*ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ, ʀᴀꜰɪQ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪꜰɪᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴅᴇᴇᴅꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴀᴄʀᴇᴅ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟ'ꜱ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱᴇᴛ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ 𝙰𝙽𝚈 ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ. ɪ'ᴍ ᴄʟᴀʀɪꜰʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴇɴꜱɪᴛɪᴠᴇ.*

The wind rushed past, whipping through the open windows as the white Toyota picked up speed. Its tires hummed a low growl, the speedometer needle edging dangerously close to the red line. The surroundings – passing vehicles, roadside trees, vendors, and people – blurred into a translucent film of shifting colors and shapes.

The car veered right, and Siddharth's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles straining beneath the skin as his body jerked sideways. Aanand's body mirrored the motion, his shoulders tensing as his fingers dug into the cushioned seat. The seat belts caught their sudden movements, snapping them back upright.

Despite their different features, their expressions echoed each other – jaws clenched, bodies rigid and alert. Their eyes, though fixed on the road ahead, seemed to look beyond the concrete paths and bustling traffic.

"It's Rafiq," Siddharth muttered, his jaw tightening as the vein at his temple stood out like a taut wire. With a sharp jerk of the wheel, he took another turn.

In the passenger seat, Aanand's fingers curled around the creased photograph he held. For a moment, his jaw remained hard, unmoving, before his eyes flicked down. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he smoothed the picture’s crumpled edges, and the eerie words written in blood along the top came into view:

𝔄𝔫 𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔪𝔶'𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢.

The picture showed a three-year-old Rudraksh, beaming in a brand-new Tom and Jerry jacket and ankle-length shorts, clutching a mud-caked football in his tiny hands. Beside him stood Aanand, hands planted firmly on his waist, face twisted in mock anger. His once-white T-shirt bore smears of mud and grass, evidence of a carefree afternoon.

As Aanand's gaze lingered on the photo, his features softened. His thumb brushed over Rudraksh's smiling face, and a tide of emotions surged against the closed walls of his fatherly heart.

The picture seemed to hold him captive, pulling him back to a simpler time, when joy was unshaken and life had yet to grow complicated.

FLASHBACKS

"Solly." Little Rudraksh extended the football toward his father, his small hands gripping the ball tightly between his palms. He tilted his head, blinking at Aanand with a toothy smile. "Y-you—" He squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunching up as he tried to recall the pronunciation—"dilt. My. Shilt, too."

Aanand's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. He crouched down on the earth to his son’s level, his knees sinking into the grass. "It's 'sorry,' beta, not 'solly'," he said gently, his deep voice a soothing contrast to the child's high-pitched tone. "And 'dirt,' not 'dilt'; 'shirt,' not 'shilt.'" He caressed Rudraksh's chin with his forefinger, the gentle touch making the child look up at him with wide eyes.

Rudraksh's face crumpled, his eyebrows furrowing as he gazed at his father with pouted lips and a scrunched nose. "Solly," he said again, his voice rising slightly.

Aanand's face became a picture of patient amusement. "Sorry," he corrected softly.

Rudraksh's expressions took on an angry hue, his face reddening. With a sharp jerk, he bounced the football against the wet ground. "I'm saying—solly!"

Aanand closed his eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gazed at the child. "Aar... rrrr... Say," he encouraged gently.

Rudraksh mimicked the sound, his lips curling around the syllables. "Aal... lll..."

Aanand's face broke into a wide smile. "Okay!" he exclaimed, sitting cross-legged on the grassy ground. He took Rudraksh's little hands in his own, enveloping them in warmth. "What is your name?" he asked softly, his eyes sparkling.

Rudraksh's chocolate-smudged lips curled into an O-shape, his eyes closing as he tried to say his name. "Lu—Lud—Ludlachh!" he exclaimed triumphantly, a bright smile lighting up his innocent features.

Aanand's face lit up with laughter, and he scooped Rudraksh into his arms, spinning him around in a joyful circle. "Okay, Ludlachh!" he chuckled, raising his son high in the air before catching him swiftly.

FLASHBACKS END

A sudden jolt forward snapped Aanand back to the present, the seat belt biting into his shoulder. His misted eyes widened as he blinked at his surroundings, unfocused and disoriented.

Siddharth turned his head, his eyes locking onto Aanand's as his fingers worked to unclasp the belt. "Don't worry, sir. Nothing will happen to Rudraksh," he said in a low, steady voice. His hand shifted to the door handle, pushing it open with a soft creak.

