The first day passed without noise.
No police.
No legal notice.
No public accusations.
But silence, Sibom realized, was louder than chaos.
He woke up early, though he barely slept. The video sat in his phone like a loaded weapon. Every few minutes he felt the urge to open it again, just to remind himself that he wasn't crazy. That the truth was real.
Downstairs, his parents were unusually quiet during breakfast.
His father looked at him once and asked, "Any update?"
"Nothing yet."
His mother placed a cup of tea near him. "Stay home today," she said softly. "Avoid unnecessary attention."
Unnecessary attention.
As if attention had a choice.
---
By afternoon, whispers had grown sharper.
A neighbor avoided eye contact.
Two men standing near the pharmacy stopped talking when he walked past.
Rumors had evolved.
Now the story was that Sibom had "threatened" Arjun before the fall.
He clenched his jaw.
Lies multiply when truth waits.
---
At 3 PM, his phone vibrated.
Her name flashed on the screen.
He answered immediately.
"Hello?"
Her breathing sounded uneven.
"Dad had a meeting this morning," she said quietly.
"With who?"
"Police."
His chest tightened.
"What happened?"
"They haven't filed anything yet," she whispered. "But they're considering it."
"Because of reputation?" he asked.
"Yes."
There was a long pause.
"Arjun tried to stop him," she added.
"And?"
"He argued. Loudly."
Sibom closed his eyes.
"Did it work?"
"I don't know," she replied.
Her voice sounded tired.
"How are you?" he asked gently.
She didn't answer for a few seconds.
"They took my phone yesterday," she said. "I'm using my cousin's now."
His stomach dropped.
"They don't want me talking to you."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet."
The word *yet* felt dangerous.
"Sibom," she said suddenly, her voice trembling slightly, "if things get bad… promise me you won't do anything reckless."
"Like what?"
"Like exposing everything."
He hesitated.
"I can't promise that."
Silence.
Then softly, "I knew you'd say that."
---
That evening, the sky turned gray again.
Heavy clouds gathered like a warning.
Sibom sat on his bed replaying the warehouse meeting in his mind.
Arjun's face hadn't looked like an enemy.
It looked… conflicted.
At 7:12 PM, his phone buzzed again.
Arjun.
*We need to talk. Not safe to meet outside. Call me.*
Sibom called instantly.
"What's happening?" he asked.
"My father spoke to a lawyer," Arjun said without greeting.
"I know."
"He's still thinking about filing."
"And you?"
"I'm trying to stop it."
"Trying isn't enough," Sibom replied calmly.
"I know!" Arjun snapped. Then lowered his voice. "You don't understand the pressure."
"Then help me understand."
There was heavy breathing on the other end.
"My father thinks if he doesn't act, people will think I lost the fight."
"This isn't a boxing match."
"It is to him."
Silence stretched.
"Show him the video," Sibom said.
"He's seen it."
"And?"
"He says it doesn't matter."
Sibom's grip tightened around his phone.
"It proves I didn't push you."
"It proves you argued," Arjun replied. "That's enough for him to twist."
Sibom felt anger rising.
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Wait one more day."
"One more day?" he repeated.
"Yes. Tomorrow evening there's a family meeting. I'll push again."
"And if he refuses?"
Arjun didn't answer immediately.
"If he refuses," he said quietly, "do what you have to do."
---
That night felt heavier than the last.
Sibom couldn't sit still.
He stepped outside for air.
The street was damp from light rain. Streetlights flickered.
As he walked past the corner shop, he noticed something strange.
A black car parked across the road.
Engine running.
Windows tinted.
He slowed his steps.
The car didn't move.
Didn't turn off.
Just waited.
A chill ran down his spine.
He kept walking, pretending not to notice.
After a few steps, the car's engine sound grew louder.
It started moving slowly.
Following.
His heartbeat quickened.
He turned into a narrow lane.
The car couldn't enter.
It stopped at the corner.
Watching.
Sibom didn't look back again.
But he knew.
This was no longer just about a fall.
This was about intimidation.
---
He returned home and locked the door carefully.
His father noticed his pale face.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Sibom replied automatically.
But inside, everything was happening.
He went to his room and sent a message to Arjun.
*Was someone following me?*
Reply came five minutes later.
*What do you mean?*
*Black car. Tinted windows. Watching.*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
*I didn't send anyone.*
The reply was too clean.
Too controlled.
Sibom stared at it.
*Are you sure?*
*Yes.*
But something felt off.
---
The second day arrived like a storm waiting to break.
Morning headlines online carried a small local update:
"College Student Injury Incident Under Review."
No names mentioned.
Yet.
Sibom's father saw it.
"Is this about you?" he asked.
"Probably."
His mother looked terrified.
