Sanam's voice dripped with feigned innocence as she repeated, "What happened?" One arm was folded across her chest while the other danced through her hair, her fingertips grazing the silky strands. She paced between Karan and Rudraksh, a sly smile spreading across her face.

The crowd's curiosity piqued. Their faces tilted forward in unison, as if anticipating the final ball of a match where the team needed a six to win.

Siddharth's eyes darted between Karan, whose jaw was trembling, and Rudraksh, whose silence screamed one word - betrayal.

Karan's head jerked at the firm sound of footsteps. He took a few hasty steps forward. "Rudraksh!" he called out, desperation cracking through his voice as he stretched out a hand. "Rudraksh, listen to me. It's not what you think, Rudraksh! Please!"

But Rudraksh vanished into the night, leaving Karan's pleas hanging in the air.

Siddharth pushed Kabir aside and rushed forward. "Karan!"

"Rudraksh hates me now," Karan whispered, his words trembling.

Siddharth placed a steady hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "No, Karan. He will understand you."

"Ha-ha!" Sanam's mocking laughter sliced through the air, like music that was painfully out of tune. "Rudraksh hates liars and betrayers," she sneered. "He'll never listen to you."

Siddharth shot her a hateful glare, his eyes narrowing. "Just like he hates you?"

The words struck home. Sanam"s smile faltered, her face paling for an instant before she regained her composure.

Karan glared at her, then turned to Siddharth, his voice low and urgent. "Sid, go after Rudraksh. He's not in his right mind."

Siddharth nodded, locking eyes with him. "Control yourself, Karan," he murmured before turning and sprinting after Rudraksh, disappearing into the crowd.

Karan lunged forward.

But before he could reach Sanam, his head snapped violently to the side. His body stumbled, struggling to regain balance. A thin trickle of blood slid from the corner of his mouth, painting his lips crimson.

His eyelids fluttered, pupils shrinking as black dots swarmed his vision. He shook his head hard, dizziness crashing over him in waves. His knees threatened to buckle.

Then his gaze shot up, locking onto Kabir. Fury blazed in his eyes. His fists clenched. Jaw tightened. Chest heaved.

He took one step back. Then struck.

"You coward!" he roared, punching squarely on Kabir's chest.

The air whoosh out of Kabir. His eyes went wide, face draining of color.

"If you've got that much—" Karan's next punch cracked against Kabir's cheek, "—that much excitement for fights, then attack from the front!"

Sanam froze in her place, then her eyes went wide. She rushed forward, hands outstretched, trying to wedge herself between them.

"Stop!" she screamed, clawing at his arm. "Karan, you bloody animal! Leave him!"

Karan's fists rained down on Kabir - chest, face, shoulders - each blow sharp and relentless. His jaw remained locked, muscles taut, veins standing out in green and purple beneath his pale skin, flashing with every strike.

Sanam's face twisted, rage flaring through her tears. "This is why no girl ever wants to be with you, you monster!" she spat, her voice trembling with hatred.

Karan's head snapped toward her - blood still glistening on his lip, eyes burning with something darker than anger.

"You are an animal in the face of a human! And your dear friend is no different! You both are cruel monsters who know only one emotion - anger!" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she glared at Karan with a mixture of disgust and hate.

Karan's face twisted, and he abruptly released Kabir's collar, shoving his bloody face aside.

Kabir seized the opportunity and bolted, sprinting away with a speed that betrayed his earlier bravado.

A triumphant smirk began to curve Karan's lips.

Sanam's eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. Her face turned pale, and her hands instinctively flew to her abdomen.

Karan sauntered toward her, casually wiping the blood from his lips with his thumb. "Animals turned out more loyal than your bodybuilder friend, Ms. Grover," he sneered, a smug smirk playing on his face.

He paused, brushing the dust off his jacket with casual nonchalance. "And what did you say?" he pointed a finger at himself. "We are cruel monsters who only show anger?"

A low, mocking chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Huh! At least we don't cheat and change partners like clothes." He pinned Sanam with a narrowed gaze, jaw clenched. "And we don't get random girls pregnant without true commitment."

Sanam mirrored his expression, speaking confidently, "Kabir will marry me. He has promised."

Karan snorted, rolling his eyes toward the exit. "That coward, who couldn't even bear five punches for you," he scoffed, showing her five fingers, opening and closing them in rhythm. "You think he will face all the questions from society and hold your hand?"

