00:00:19
The red digits blinked at them from under Rivan's lifeless body.
Arpan's breath caught. His instincts screamed.
"There's a second bomb!" he shouted, pulling Samruddhi back as he threw Rivan's body aside. Underneath, buried in the floorboard, was a smaller device. Sleek. Homemade. A backup. Something Rivan had built for revenge, not negotiation.
00:00:15
Arpan's fingers trembled.
"Move!" he ordered. "Get everyone out—now!"
"But—" Samruddhi started, her voice cracking.
"No buts, Samru! Go!"
She stumbled out the backstage exit, calling over the microphone, "Evacuate! NOW! Everyone—GO!"
Panic erupted again. Students poured out in terrified streams. Parents screamed. Lights flickered.
00:00:10
Arpan knelt beside the device.
Wires. Too many wires.
No manual trigger.
No obvious kill-switch.
It was custom-built. By Rivan.
Damn you.
He pulled out his knife, lips whispering a silent prayer.
He began to trace the wires.
Blue to copper. Copper to...
Wait.
Arpan's eyes narrowed.
There was no battery.
Which meant...
The power source was external.
"Vikram!" Arpan yelled into his earpiece. "Find the control relay! It's remote activated—must be tied to a signal!"
"On it!" Vikram responded, crackling through static. "I'm checking RF frequencies now."
00:00:06
Time was evaporating.
Arpan had one hand on the device.
His heart threatened to crack through his ribs.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out the small signal jammer he carried for emergencies, and slammed it against the stage floor beside the bomb.
A brief hum.
The timer froze at 00:00:05
He exhaled, shaking. "It's paused…"
But only as long as the jammer held power.
Vikram's voice came through again. "There's a trigger tower broadcasting from the auditorium rooftop. I'm heading there!"
"Hurry."
Arpan stood, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his back.
Rivan had planned it all. Dying wasn't his failure. It was his final move.
And Arpan had almost played right into it.
Outside the auditorium, Samruddhi watched paramedics check trembling students. Sirens wailed in the distance. Her mother was shouting into a walkie-talkie, but her eyes were on the building.
"Arpan's still inside," she said to no one.
She took a step toward the door.
A firm hand grabbed her arm.
Rohini Ma'am. "No. You're not going back in."
"I have to. He's alone in there."
"He's not. He has his demons with him. Let him fight them."
Samruddhi looked up, tears forming. "He always fights alone. That's why he's like this."
Rohini stared at her. Silent.
Then slowly released her hand.
"I didn't raise you to stand by the sidelines."
Samruddhi ran.
Back inside: Arpan was searching.
His jammer wouldn't last forever.
He scanned the room. If the bomb was remote-triggered, maybe there was a failsafe.
Rivan was twisted, but never careless.
He ran to the control booth, ripped open a panel.
Nothing.
Only feedback wires and dead monitors.
Then he noticed something strange.
A blinking camera.
Still powered.
And pointed right at him.
"Vikram," he said slowly. "The camera's still live. Someone's watching."
Static.
Then a voice—not Vikram's.
But unmistakable.
"Hello, Arpan."
Arpan froze.
He hadn't heard that voice in years.
Cold.
Metallic.
Calculated.
"Did you really think I wouldn't leave a legacy?"
Arpan stared at the speaker.
"…Rivan?"
"You thought killing me ended it? I'm not your enemy. I was just the beginning."
The camera's screen flickered. A different feed came up.
A dark room.
A figure seated in shadows.
Another voice—this one new.
Female.
Cruel.
"Hello, Arpan. I'm sorry about your little reunion. But Rivan was just a pawn. I'm the queen."
The feed cut.
The bomb timer blinked again.
00:00:04
Rooftop.
Vikram had reached the relay tower.
He pulled out a blade and cut the signal cable—
Sparks flew.
Smoke hissed from the junction box.
On stage, the bomb fizzled.
And died.
No explosion.
No death.
Just silence.
Arpan dropped to the floor, gasping.
Samruddhi burst through the door moments later, calling his name.
"Arpan!"
He looked up, still on his knees.
Their eyes met.
A moment of stillness between chaos.
She rushed to him, threw her arms around him. "You idiot," she sobbed into his shoulder. "You stubborn, broken idiot."
He held her like she was the only real thing in the world.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For not being the man you deserve."
She pulled back. Looked into his eyes.
"I never asked for perfect," she said. "I asked for you."
Later that night.
The police combed the auditorium.
The device was removed.
Rivan's body was taken away.
But the fear remained.
So did the questions.
Who was the woman in the video?
Why did she say Rivan was just a pawn?
What did she want from Arpan?
Vikram handed Arpan a file.
"Got this from one of Rivan's old phones. Burner SIM, encrypted storage. Photos. Messages. Names."
Arpan flipped through the images.
Then he stopped.
A photo.
Old.
Grainy.
Of a young Rivan.
And beside him...
Arpan.
As children.
And behind them—
A woman.
Her face blurred.
But her eyes…
Those same eyes from the video.
Samruddhi's house.
She sat in bed, unable to sleep.
Her diary open.
Pen shaking.
She wrote:
"I don't know who to trust anymore. Every answer leads to more questions. Arpan is haunted by more than just guilt. He's being hunted by his own past. And I fear that if I can't pull him back soon…"
"I'll lose him forever."
She put the pen down.
The wind rustled the curtains.
She turned to the window.
And froze.
A red laser dot flicked briefly across the glass.
Then vanished.
Elsewhere — unknown location.
The woman from the video sat at a desk.
She picked up a phone.
Dialed.
"Phase one is complete."
A distorted male voice answered, "He survived?"
"He always survives. That's the problem."
"What now?"
The woman smiled.
"We give him what he fears the most."
"And that is?"
She leaned back in her chair, watching Arpan's image on a monitor.
"Losing the one person who still believes in him."
She pressed a button.
And dozens of live surveillance feeds lit up the room.
Samruddhi.
Her school.
Her home.
Her every move.
"It's time we remind him... that ghosts don't get happy endings."
To Be Continued…