"This is getting serious," she whispered.
"It already is," Sibom replied.
---
At 4 PM, Arjun called.
"It's happening," he said.
"What is?"
"The meeting."
Voices could be heard faintly in the background.
Angry voices.
Doors shutting.
Heavy footsteps.
"Put me on speaker," Sibom said.
"What?"
"Let me speak."
"I can't."
"Then show them the video again."
"I did!"
Shouting grew louder behind Arjun.
A deep male voice.
His father.
Sibom couldn't hear the words clearly.
Just tone.
Dominant.
Unyielding.
Then suddenly—
The line went silent.
Call ended.
Sibom tried calling back.
No answer.
He tried again.
Switched off.
His chest tightened.
---
Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered cautiously.
"Yes?"
A calm, cold voice replied.
"You should prepare yourself."
"Who is this?"
"Formal complaint has been filed."
Sibom's breath stopped.
"On what basis?"
"You'll receive notice soon."
Click.
Call ended.
His hands felt numb.
Filed.
They did it.
Without warning.
Without waiting.
He opened his messaging app.
Arjun was still offline.
Her number unreachable.
He looked at the video file.
His only shield.
His only weapon.
---
Downstairs, his father received a call.
Sibom could hear fragments.
"Yes… we just got informed… I understand… we'll cooperate."
His father came upstairs slowly.
"It's official," he said.
A legal notice would arrive by morning.
Assault charge.
The word echoed again.
His mother began crying quietly.
His father sat heavily on the chair.
Sibom felt strangely calm.
Not because he wasn't scared.
But because fear had reached its peak.
There was nowhere higher to climb.
He stood up.
"Where are you going?" his father asked.
"To end this."
"How?"
Sibom held up his phone.
"With truth."
His father stared at him.
"Think carefully."
"I have," Sibom replied.
---
He uploaded the video.
Not publicly yet.
But scheduled.
Timed post.
Midnight.
If he didn't cancel it before 11:59 PM, it would go live.
Automatic.
He placed the phone on the table.
Then he sat back and waited.
An hour passed.
No call.
Two hours.
Still nothing.
At 10:47 PM, his phone finally lit up.
Arjun calling.
Sibom answered immediately.
"What have you done?" Arjun demanded.
"What do you mean?"
"You scheduled something."
So he knew.
"How?" Sibom asked sharply.
"Doesn't matter. Cancel it."
"Why?"
"Because this is bigger than you think."
"Explain."
Heavy breathing.
"You don't know everything about my father."
"I don't need to. He filed a false case."
"Sibom," Arjun said urgently, "if that video goes public, it won't just be about clearing your name."
"Then what?"
Silence.
Then, in a lower voice:
"It will expose things you're not ready to see."
A chill ran through Sibom.
"What things?"
"Just trust me."
Trust.
Again.
The clock on his wall ticked loudly.
11:12 PM.
Forty-eight minutes left.
"Give me a reason," Sibom said.
"You're already in danger," Arjun replied. "If you release that video, you'll become a target."
"From who?"
Arjun didn't answer directly.
Instead, he said something that made Sibom's blood run cold.
"Have you noticed you're being watched?"
Sibom froze.
"You know about the car."
"Yes."
"Was it you?"
"No," Arjun replied firmly.
"Then who?"
There was a pause.
And then—
"My father doesn't work alone."
The call ended.
Sibom stared at the phone.
11:26 PM.
Thirty-four minutes.
His heart pounded.
Outside, a car engine stopped near his house.
Not just any car.
The same low, steady sound.
He walked to the window slowly.
Black car.
Parked.
Engine off this time.
Headlights dark.
Waiting.
Watching.
His phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
Message:
*Delete the video.*
Another message:
*Or things will get worse.*
The clock read 11:41 PM.
Nineteen minutes.
Sweat formed on his forehead.
This wasn't just a family reputation fight anymore.
This was something organized.
Controlled.
Strategic.
He looked at the scheduled post.
Ready.
Waiting.
His thumb hovered over the cancel button.
Outside, a car door opened.
Footsteps on the pavement.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Coming closer to his gate.
11:53 PM.
Seven minutes.
His heart pounded louder than the ticking clock.
Another message appeared:
*Last warning.*
Footsteps stopped outside his house.
Someone knocked.
Not hard.
Just once.
Calm.
Confident.
11:57 PM.
Three minutes.
His phone screen glowed in his trembling hand.
Cancel?
Or let it explode?
The knock came again.
This time slower.
More deliberate.
11:59 PM.
One minute.
And then—
The house lights suddenly went out.
Complete darkness.
His phone the only light in the room.
The screen flashed:
**Scheduled Post – 00:00:00**
Midnight.
And before he could react—
The front door downstairs creaked open.