Sanam continued glaring at him.

"You know what, Sanam?" His voice took on a philosophical tone. "The consequences of the deeds of this life have to be suffered in this life itself. And-"

Suddenly, the commotion of people rushing to and fro, frantic shouts and pounding footsteps, filled the air.

"This man, officer!" Kabir's accusatory voice drew the attention of Karan and Sanam. "This man beat me and was bullying that pregnant lady. He even tried to physically hurt her!"

The police officer stepped closer to Karan, expression stern and authoritative.

"Consequences of deeds... suffered in this life," Sanam repeated mockingly, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

She clutched her stomach and let out a loud, fake wail. "Ah, ah, my baby... my stomach hurts so much!"

Karan's eyes narrowed at Sanam's convincing performance. He ground out a menacing whisper, "Bi*ch, you will pay for this."

The police constable snapped handcuffs around Karan's wrists, his expression severe as he began to drag him away. "Bas*ard, you're harassing a lady-a pregnant one at that!" His voice dripped with disgust. "You've got a hot temper, huh? Well, let's take a trip to the police station. Once you've had a taste of third-degree torture, all that temper will be knocked right out of you."

The once-thriving disco fell silent in the aftermath, leaving Kabir and Sanam alone on the dance floor.

Sanam delicately wiped away her fake tears with her forefinger, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Our country is great, you know that, Kabir?" she said, resting an elbow casually on his shoulder. "Real victimized women never get justice, and the ones who do... were never victims."

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Running vehicles, honking cars, and hurried footsteps filled the midnight air, reflecting the city's relentless energy.

Siddharth's eyes darted anxiously across the crowded street, his head jerking from side to side as he quickened his pace. The chill of the night seeped into his skin, but he barely noticed, his mind consumed by worry.

His fingers flew across the phone screen before he pressed it to his ear. "C'mon, Rudraksh! Pick up the call!"

The number you have dialed is currently out of reach. Please try again later.

He sighed, breath misting in the cold air, and raked his fingers through his dark hair. "I should have brought my car," he muttered, the words barely audible over the busy road.

Disappointment twisted his face. He turned back toward the path to the disco, his footsteps quickening, matching the rapid beat of his heart.

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Siddharth's eyes narrowed as he stepped into the almost-empty disco.

The bartender, polishing a glass with a white cloth, looked up at his approaching figure.

With measured steps, Siddharth reached the counter, his voice even and controlled. "Excuse me… there was a commotion here. Do you have any idea what happened after that?"

The bartender's expression remained guarded, his eyes locked onto Siddharth's for a long moment before darting briefly to the side.

"This generation thinks they own everything, everyone," he drawled in a low voice, polishing glasses. "They can do whatever they want – no restrictions, no culture, no civilization, no sense."

Siddharth's lips compressed. He shifted his weight, foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

The bartender's hands moved deliberately as he rearranged the glasses in the rack. "In the name of modernization, people are forgetting their roots, their own teachings," he continued. "They think doing this makes them 'cool.'"

Siddharth slapped his palm against the polished wood as he leaned in, voice laced with desperation. "Sir, can you please tell me what happened? We can discuss this topic another day. Please!"

The bartender exhaled a deep, weary breath, though his expression remained neutral. "Police arrested a guy for causing a ruckus and harassing a pregnant woman," he said nonchalantly.

Siddharth’s eyebrows shot up. "What?!" One hand flew over his head while the other wrapped around his waist. Blinking repeatedly, he scanned the floor restlessly.

Composing himself, he asked, "You mean Karan – the one who pushed the lady at first?"

The bartender turned, locking eyes with Siddharth, and began wiping his hands with a white handkerchief. "Yes, the fair-skinned boy… around five-ten, I'd say."

Siddharth threw his head back, releasing a heavy, defeated breath. His hands rose to his temples, fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles as if trying to massage away the shock. "Karan… Karan, what you did, brother?"

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Aanand settled into the plush sofa, wrapping a cream-coloured shawl around himself like a warm hug.

He crossed one leg over the other, eyes narrowing as he focused on the file in his hands. His brown-framed spectacles slid down his nose as he leaned forward, gaze darting between the lines of text.

The shrill ring of the telephone pierced the quiet, snapping his attention away from the file. He set it down on the table, the papers rustling softly, and reached for the phone with measured calm.

