đź“– Episode 20: The Photograph That Shouldn't Exist
The photograph seemed to pulse under the dim light, the edges curling with age, but the image was sharp enough to slice through her.
Aaliyaan.
And beside him… Suleman.
Her fingers pressed harder into the paper, smudging the corner, as if the pressure could force the image to change.
> "You were there?"
Her voice was quieter than she intended, but in the stillness of the room, it seemed to echo.
Suleman didn't answer. Not right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the photograph — not on her — as though looking at her would make the words he needed harder to speak.
The rain outside hammered the windows in an uneven rhythm, like a fist knocking, knocking, knocking… and her mind began to mirror that beat.
Aaniya's breath caught. Her pulse thudded in her fingertips, in her throat.
> "Suleman," she pushed, "why are you in this picture with him?"
He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms. His jaw was locked so tightly she could almost hear the grind of his teeth.
> "It's not what you think."
> "Then tell me what it is."
His eyes finally lifted to hers, and the weight in them was enough to make her skin prickle, as though the air itself had grown colder.
> "Not tonight."
The words were low, final — but final only in the way a slammed door is final… until someone forces it open.
They didn't soothe her. If anything, they made her mind spin faster, snatching at possibilities she didn't want to imagine.
---
Scene: The Office Shadows
She set the photograph down, but it burned in her memory like a brand.
Every moment she'd shared with Aaliyaan — the laughter, the fights, the quiet mornings — now seemed to have another figure standing in the background. Suleman's shadow stretching backward in time.
Her throat tightened.
> "Were you following us?" she demanded. "Back then?"
> "Aaniya—"
> "Or were you… helping him?"
Something flickered in his eyes — there and gone in a heartbeat — too quick to read.
Without another word, he took the photograph from her hand and slid it back into the file. The snap of the folder shutting was sharp, almost angry.
> "You think you're ready to hear the truth. You're not."
> "Don't decide that for me."
The room smelled of rain-soaked dust… and something sharper.
Metal. Oil.
Only now did she notice one of the desk drawers was half open, papers stacked beside a small black pistol.
Her eyes lingered on the weapon.
> "Is that for him? The man under the lamp?"
> "It's for whoever comes next," he said flatly.
His tone didn't leave space for more questions — but the thud of her heart didn't care.
---
Scene: A Disturbance Outside
A sudden sound — faint but sharp — cut through the tension.
A metallic rattle.
Somewhere beyond the door.
Both of them froze.
The light from the ceiling flickered once before he moved to the switch, plunging the room into shadow.
The darkness deepened the sound of the rain until it felt like it was inside the room with them. The air was damp, heavy, curling around her lungs.
He stepped closer to her, his voice barely audible:
> "Stay here. Don't make a sound."
Her lips parted to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her.
He moved toward the door — each step slow, deliberate — his hand brushing briefly against the desk drawer before he let it fall away.
The rattle came again, softer this time, followed by the scrape of metal against metal.
The moment his fingers touched the handle, the noise stopped.
Silence.
Except for the rain.
They stood there, frozen in that suspended moment where something is about to happen, but hasn't yet.
Then — without warning — a shadow crossed the frosted glass pane of the door.
Too quick to see clearly, but enough to make Aaniya's stomach clench.
Suleman stepped back from the door, scanning the frame like he could read the intention of whoever was on the other side.
He turned the lock with a soft click and motioned for her to retreat deeper into the room.
> "We're not alone," he murmured.
---
Cliffhanger
A cold draft swept under the door, carrying with it a faint, unmistakable scent — cigarette smoke.
Her chest tightened.
It wasn't the first time she'd smelled it.
It was the same scent that clung to the air the night she saw the man under the streetlamp.
The same scent that had followed her since.
And in that instant, she knew — whoever was outside… had found them again.
---