The sound of Aanand's footsteps echoed through the air as he stepped out, joining Siddharth near the entrance gate of the wellness centre. The scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth wafted through the breeze, mingling with the fragrance of mango leaves. The trees, like sentinels, stood guard on either side of the path, their branches swaying gently in the wind, leaves rustling softly.

A sudden gust swept through, sending yellow leaves spiraling through the air like tiny dancers. The leaves twirled and fluttered to the ground in a soft, golden rain. Two guards, seated on worn plastic chairs, rose in unison, their movements economical and precise. Their eyes narrowed as they sized up the visitors with expressionless faces before offering curt nods.

Aanand and Siddharth's faces relaxed as they pushed open the small pedestrian gate set within the towering black iron frame. The gate creaked softly, its hinges groaning in protest as it swung open, revealing a glimpse of the world beyond. The guards' watchful eyes followed them as Siddharth and Aanand passed through the gate.

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Both men's eyes swept across the lobby, darting between the sleek reception desk and the corridors beyond, their expressions hardened into masks of determination. The soft rustle of fabric and the echo of footsteps against the red, brick-laid path filled the air as they entered the healing area of the centre.

"Sir," Siddharth said, his eyes flicking between the judge's face and the path ahead as he jogged beside him. "You go to Dr. Tanvi, I'm moving to the cot."

Aanand's breath came sharp, his chest heaving as he nodded curtly.

The two men split their ways, their footsteps diverging in opposite directions.

Behind them, the gardener—who had been crouching to water the plants—slowly stood upright, taking a moment to ease the sprain in his spine. His eyes followed the two retreating figures, his gaze darting between them in alternating glances, his expression unreadable.

As he watched them disappear from view, his hold on the plastic pipe loosened, letting it fall with a soft splash and thud onto the ground. Water droplets scattered across the stone path, glistening in the sunlight before soaking into the soil near the plant's roots.

Smoothing his damp hand over his worn-out brown sweater in a slow, mechanical rhythm, he slipped a hand into the pocket of his faded pyjamas and pulled out a sleek, brand-new smartphone. His eyes dropped from the path ahead to the device in his hand. With practiced ease, his thumbs moved across the screen, the glass surface catching the sunlight.

They have arrived

The double tick turned blue, and replies came instantly.

Let them
Now they will know who they have messed with
You just remember your job

A small smile played on the gardener's lips, and he slipped the phone back into his pocket. With a quiet sense of satisfaction, he crouched down once again, picking up the pipe and resumed watering the plants with steady and deliberate movements.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

"Doctor, it's so embarrassing," Rudraksh whispered, his face scrunching up. He wrapped the white shawl tightly around his bare upper body, the fabric bunching in folds as he clutched it to his chest.

Tanvi exhaled through her nose, a soft hiss of air escaping her lips as she blinked down at the floor before lifting her chin to meet his pleading gaze.

"Rudraksh," she said gently. "You said your body is aching after the twelve rounds of sun salutation, which is natural. You haven't been physically active for a long time." She raised her eyebrows at his flushing face.

"Yeah... but," he whined, his voice rising in protest like a child on the verge of stomping his foot. His face turned bright red as he complained, "There are so many women here!" His eyes squeezed shut, his face tilted toward the ceiling, and the shawl tightened around him as if it were armor made of thread and wool, protecting his vulnerable soul.

The group of four ladies around him – wrapped in earthy-colored sarees, their hair in high buns, sandalwood tika adorning their foreheads – couldn't help but be amused.

"Mhm-hmm." Tanvi's eyes narrowed sternly at the giggling ladies before shifting back to his sulking figure.

"Rudraksh," she called out in a warm, motherly tone. "Beta—" A chuckle broke through her composure. His face contorted further, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing.

Tanvi lifted both hands, one raised placatingly while the other covered her mouth to hide her smile. "Sorry, sorry."

His lower lip bulged outward, and he narrowed his eyes at the laughing ladies before dipping his chin to his chest, hiding his deepening blush.

One of the ladies, still trying to control her laughter, asked, "How old are you?"

He jerked his head toward her voice, throwing a childish glare.

Their laughter bubbled up again, their shoulders shaking as they struggled to contain it.

"Men usually feign pain or ache to get a full-body massage here," another woman said, chuckling with her companions, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," one of them added, approaching him with a gentle stride. "Boy, we’re of your mother’s age." Her neutral tone cracked into a stiffened chuckle. "We won't do anything to you."

The fourth woman, who looked the eldest, stepped forward, her smile softening her features. "Don't you go to your mother for a head, legs, or back massage when you're exhausted? Think of it like that—"

"No." His jaw twitched, the childishness vanishing instantly. His breath turned uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his fingers crumpled the Shawn's edge.