"Hello?" The single word carried a hint of warmth, inviting the caller to speak.

"Hello!" The voice on the other end tumbled out in a rush. "May I speak to Justice Aanand Maurya, please?"

"Yes, this is Justice Aanand Maurya," Aanand replied evenly. "May I know who's speaking?"

"Sir, I'm Pandey, SI from your nearest police station." His voice dropped to a hushed tone. "Sir… your elder son has been arrested for causing a public nuisance while under the influence."

Aanand’s eyes widened.

He shot to his feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. His jaw clenched as he managed, in a calm but controlled voice, "I'm coming."

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"Anusuiya! Anusuiya! Anusuiya!"

Aanand's furious shouts echoed off the walls of the living room as he stormed toward the center, his footsteps thundering on the marble floor.

Anusuiya hurtled down the stairs, her footsteps clattering against the steps, followed closely by Vardhaman. The pallu slipped off her head, the pleats of her saree fluttering wildly as she rushed to reach Aanand.

"What happened, Dad?" Vardhaman asked, his eyes fixed on Aanand's distraught face.

"Where is Rudraksh? Where is Rudraksh?!"

Before Anusuiya or Vardhaman could utter a word in Rudraksh’s defense, a frail yet firm elderly voice rang out.

"What happened?! Why are you shouting like a torn drum, Aanand?"

Yashoda hobbled forward. "And why are you always after my innocent boy?" she snapped, jabbing her vintage stick toward her son's face, eyes narrowing as she steadied herself with one hand on her waist.

Aanand grasped the stick, gently prying it from her hand.

His eyes swept the room, lingering on each face before settling on Yashoda’s. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Because your innocent boy is in jail. Drenched in alcohol!"

Jaws dropped. Eyes widened in unison. The room fell deathly silent.

Anusuiya's eyes welled up with tears. Yashoda's face crumpled, her frail body swaying until Vardhaman swiftly caught her, guiding her to the sofa where she collapsed onto the cushions.

"Why…" Anusuiya's voice cracked, the word barely escaping as her body trembled with each tear-filled gasp.

"What why?!" Aanand's face flushed red as he stepped closer to her. "Go on—ignore every mistake of his! Pamper him to the moon and back!"

With each taunt, Anusuiya's tears flowed faster, streaking down her cheeks.

"Because of your endless pampering, he has grown so bold that he has started drinking alcohol—and no one in this house knew a thing?!"

"First, bring my child back home," Yashoda's trembling voice broke through the chaos. "Then carry on with your stupid fights."

Her words momentarily diffused the tension, and all eyes turned toward the delicate situation at hand.

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"Sir, that rascal was lying! What don't you understand?! They're both cheaters! Cunning to the core!"

The LED lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare on the cemented floor of the police station, illuminating the worn furniture, cracked walls, and faded paint. Karan's fingers clenched around the cold iron bars of the cell, his knuckles turning white.

The Station House Officer, a middle-aged man with a smug expression and a noticeable paunch, sat back in his leather chair. His eyes seemed to bore into Karan's very soul. A gold-plated watch gleamed on his wrist, and a diamond-studded ring adorned his finger, hinting at a lifestyle far more lavish than his salary could explain.

"Mehta!" he barked, eyes narrowing as he turned toward a constable standing at attention and adjusting his cap. "Where did you get him from? And on what charges?"

The constable opened his mouth to respond—

"Sir, I didn't harass anyone, that bast—" Karan's shout echoed from inside the cell.

The officer's face twisted with rage. Shoving his chair back, he rose and strode toward Karan, gripping a shiny red stick in his fist. "Shut up!"

He brought the stick down hard on Karan's fingers, the iron bars ringing with each brutal strike.

Karan recoiled, his face contorting in pain and fury. Clenching his jaw, he drew in a sharp breath and tried again, his voice trembling but controlled. "Sir, please listen to me."

Mehta stepped forward, tightening the belt around his belly with one hand while raising his wooden stick with the other. His voice rumbled in a thick Gujarati accent. "Hey, don't lie, boy! All the proofs are against you! The CCTV footage clearly shows – you pushed the lady first and beat that man like an animal!"

"Then did you skip the part where he punched me first?!" Karan slammed both palms against the bars, the loud clang reverberating through the cell. Other prisoners turned to watch, their eyes flickering with a mix of fear and amusement.

