Adultery Mirna – Vikram's Innocent Hotwife

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 13: The Unhooked Blouse & The Calm Before Revenge



Vikram stood near the Scorpio in the hospital ground, blood drying on his shirt, knife tucked in his pocket, breathing steady. The night air was cool, but his mind was calm—unbothered, like a blade that had finally found its edge.

Malar stood a few feet away, staring at him. Her eyes were wide, wet, searching for the boy she once knew. But he wasn’t there.
“Maama… what have you become?”

Vikram didn’t answer. Just looked at her—calm, clear, empty of the old pain. She took a step closer, then another. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

She looked around and saw if anyone was spotting them.. She internally fears Vicky and her father.


She grabbed his hand suddenly, fingers trembling. “Come this side.”



She pulled him toward a nearby motor room—an old storage shed for hospital generators and spare parts. The door was half-open. Inside it was dim, smelled of oil and dust. She shut the door behind them.


Malar turned to him, voice cracking. “What happened to you? I thought you would become a better person… become a big engineer.”
Vikram laughed—low, hollow. “How would I become one when your lover put an FIR on me? It stopped me.”


Malar cried harder, shoulders shaking. “I just wished to marry Vicky… just for money and better lifestyle. I was tempted when you were in college. He showed me the sexual world… but keeping aside my personal things, I always wished you good. Sorry… I know you loved me.”
She picked up his hand again, brought it to her face. “Slap me, Maama. I deserve it. For everything.”

She felt his hand—stronger now, calloused, steady. She enacted the motion, pulling his hand toward her cheek as if guiding the slap. But Vikram didn’t slap. His fingers closed around her neck—not choking, just firm—pushing her back against the wall in one smooth motion.

The collision made her saree pallu slide, slipping off her shoulder, threatening to fall completely. She struggled against his hold, breath catching. “Maama…” she cried softly.

“I deserve whatever I caused to you,” she whispered. “Do whatever you wish… but let out the anger on me.”

She meant pain — a slap, a hit, something to punish her guilt.
Vikram’s eyes darkened. “Not just you. Even your lover Vicky deserves my rage.”

He released her neck. Malar stumbled forward a step to relax the tense muscles, and the remaining pallu dropped fully. Her blouse strained over her breasts, the deep neckline revealing the swell of her cleavage, nipples faintly pressing against the thin fabric.


She quickly tried to cover herself, hands flying to her chest.

Vikram pulled the knife from his pocket. Malar’s eyes widened in panic—she thought he was about to bang her for revenge or worse, kill her. The blade glinted in the dim light.

He brought the knife close to her blouse. With the tip, he slipped it under the first hook—slow, deliberate. The hook snapped open with a soft pop.

Malar closed her eyes, breath ragged.
Vikram leaned in close to her ear, voice low and cold.


“I didn’t forget anything. I saw how he took you. How you both made me run. I cannot bed you and call it as a revenge. When i consider a revenge i t will be unthinkable”

He stepped back. Malar opened her eyes—breasts heaving with heavy breath, pallu down, one hook broken, blouse barely holding. She looked at him—determined, crueler, more dangerous than the soft, sensible Vikram she once knew.

Vikram turned and walked out of the motor room. He looked back once.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Fear, guilt, and something darker flickered in her eyes.
He walked toward the Scorpio.

Then he saw Sekaran’s son .

The 25 year bold boy had just arrived—stepping out of a car, looking rushed. But something was off. Sekaran had said his son was in Mumbai that morning. Mumbai to Trichy was a 2-hour flight at best. How was he here so soon?

Vikram ignored Malar completely. His mind shifted—sharp, focused.

He decided to spy on Sekaran’s son. 

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 14: The Son’s Secret & The Path Forward


Vikram left the hospital ground without a backward glance at Malar. Her shocked face, her heaving chest, the broken hook on her blouse—all of it lingered in his mind like smoke, but he pushed it aside. The Scorpio’s engine roared to life, and he drove away into the Trichy night, blood still drying on his shirt, knife heavy in his pocket.

He didn’t follow Aadharsh. He didn’t need to. Three years of driving Sekaran had taught him one thing above all: power came from information, not footsteps. He had connections now—drivers, auditors, informants, low-level cops on Sekaran’s payroll. People who talked when the price was right or the favor was called in.

