Rudra watched the scene as unfolding infront of him, unable to intervene, forced to relive Danny's memories as they unfolded in front of him.
By choosing First Person Perspective to see Danny's memories, he was not simply observing them like a film. He was living them, feeling each emotion with a vividness that left no room for detachment.
The sadness cut through him like a blade, the rage burned in his chest like molten lava, the fierce affection Danny held for his mother warmed his heart, and the hatred toward Rajendra felt like poison coursing through his veins.
Rajendra might have been Danny's uncle by blood, but he carried himself like a sworn enemy. Every act of cruelty and humiliation he inflicted on Danny and his mother, was what made him happy and the worse thing was he felt righteous of his actions.
The malice was worn like a medal.
Rudra was still lost in the storm of these feelings when a quiet voice broke through his chain of thoughts.
"Danny? Son?"
A weathered hand rested on his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. The system screen flickered, then vanished abruptly, pulling Rudra back into the present with a jolt that left him disoriented.
"Yes… yes, Uncle," he managed, his voice unsteady as reality asserted itself.
"Here is your tea, Danny. Go on, have some," the voice said, carrying the easy warmth of someone who had known him for years.
Blinking, Rudra focused on the man before him. The tea seller was a living paradox. Tall and thin as a bamboo stalk, but his face bore the marks of decades of hard life and quiet endurance.
His skin was tanned deeply from endless days in the sun, his cheeks creased with lines that spoke of laughter and endurance in equal measure. Grey hair curled wildly beneath a faded cloth cap, and his pale blue eyes held a gentle wisdom born from years of watching the world one customer at a time.
Most striking was his voice. There was something unusual about his Hindi, a soft rhythm that hinted English might not just be his second language but perhaps his first.
"Do you know me, Uncle?" Danny asked, noting the familiarity in the man's manner.
The tea vendor's eyebrows shot upward, "What's this, Danny? Are you pulling one of your pranks or Have you forgotten me for real?"
He set the steaming glass down with the precision of long practice. "I am Frederick, beta. Frederick D'Souza. You have been coming here for tea at least three years."
Frederick. The name felt almost melodic compared to the rough sound of Rajendra's or the everyday ring of local names.
"Sorry, Uncle Frederick," Rudra said, settling back into Danny's role. "I nearly drowned in the Pureflow River not long ago. The doctors say I lost many of my memories."
He let just the right measure of confusion touch his voice. "Everything feels far away, like I am peering at it through a mist."
Frederick's expression softened at once. Concern filled those pale eyes. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, his British accent more pronounced now but tempered by decades in India. "I heard there had been some trouble, but I had no idea it was so grave."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his tone. "Your mother came here yesterday asking if I had seen you. Poor woman looked worried beyond words."
The mention of Danny's mother tightened Rudra's chest, the lingering echo of the memories he had just endured.
"She has borne more than her share," Frederick went on, stirring his own small glass of tea. "Losing her husband, and then you disappearing… life can be merciless to good people."
His voice carried the weight of someone who had seen too much loss to ever speak of it lightly.
"How long have you run this stall, Uncle Frederick?" Rudra asked.
"Twenty five years now, beta. Came to India young, fell in love with the country and with your Aunt Marie, so I stayed. My family back in Manchester thinks I am mad, but this place is home now. This corner, these faces, this chaos… it is part of me."
Before Rudra could continue, a noisy group of college students arrived.
"Frederick Uncle! Four cutting tea, extra sweet."
"Hurry, we will be late for class."
The old man's focus shifted at once. "Coming, coming." He glanced back with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls. Take care of yourself, and tell your mother I was asking after her."
As Frederick moved to serve them, still agile despite the years, Rudra found himself alone again with his glass of tea. The man's kindness was a sharp contrast to the cruelty that had stained Danny's past. Even in a world filled with betrayal, there were still people who chose gentleness.
The tea was flawless, strong and sweet, scented faintly with cardamom. Rudra sipped slowly, wondering what place this British tea seller might have in the tangled knots of Danny's story.
Click.
The system screen blinked back into existence, pulling Rudra once more into SP Rajveer Sharma's spotless living room. The air was tight with tension.
There sat the man who had destroyed Danny's life.
Rajendra lounged as if the house belonged to him, a glass of whiskey balanced in ring covered fingers. His belly strained against a silk shirt that probably cost more than a month of Danny's household expenses.
The same hands that had struck Danny's mother now held crystal glassware with deliberate grace.
His gaze locked on Danny's, and Rudra felt the exact moment recognition struck. Rajendra's face drained of colour, then flushed dark red, twisting into an expression of unfiltered malice.
"What is he doing here?" he spat, rising so violently that amber liquid splashed onto the spotless carpet.
"Uncle, this is Danny, my friend," Kanika began, confusion clear in her tone.
"Your friend?" Rajendra's laugh was bitter enough to burn. "Do you even know who this boy is, Kanika? He is the son of that thief Vinod."
SP Sharma's eyes hardened. "Raju, calm yourself."
"Calm? That man stole ten lakhs from me, and now his son is here, playing hero with your daughter."
"That is a lie!" Danny's voice cracked under years of anger. "My father stole nothing. You did. You took everything from us."
Rajendra stepped forward, his face dark with fury, his rings glinting like small weapons. "You little wretch."
"Uncle, please," Kanika said quickly, stepping between them. "What is going on? I do not understand."
SP Sharma rose, his presence filling the space with command. "Enough. Both of you."
He turned his gaze on Danny, cold and unyielding. "Boy, you should leave. Now."
"But Dad—"
"Now, Kanika. Walk him out."
The authority in his voice allowed no debate. Kanika's eyes darted between them, torn but powerless to refuse.
"Come on, Danny," she murmured. "I will take you to the gate."
As they stepped away, Rajendra's voice followed like a curse.
"Should have finished what we started five years ago."
The words struck with all the weight of threat and memory combined.
At the gate, Kanika's eyes shone with unspoken emotion. "I am sorry, Danny. I could not treat you properly, but maybe we can meet tomorrow?"
Her gaze was so open and sincere that he felt a sharp ache in his chest. But the danger surrounding him made it impossible.
"Sorry, Kanika. I have important work tomorrow. I will not be able to see you."
The lie was bitter but necessary.
Danny left Officer Lane quickly, his mind heavy with Rajendra's words.
We should have finished what we started five years ago.
****************************************************
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