Tanvi's eyes narrowed as she watched the subtle shifts in his expression and body language.

"I don't want any massage," he said dryly, stepping toward the exit door.

"Rudraksh."

Tanvi's stern voice halted him. He froze, his gaze fixed on the door handle, his back rigid.

The doctor clasped her hands behind her back, chin lifted as she looked at his tall, tense figure. "Lie on the bed. I'm sending a male therapist who will give you a full-body Ayurveda massage." She watched him as he slowly turned around, his head still hanging low.

"Is that okay?" Tanvi asked, smiling with raised eyebrows.

Rudraksh lifted his face, offering a small, hesitant side-smile as he nodded.

A soft chuckle escaped Tanvi as she mimicked his tiny nod, her eyes crinkling behind her thick glasses.

"Okay. Get down there—" she gestured toward the narrow bed frame with her forefinger—"I'm arranging... your demands." She turned, her gaze sweeping the room and settling on the ladies. "You all come with me. Let the boy make himself comfortable."

The ladies nodded, their expressions softening into warm smiles as they followed Tanvi out of the room.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Siddharth's urgent steps echoed through the garden as he hurried toward the row of cots on the other side. The sun, now poised between horizon and zenith, cast a golden light across his brown, tense features, sharpening the square of his jaw.

Rudraksh's cot came into view, and his taut expression eased just slightly. Still, his heartbeat pounded in his chest, his breath catching as he struggled to shake off the lingering dread clawing at him.

"Please be fine, buddy—" His shoulder suddenly collided with another, halting him mid-step. "Sorry, man," he said quickly, his gaze meeting that of a ward boy dressed in a crisp white shirt and trousers, a neat white cap perched on his head.

The ward boy's eyes widened briefly before darting away. With a swift motion, he bent down, fumbling to gather the files that had spilled onto the ground.

Siddharth, ever the gentleman, crouched too, reaching out to help. Their fingers brushed as they collected the scattered papers.

As they worked together, Siddharth's gaze flickered toward the ward boy's lowered head. The clean-shaven face looked... vaguely familiar. Siddharth's mind churned, trying to place those features, but he couldn't quite recall where he had seen him before.

Before he could press his memory further, the ward boy snatched up the last file and rose quickly, keeping his eyes down. With a curt nod, he slipped into the lush greenery, vanishing from sight.

I've seen him. I've seen him. I've seen him. I've seen him. I've seen him.

The words echoed in his mind like a mantra. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw tightening, fists clenching against the ground.

Where? Where have I seen him? Where… have I seen him?

He pressed the first two fingers of his right hand between his eyebrows, rubbing the spot with quiet insistence, his fingertips digging into the skin. His eyes seemed to shrink beneath their lids as his brows furrowed deeper.

Court.

The word burst forth in his mind like thunder cracking through a storm, and his eyes snapped open.

"Court?"

In an instant, he sprang to his feet, his legs unfolding like a released spring as he sprinted in the direction where the ward boy had vanished. His footsteps pounded the ground, echoing sharply as he gave chase.

"You can't hide from me, Rafiq," he muttered between shallow breaths, his chest heaving with each long stride. "I've seen you enough—enough times to recognize you even in the dark."

His footsteps echoed along the near-silent path, the patterned bricks blurring beneath him as he ran. The skin near his collarbone glistened with beads of sweat, each droplet catching the sunlight like a tiny mirror.

A sudden gust of wind swept past, bringing fleeting coolness that eased the heat burning beneath his skin. He pressed a hand to his waist while the other splayed across his ribcage as he paused to steady his ragged breath.

His eyes flicked restlessly across the path, scanning every corner. Running a hand through his damp hair, his fingers snagged briefly in the strands before he exhaled. "Where did he vanish in just a few minutes?"

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Rafiq's body convulsed in the short man's grip like twisted rope as he struggled to break free in the narrow lane between two cots. The revolver raised high in his hand trembled, the metal glinting in the dim light slipping through the swaying tree branches. The cap, once perched on his head, was now crumpled tightly in his other fist.

"Leave me, Mukhtar!" he snarled. "Today I'll kill this bas*ard!"

Mukhtar's grip tightened around Rafiq's arms, his fingers digging deep into the skin as he whispered urgently, "Calm down, Rafiq. We can't kill him—or anyone. It's your father's order."

Rafiq's reddened eyes glistened with tears, and his jaw clenched with a force that could have crushed stone. With a sudden surge of strength, he shoved Mukhtar against the hardened clay wall.

The impact made Mukhtar's eyes snap shut, his face contorting in pain.