Back at the safehouse, Vikram made quiet calls. No drama. No tailing. Just pieces falling into place.

Within two days the picture emerged.

Aadharsh—Sekaran’s only son—had always played the clean, uninterested professional. The boy who studied in Mumbai, avoided the dark business, wanted nothing to do with the mafia network. Sekaran had respected it, even encouraged it. "My son will stay clean," he’d say. "The empire ends with me. Maybe let him flourish in business and Vikram take care of my empire as long as it last."

But Aadharsh had never been uninterested. He had been patient.

The intel showed it clearly: Aadharsh had quietly tied hands with Sekaran’s biggest rival—a faction led by a ruthless politico who controlled half the mafia routes in the state. 

They met in secret hotels, exchanged documents in parked cars, shared ledgers through encrypted apps. Aadharsh’s goal was simple: expand the dark network without limits. No moral policies, no boundaries, no "clean" image to maintain. Sekaran’s cautious rules—avoid certain politicians, limit violence, pay fair cuts—were holding them back. If Sekaran stepped aside or was removed, Aadharsh would take over and turn the empire into something bigger, bloodier, and richer.

Vikram sat in the back room, files spread on the cot, staring at the names, dates, photos. He felt nothing but cold clarity.

Even blood sells out blood. No one is safe.

He had seen it before—Malar choosing Vicky for money, Malavika choosing Kaushik for security. Now Aadharsh is choosing a rival for power. The pattern was the same: loyalty was a lie when ambition whispered louder.


Vikram didn’t rush to Sekaran. He waited. Watched. Confirmed again through another driver, an auditor who owed him a favor. The same story. Aadharsh was moving pieces in the shadows, waiting for the right moment.


One evening, driving Sekaran back from a meeting, Vikram spoke.
“Sir, I fear this will shake you.”
Sekaran looked at him in the rear-view mirror. “What is it?”
“I have doubt.”
Sekaran stayed calm. “I had the doubt too. Did you confirm it?”
“It’s confirmed.”
Sekaran exhaled slowly. Silence stretched between them for the next ten kilometers.




Finally, he spoke. “I’m going to my daughter’s home in the USA. I don’t want to get defeated in my son’s hand and make him worse. But he won’t look for security officer going by the way he reacts.”

He paused. “I wish you take over this business.”
Vikram kept eyes on the road. “Sorry, sir. I will go elsewhere. Staying in this field, I fear I could remove Aadharsh from the business world at the least.”
Sekaran understood the complexity. Months passed. Their rapport came to a standstill. No more long drives, no more shared cigarettes. Sekaran grew quieter. Vikram grew colder.

One afternoon Sekaran  got ready to depart to USA.

On the airport.. 
“I’m glad I didn’t exploit you to the outside world,” Sekaran said. “Else I would have left you with big enemies. Now you have an option to at least continue a normal life.”
He handed Vikram a Visiting card “My friend who is a big politician asked for a driver. He personally asked me for a loyal person as their family has many secrets. I cannot name anyone other than you…”

Vikram nodded. “I cannot say no to anything you say. You are my mentor. Ever since I met you I never faced betrayal. I was an orchestrator—I will continue to be honest, straight, and controller.”

After he dropped him at airport.. 
They hugged—brief, firm, the way men do when words are no longer enough.

A call came in. it was the politician.. Vikram looked at the name. A senior politician—clean on the outside, deep in the game inside. Daughter-in-law who needed to be driven everywhere. He specifically said he wanted to come earlier but Sekaran was adamant about get drive only Vikram before he leaves to USA.

Vikram arrived at the politician’s house the next day. Sekaran’s final words echoed as he stepped out of the car.

“Your name came. Come and meet me. My daughter-in-law needs to go outside. Start from today.”

Vikram got ready. New house. New role. New control.
The path forward was clear.

But he has no real one around him.. He called this world a betrayal stage

Malar for money 
Malavika for money + power
Aadharsh for Money + Power + Control

Shit.. he said to himself and a lady came down in saree. It was his first trip and he was about to take her out. Her name is Swathi daughter in law of the politician..