The SHO sneered, striking the bars again in a furious rhythm. "Now you'll teach us how to do our job, huh?! That temper of yours is boiling over, isn't it?"

He leaned closer, voice dripping with menace. "Three years, you'll get a three-year sentence under Section 509 for insulting a woman's modesty. And if you don't behave, I'll add more charges that'll keep you here for life."

Karan's eyebrows furrowed, his face flushing red. His jaw tightened, lips twisting as he lunged forward toward the bars—

But a hand gripped his wrist, stopping him mid-motion. The hold was warm but firm, the skin rough against his own.

Karan turned his head sharply, expression still hardened.

A man – likely in his mid-thirties, with slightly long hair and a tired face – looked back at him, his eyes wary yet steady.

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The SHO's chair creaked softly as he leaned back, his red leather-clad feet landing on the table with a dull thud. The smug expression on his face deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he worked the tobacco in his mouth.

A constable stood rigid beside him, holding a small metal bowl to catch his occasional spits of crimson-stained saliva.

"Uh-huh… so, what information did you get about this rascal?" the SHO asked, his voice muffled by the lump of tobacco bulging in his cheek.

Constable Mehta scanned the paper, his eyebrows knitting together as he began to read aloud:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙺𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚞𝚔𝚑
𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝙺𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚗𝚊 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚞𝚔𝚑
𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜: 𝙽𝚊𝚐𝚙𝚞𝚛, 𝙼𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚛𝚊
𝙾𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙲𝚘-𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚢.
𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎

The SHO's eyebrows shot up as he spat the crimson saliva into the bowl with a soft plop. He dabbed his lips with a crisp white handkerchief, leaving a faint red smudge on the fabric. "Oh-ho! So, his father was in the army."

As he stood up, the chair rolled backward with a soft creak. He grasped the red baton with a familiar grip, the tobacco resuming its rhythmic dance between his teeth and lips as he spoke in a slow, mocking tone. "May God rest him in peace, but…" His gaze swept across the cell.

Karan's chest heaved as he gripped the concrete bench tightly, jaw locked and eyes darting restlessly across the floor.

The officer's smug expression returned as he turned and paced out of the station, the sound of his boots echoing down the corridor.

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"Who are you?"

Constable Mehta's hesitant tone made Karan's eyebrows furrow. He turned toward the newcomer, but only caught a glimpse of the man's back – a crisp white shirt and black pants.

"Where is your SHO?" The man's deep voice was calm, yet authoritative.

Karan's confusion melted into relief. He pushed himself up from the cemented bench and hurried toward the cell bars, hope flickering in his eyes.

Mehta trailed behind the stranger, his expression suspicious.

The man pulled a wooden chair with a grating screech and sat down, placing a file on the table with a light slap. Lowering his head slightly, he side-glanced at Karan... and winked.

Karan's lips broke into a wide smile.

Mehta opened his mouth to speak—

"What's happening here?" The SHO's voice thundered from behind.

"Sir, this man came in and sat like he owned the place!" Mehta replied quickly, his tone defensive. "When I asked who he was, he ignored me completely!"

The SHO's sharp gaze flicked from Mehta to the stranger's back. Slowly, he approached his chair, tilting his head to the side for a better look—and then, a forced smile curved his lips.

"Mehta, go and get two masala chais," he said, exhaling. "The great Barrister Siddharth Solanki has graced our humble home." Leaning back, he added with mock politeness, "And tell the shopkeeper to add an extra spoon of sugar to the barrister's cup; he has got quite a bitter tongue."

Siddharth's lips twitched, amusement glinting in his eyes. In a voice smooth as silk, he replied, "Thank you for the warm introduction, SHO Kamal Desai ji." He emphasized the last word with a hint of irony. "But I don't approve of ill-gotten gains. Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?"

The SHO's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with restrained anger. He picked up the file and flipped through it, barely reading, before slamming it back onto the table.

"Rejected," he announced curtly.

Siddharth's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, gaze locked on the officer. "May I know the reason, officer?"

Kamal mirrored his posture, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Do your homework, barrister. Deshmukh is in custody under Sections 74 and 79 of the BNS – both non-bailable offenses."

He paused, then turned his laptop screen toward Siddharth, playing the CCTV footage. "As you can see, he pushed a 'pregnant' woman in a public place with the intent to outrage her modesty. The punishment? No less than one year, or up to five."

Siddharth's eyes stayed fixed on the screen, his hand curling into a fist under the table.