"Shut your mouth, you ras*al!" Rafiq hissed, grabbing Mukhtar by the collar and lifting him several inches off the ground. "You are just a dog of mine. Don't teach me what to do."

The stench of cigarettes and alcohol clung to his breath, making Mukhtar's stomach twist. He struggled to form words. "R-Rafiq!"

Rafiq's hold loosened, and Mukhtar dropped to the floor with a hard grunt among scattered files and papers. He breathed unsteadily, clutching at the life that had almost slipped away seconds ago.

Still panting, he looked up and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Rafiq's smirking face. Mukhtar followed his gaze and felt his lips curl in disgust.

A lady therapist walked down the stony garden path, her long hair swaying gently in the cool morning breeze. Her damp, earthy saree clung to her wet body, outlining her curves in a way that made Rafiq's eyes gleam with lust.

"Rafiq!" Mukhtar snapped sharply, but Rafiq ignored him, too consumed by the sight of the passing woman.

Mukhtar's patience broke. He leapt to his feet and jerked Rafiq's face toward him by the jaw. "Boss has strictly prohibited you from laying a finger on any woman until this case is over. Why don't you get it? This is exactly why we're here like this."

Rafiq's smirk only deepened. His gaze flickered from Mukhtar's knotted fist to his scowling face, then drifted past him as if savoring a delicious thought. He stepped closer, pressing Mukhtar back against the wall, crowding the air between them.

"Ah, Mukhtar..." Rafiq's voice oozed. "You know what Allah made best in this world?" His eyes glittered like a starved animal imagining its prey. "Women. Fragile, trembling little things." His tongue darted over his cracked lips as though tasting the image. "No matter how many I take, the hunger... it claws at me again."

Mukhtar's jaw tightened. "Focus on the mission, Rafiq," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Rafiq let out a sound between a moan and a growl, dragging a hand down his own thigh until it stopped just above the hem of his pants. His eyes half-lidded as if savoring a private picture. "Tch. Listen to you – cold, empty. No fire." His blackened teeth flashed as he leaned in, tapping Mukhtar's shoulder slowly. "Don't worry. Next time I've wrung the life out of one, I'll send her to you. You can play with the scraps."

The smirk that followed stretched too wide, spit shining at the corner of his mouth. "They scream so deliciously, Mukhtar. So good," he whispered, a sick laugh bubbling from his throat. "And the more they scream, the hungrier I get."

Mukhtar's stomach lurched. The wall behind him felt colder, harder, but nowhere near as cold as Rafiq's filthy words.

"But—"

The shift in his tone made Mukhtar's eyes snap back to him, only to find the smirk gone, replaced by something much darker.

"These blo*dy fuc*ers like Solanki and Maurya ruined everything!" he hissed, spittle flying as his chest heaved. His narrowed eyes burned into Mukhtar. "Tell me, eh? What have I done?"

His hands jerked outward, palms open for an answer, then curled into trembling fists. "What have I done? Just taken what brings peace to me." His face twisted, eyes gleaming with manic righteousness. "Allah made women for us. For men. Their duty is to satisfy us. You understand? Duty."

His chest rose and fell sharply, veins straining along his neck. "I wasn't going to kill her," he hissed. "But she resisted. She defied me. What choice did I have? Tell me—what choice?" His fingers clawed at the air as if still gripping the throat of the frightened teenager who had only just begun to understand the real meaning of life.

A sharp exhale followed by his laugh. "No problem in that. Not a single one. I don't think so." His teeth, black and broken, flashed in the flickering light.

He jabbed a fingertip against the tip of Mukhtar's nose, like a man marking territory. The touch was light, almost intimate, but the look he fixed on Mukhtar was anything but.

"One day," he said, each word sharpened into a promise, "I'll take that pleasure from the women of their houses." He leaned in until their faces were inches apart, his eyes boring into Mukhtar's like daggers. "I will," he repeated, voice low and certain. "And I'll take it with every ounce of hunger I have—every scrap of desire that claws inside me."

A wet little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You'll see," he added, soft as a threat, "and you'll know who owns it."

A/N: Hello, everyone!

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this update.

Now, let me be very clear - I do not and will never support people like Rafiq. Such people are a disgrace, and the sad part is that they exist, often much nearer to us than we think. And honestly, calling them "animals" would be unfair, because even animals have instincts, manners, and respect for life that these so-called humans lack.

Also, I must say this upfront: I'm not here to target or hurt anyone's religion. No faith, no scripture, no divine teaching ever supports cruelty or the destruction of another person's dignity. It's only corrupt minds who hide behind the name of the sacred to justify their vile actions. They are not guided by faith, they are guided by their own filth.

That's all. Meet you in next part! 😇