[Location: Bungalow No. 5, Officer Lane , Evening]
The iron gates of Bungalow No. 5 stood tall, their government standard dark green paint dulled and peeling after years of exposure to sunlight and relentless monsoons.
A brass nameplate glittered and read the name SP RAJVEER SHARMA. The engraving was deep, deliberate, and impossible to ignore, carrying authority even in silence.
Danny pressed the doorbell, his pulse rattling in his chest like a trapped bird. The chime rang out into the still evening, and soon faded in the mansion.
He wiped his damp palms against worn jeans, suddenly getting more conscious of how scruffy he must look against Officer Lane's manicured neatness.
Then he could hear. Heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching from within. Each one a warning before the man appeared.
The door creaked open to reveal SP Rajveer Sharma himself.
He stood easily at six feet, broad enough to fill the doorway. His perfectly maintained black thick moustache matched his hair, both sharpened by decades of discipline, and probably more fearsome than his service weapon.
His khaki uniform was immaculate despite the creases sharp enough to cut, medals glinting like unspoken warnings earned over a long career.
Does he ever take that uniform off? Danny thought, noting how the man wore command like a second skin.
"Yes?" The voice was rough and commanding, the sort that could pull confessions from even the innocent and apologies from the blameless.
"Sir, I'm Danny. Kanika invited me… "
"KANIKA!" he barked, not breaking eye contact. "Your friend is here!"
Light, hurried footsteps answered from inside, a bright contrast to his measured tread.
Kanika appeared, breathless, hair tied in a messy bun that somehow made her even more striking than at the ghat. She wore a plain yellow dress that warmed her brown eyes.
"Dad, this is Danny the one who helped me at the ghat," she said with the ease of someone untouched by real fear.
Sharma's gaze swept over Danny like a scanner, reading and recording every detail from cheap clothes to nervous fidgets. Danny felt pinned in place.
Silence stretched thin.
"Hm. Come in."
The bungalow matched what Danny expected spotless, ordered, lined with family photos in perfect symmetry. Yet it felt more like a tidy government office than a home.
Practical, government issue furniture filled the space no softness, no warmth like Rajmahal had once held. That place had been alive, scented with Maa's cooking and ringing with laughter.
"Sit," Sharma ordered, gesturing to a leather sofa that looked designed to deter comfort.
Danny sat stiffly, back straight, every muscle alert.
"What do you do?"
"I've just passed 12th, sir."
"Percentage?" Even without raising his voice, the question hit like a shout.
"98.29, sir."
An eyebrow lifted faint approval. "Good marks. Which coaching?"
The words hit a sore place. Memories surged All in One Coaching's busy classrooms, his father's booming laugh, the respect in students' eyes.
"I… study on my own, sir."
"Self study?" Sharma leaned forward, the air tightening, his instincts shifting into full assessment.
"And what's your plan, Mr…?"
"Danny," he supplied quietly. "Preparing for SSC CGL, sir."
"Boy, SSC CGL isn't child's play. You need proper guidance. Join a coaching like All in One."
The irony twisted in Danny's gut. That was their institute. His father's.
"What's your father's name?"
Danny's mouth went dry.
"Vinod Ji, sir. He… passed away five years ago."
A flicker recognition, maybe guilt flashed in Sharma's eyes before vanishing.
"Vinod Ji… " he said slowly. "Familiar name. What did he do?"
"He ran All in One Coaching outside the Scaredford. I'm his son."
Now there was no mistaking it recognition sharpened in Sharma's gaze like a predator sighting prey.
"All in One Coaching…" he repeated. "Yes, I remember. Tragic accident. Pureflow River."
He studied Danny's face with hawk like precision.
"He owned Rajmahal, didn't he?"
The word accident stung like a slap. But before Danny could answer, Kanika returned with steaming momos.
"Enough interrogation, Dad! He's here for treat, not a job interview," she said, setting the plate down firmly.
Sharma's expression softened for her, the severity easing just slightly.
"Fine. But don't stay late and Keep the door open."
He said before vanishing into other room.
"Sorry," Kanika said, rolling her eyes. "He treats everyone like suspects."
"It's fine," Danny managed, though his hands trembled. "Your dad's… intense."
"Yeah. That's the one word for him," she said with a small laugh, settling beside him. "Since Mom died, he's been like this paranoid, overprotective."
Her tone softened. "He's afraid something might happen to me too ."
The momos were perfect soft, filled with spiced vegetables, paired with tangy tomato chutney.
Danny barely noticed the taste. Sharma's reaction to his father's name kept replaying.
"These are great," he said, forcing a smile. "Mumbai style?"
"Darjeeling. We lived there two years before Mumbai." She leaned closer, her jasmine perfume delicate, refined.
"So, after SSC CGL?"
"Ministry of External Affairs. Maybe a foreign posting."
"Escaping Scaredford?" she asked, reading him easily.
"Trying to give my mother and me a better life."
The weight in his voice dimmed her smile.
"What happened to your father? Dad mentioned an accident."
"He drowned. At least, that's what they said."
"You don't believe it?" she asked, low.
Danny hesitated, then met her gaze.
"My father was a strong swimmer. He taught me in the Pureflow Har ki Pauri, every morning. He could cross and back without strain. Drowning doesn't fit."
"What do you think happened?"
Before he could answer, Sharma's voice boomed from deeper in the house:
"Kanika! Your Rajendra uncle is here!"
"Rajendra Uncle?" she exclaimed, clearly excited.
'Rajendra' Danny's stomach clenched and his blood ran cold. 'Could it be him?"
The coincidence was too sharp, too cruel to be chance.
His world tilted on its axis as footsteps approached familiar, heavy footsteps that had haunted his nightmares for years.
He was indeed the same Rajendra.
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