family were deep in discussion, finalizing the engagement preparations.

Despite the Singhania family's vast lineage, only a few key members currently resided at the palace—Sharvik's grandparents, Rim, Mohit, and Mohit's parents, Anil and Savitri Singhania.

Mohit approached his father. "Dad, you called for me?"

Anil nodded. "Yes. Your uncle's engagement is on the 27th. Speak to the designer and have your attire prepared as per your liking. They'll be here soon. Until then, stay and join us."

Mohit took a seat, then hesitated before voicing his thoughts. "I'll handle it. But… is Uncle really going through with this? Marrying an underage girl? Has he agreed?"

Unbeknownst to him, the girl who had captivated his mind was the very same one about to become his uncle's wife.

For Mohit, the idea of his uncle marrying a girl eleven years his junior had always seemed absurd. He had assumed Sharvik would put an end to this arrangement the moment he returned. After all, Sharvik's word was final in the family. But to his surprise, that hadn't happened.

Grandmother smiled. "Yes, your uncle has agreed. The engagement is set for the 27th. I've already consulted the priest for an auspicious wedding date. Once Sharvik returns, we'll finalize the rest."

Mohit wasn't the only one displeased. Rim, too, looked frustrated. Neither of them approved of Sharvik marrying Surbhi.

Rim leaned in beside her grandmother. "Grandma, all these years, we heard that Brother would marry Devika Oberoi. What happened to the promise between the Oberoi and Singhania families? Won't the Oberois be outraged when they hear of this? Why risk making enemies over a mere girl?"

Years ago, Devika's grandfather, Raghunath Oberoi, and Sharvik's grandfather, Anand Singhania, had been the closest of friends. When Devika and Sharvik were just ten or eleven, their families had sealed a pact—a promise of marriage, binding their legacies together.

Neither Rim nor Mohit could fathom why their grandfather was now breaking that vow, replacing Devika with a nameless girl.

Anil and Savitri had pondered the same question for days, but neither Grandfather nor Grandmother had given them any answers.

Anand Singhania's voice was calm but firm. "You needn't concern yourselves with this. The Oberois will not object. Just focus on the engagement. I want it to be an event that the world remembers."

Rim wanted to argue further, but just then, her phone rang.

She glanced at the caller ID, then stood up. "Excuse me."

Stepping aside, she answered the call. "Pratap, why are you calling so late? Is everything alright?"

A grave voice responded. "Madam, if possible, please come to the station immediately. You recall the serial killing cases we tracked in Varanasi, Kolkata, and Bihar? Last night, a similar case emerged in Delhi. I believe the killer has arrived here. You need to review the case personally. The school watchman at Delhi Public School was murdered last night—his body marked with the same patterns we saw in Varanasi, Bihar, and Kolkata."

Rim's expression darkened.

She was no ordinary woman. Behind her poised elegance lay the mind of a highly trained officer in India's secret division. For weeks, her department had been chasing a ghost—a serial murderer whose methods were as chilling as they were methodical.

And now, that ghost had arrived in Delhi.

Her voice was steady. "I'm on my way. Wait for me."

Dusk Escape

Assistant Kapil entered the study, carrying a stack of files. Across the room, Sharvik lounged in his chair, his posture effortlessly composed.

His eyes remained closed, a smoldering cigar resting between his lips. Wisps of smoke curled around his chiseled features, cloaking him in an air of mystery.

Despite sensing Kapil's presence, Sharvik made no effort to acknowledge him. The way the smoke drifted from his nose gave him the aura of a dragon at rest—dangerous yet unbothered.

Kapil placed the files on the desk and spoke. "Boss, the man I sent to Madam's village in Himachal has returned. He's uncovered some intriguing details about Madam and her grandmother."

In Kapil's mind, Devika was none other than Mrs. Mehta's lost daughter, Surbhi. It was with that assumption that he relayed the findings to Sharvik.

But Sharvik's interest lay elsewhere. He wasn't concerned with who Surbhi was supposed to be—he wanted to know who she truly was. More importantly, what was her connection to Devika?

He gestured for Kapil to continue.

Kapil obliged. "Boss, according to the neighbors, Madam's grandmother treated her poorly. She was often left hungry for days, constantly berated, and humiliated to the point where she attempted to end her own life multiple times. But each time, she failed."

A brief pause. Kapil's expression flickered with something unreadable before he continued.

"However, there's something unusual, Boss. The day after Madam left for Delhi, government officials arrived and seized her grandmother's property, declaring it illegal. For the past five days, the old woman has been living on the streets. She reached out to Mrs. Mehta for help, but Mrs. Mehta refused to take her in. From what I've gathered, she's even blocked her number. Madam's grandmother is frail and ill—I doubt she'll survive more than ten days out there."

A faint smirk ghosted across Sharvik's lips. He didn't need to guess who was behind this.

Though the truth about Surbhi remained elusive, one thing had become abundantly clear—whoever she was, she meant everything to Devika.

Sharvik flicked the ash from his cigar into the tray before asking, "Any word on Surbhi's father?"

Kapil shook his head. "No, Boss. It appears someone powerful deliberately erased all records of him from the college database. But our team is on it. It's only a matter of time before we find out everything."

Sharvik instantly made the connection—Devika had orchestrated the erasure. But why? What was she trying to hide?

He picked up the file from the desk and flipped through it before closing it with a decisive snap. "You've done well. Call it a night. Get some rest and resume the investigation tomorrow."

Kapil nodded. "Understood, Boss." With that, he departed.

Sharvik lingered for a moment, then carried the file into his bedroom, where Devika lay fast asleep.

The clock struck eleven.

She had been unconscious for twenty-six hours.

Stepping closer, Sharvik regarded her motionless form. In his hand, he held a syringe.

His fingers brushed against her wrist as he checked her temperature and pulse. Then, with practiced precision, he injected the needle. Moments later, he withdrew the syringe—now filled with Devika's blood.

Without a word, he secured the sample in a test tube and exited the room.

_____________________________

What happens next?

Who is the serial killer?

Is the case truly as straightforward as it seems?

Why hasn't Devika awakened?

What will Mohit and Rim do when they uncover Devika's truth?

Why did Sharvik collect her blood?

What is the real story behind Surbhi?

Why is Devika willing to go to such lengths for her?

To know…

To be continued…