Karan's gaze darted between the SHO and his friend, desperation rising in his chest. His throat went dry as flashes of his mother and younger sister filled his mind.

"First of all, officer, revise your knowledge," Siddharth said evenly, turning the laptop back toward the SHO with precise control. "Secondly, improve your eyesight."

Kamal's eyebrows shot up at the jab.

"If you watch carefully," Siddharth continued, "you'll see the place was crowded. My client, Mr. Karan Deshmukh, was simply making his way through the crowd. In the process, he accidentally bumped into the woman. She was wearing six-inch heels, which caused her to lose balance and fall." He pointed at the screen, alternating his gaze between the footage and the fuming officer.

"As for the so-called verbal offense," Siddharth added, pausing briefly, "the woman initiated it. My client did not use a single word that could be construed as outraging her modesty." He clasped his hands on the table and sat up straight.

"So, to conclude – there are no grounds for charges under Section 74 or 79. However," his tone sharpened ever so slightly, "you will face consequences for illegal arrest, detention without a warrant, abuse of power, and false imprisonment." Siddharth finished with calm poise, his expression steady and unreadable.

Before Kamal could recover from the verbal onslaught, Siddharth punched another hole in his argument. "Furthermore, did you check whether any harm was done to the baby or the lady, SHO Mr. Kamal Desai?"

The officer's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Slowly, he composed himself and reached for the glass of water on the table. His hand trembled slightly as he took a long sip, then set it down and picked up the file again, scanning the bail bond and scrutinizing every detail.

Siddharth watched him with calm precision, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. Yet, his palms left faint sweat marks on his black pants.

"Mehta," Kamal said finally, his once-firm voice now trembling under the strain, "release him."

Siddharth closed his eyes briefly, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude before shifting his gaze toward Karan.

Karan looked back, gratitude gleaming in his eyes.

A warm smile spread across Siddharth's face as he gave a reassuring blink.

The metallic clink of the cell door echoed through the station as it swung open.

As Karan stepped forward, his gaze fell on the other prisoner sitting quietly on the concrete bench.

Their eyes met, and a faint smile tugged at the man's lips.

Karan froze for a moment, then strode toward him and pulled him into a tight hug. "Thank you, friend. And don't worry, you'll be out soon," he whispered.

The man patted Karan's back gently, releasing him with a faint, sad smile. "Go," he said softly. "At least you got justice."

Karan gave a quick nod, patted the man's shoulder, and hurried out of the cell.

Outside, Siddharth handled the formalities with quiet efficiency. "Thank you, officer," he said, his tone as dry as an autumn leaf.

Kamal forced a smile and gestured for Karan to sign the documents. "You got lucky this time, Deshmukh. But if you ever end up in my hands again…" His words trailed off as his gaze lingered on Karan's bowed head.

Karan straightened, his eyes meeting the officer's coldly, before turning toward Siddharth.

Siddharth placed a steady hand on Karan's back, picked up the release papers, and looked at the SHO with a blank, unreadable expression. "You, too, have been very lucky for many years, Mr. Desai."

The SHO's face twisted in anger, but all he could do was grind his teeth at the remark.

Their footsteps echoed through the corridor as Siddharth and Karan walked out of the police station together.

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The chilled night air seeped into their bones as they stepped out of the police station.

The rustle of leaves and the distant wail of a police siren broke the uneasy silence. Their footsteps echoed heavily on the wet road, the splash of water beneath their shoes telling the story of the rain that had fallen earlier.

As they approached the car, Karan suddenly turned and pulled Siddharth into a tight, crushing hug. "Thank you so much, Sid. Thank you," he mumbled, his voice muffled against Siddharth's shoulder.

Siddharth patted his back gently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's all right now, Karan. You're safe. I'll always be there for you both; you guys are my brothers."

Karan pulled away slightly, his hands still resting on Siddharth’s shoulders. "Rudraksh?" he asked softly.

Siddharth's lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "Vardhaman called. He has drunk again… and got arrested. His father's gone to the station."

Karan's jaw tightened as he raked a hand through his light brown hair. "That girl played her game well," he muttered bitterly. "She'll face the consequences of all her deeds. I curse her."

A/N: Woah! So much is going on. Anyway, bless my eyes with your lovely opinions, dear readers.

How do you see Siddharth and Karan now, after all of this?

Do you have something to say about our dear Sanam now?