February 4, 2019 | New Delhi | 6:45 AM
It began with another call. Srikanth, bleary-eyed and sunken from a sleepless night, answered instinctively. The officer on the line didn't need to say much—just a location and the same, terrifying word: "eyeless."
Srikanth threw on a jacket and rushed to the crime scene. Patel Chowk traffic signal. People circled the area. The morning crowd had scattered at the sight of what looked like a black trash bag carelessly abandoned.
But inside was Sameer.
His body had been folded unnaturally, shoved inside like he was waste. The chest was carved with a name that now haunted Delhi's airwaves — The Eye Snatcher. Srikanth collapsed to his knees. For the first time, his hands trembled not with rage but grief.
The ground felt unsteady beneath him. The world was spinning, and all he could see was Sameer's goofy smile from just a week ago, replaced now by a gaping chest and hollow eyes.
Srikanth didn't wait for backup. He stormed to Ananya's house, heart pounding, mind already made up. He'd begged her to be innocent. Deep down, he still hoped she was. But now, logic was the enemy of grief.
He reached her apartment, knocked once. No answer. He stepped back, took out his service pistol, and fired at the lock. The door burst open.
And inside, everything ended.
Ananya lay sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. Her face was calm. Too calm. Her body was untouched except for her missing eyes. Just like the others. But there was no struggle, no signs of a fight.
Beside her lay a single page of handwritten confession — crimson at the edges, folded with care. Srikanth picked it up with shaking fingers and read.
"Dearest Srikanth,
I'm not Ananya. I never was. My real name isn't important, but my story is.
I was two when my mother died. My father was all I had. He was gentle, kind — everything you think a good man should be. But when I turned nine, something happened that destroyed us both.
A boy — someone I trusted — kissed me forcefully, on my eyes. That night I told my father I wanted revenge. The next day, he took him into our car after school.
He didn't say a word when I stabbed the boy with a compass. In both eyes. Again. And again. And again.
He took the blame. Went to prison for seven years. Died of cardiac arrest five years later. I was left with nothing but the echo of his sacrifice — and rage.
I decided to become an eye surgeon. I mastered the art of removing eyes, preserving them without damaging the sockets. Because I knew… someday, I'd need that skill again.
And I did. I used it. On many. Sameer was innocent. I didn't want to kill him. But I had to — because he brought you too close.
Now that my revenge is done, I am going away. Like I did after my first kill. You will not find me. Nobody will.
This is not goodbye. Because monsters… always return."
Srikanth slumped against the wall, letter clenched in his fist. He wanted to scream but no sound came. The girl he had doubted. The girl he had loved. She was both real and unreal.
He resigned from the force the next day. No explanations. No press conference. He packed up his life, his grief, and moved to Hyderabad with Yukti. Together, they started a private security agency — one where his badge no longer needed to shine.
Years passed like dust on an old mirror. Srikanth stayed low. Yukti kept him sane. Some nights were silent. Others — soaked in nightmares.
#8 years later,
Subodh was getting engaged. The man who had once cracked a massage parlour lead now wore a nervous smile and marigold garland. Srikanth had driven 1500 kilometers for this. He owed him that.
After the ceremony, Srikanth quietly slipped away and returned to Patel Chowk. The signal where everything ended — or so he had believed.
He stood by the pole. The light turned red. People crossed. Cars honked. And yet, Srikanth stared.
A child tapped his shoulder.
"Uncle, you're also looking here?" the boy asked, munching on an ice-cream.
Srikanth blinked. "Also? What do you mean?"
"There was a lady. She was standing here just like you. Few minutes ago. I asked her why she was staring. She said — eight years ago, I left a trash bag here."And she smiled
THE END
-Ritwik Tripathi