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 15: Swathi’s Midnight Drive & The Hill Station Secret 


Vikram arrived at the politician’s house the next day. The sprawling bungalow sat in a quiet, guarded lane — high walls, cameras, men in plain clothes watching every gate. He parked the car, adjusted his shirt, and waited.


A woman came down the steps — Swathi, the daughter-in-law. Sari tight across her curves, deep red silk clinging to her waist and breasts, pallu dbangd just enough to tease the swell beneath. Eyes sharp, commanding, lips painted dark. She slid into the backseat without a word at first, perfume filling the car — jasmine mixed with something heavier, more intimate.



“Drive,” she said. “Friend’s wedding. 40 kilometers.”
Vikram nodded, started the engine. He noticed everything — the way the sari shifted when she crossed her legs, the curve of her thigh visible through the slit, the gold chain resting between her breasts as she leaned forward to give directions. Internal: Another woman in control. Another threat waiting.



The drive was silent at first. Then she spoke again, voice low and casual.
“You’re the one Sekaran uncle sent. Loyal, he said.”


Vikram kept eyes on the road. “Yes, madam.”
She laughed softly. “Don’t call me madam. Just Swathi.”


The wedding venue was loud — lights, music, crowds. Vikram waited outside. Hours passed. Midnight came. Swathi emerged, saree slightly disheveled, eyes bright.


“Drive,” she said. 


Vikram said okay madam.. 


Swathi: “Hill station. Now.”


Vikram: What your father in law said you will come back home on the 2nd evening. And I have to stay here with you till then.. Now you want me to drive to Hill station? Should i confirm with him 


Swathi: Just do what I say
..
Vikram glanced at her in the rearview. “Why should I obey you? Your father-in-law pays me.”
Swathi leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.


“Because I have a reason…  I’ll casually say you molested me in the car.”


She laughed — short, cold. “I’ll say you touched me. Let’s see who he will believe.”



Vikram’s gut twisted — another woman’s threat echoing Malar and Malavika. But this time, something was different. He didn’t fear her. He wanted to catch her. Make enough evidence. Come out stubborn instead of being the nerd he once was.



He obeyed. Wheels hummed through the dark, headlights cutting the night.


The hill station loomed — winding roads, mist, silence broken only by crickets and the engine. A rugged man waited at the gate — broad, powerful, gangster vibe. He greeted Swathi with a tight hug, lips brushing her neck. They disappeared into a shadowed house.


Vikram waited outside, uneasy. Dawn broke. His phone buzzed — politician frantic, searching for her. Calls kept coming, increasing in panic.


He lost patience. Decided to enter. He knows an affair happening definitely. He used his pen cam recorder to record it.. As he entered the house he decided to sneak in without noise. To catch them in an act of a way to protect himself.


He crept inside — empty rooms, stairs creaking under his weight. Breath held.

On a sprawling bed, Swathi rode her lover — naked, breasts bouncing with every thrust, his groans low and primal. She didn’t try to hide her body or remove herself from her position. Her lover stayed under her, hands on her hips, still moving.


Her eyes catched the Vikram who crept in..

She screamed when she saw Vikram: “Why are you here?”

Vikram muttered, “Calls.”



Eyes locked on her curves for a second — the way her lover gripped her hips, the rhythm of their bodies. A tent swelled in his pants but not as with malar or malavika.. — third time a voyeur, but first time it didn’t thrill in the same way. He had enough. It didn’t thrill anymore.



Swathi looked at his uninterested eyes and wondered what he was? Is he even a man… ?She smiled suddenly as if she realised something .

She finally left her lover and moved her ass to come near Vikram…

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 16: Swathi’s Secret has a link to Sekaran 



Swathi left her lover mid-thrust and moved her ass toward Vikram, hips swaying slowly, breasts bouncing with each step. She stopped inches from him—naked, skin flushed from sex, nipples hard in the cool hill air, pussy still glistening. No shame. No cover. Just bold, unblinking eyes locked on his.
“Are you gay?” she asked, voice low, teasing. “Look at this person, Krish—he has nothing for you?”

Krish (her lover) chuckled from the bed, still hard, watching with amusement.

Swathi dismissed the question with a brief breath, then snarled softly—then softened. She reached for Vikram’s phone on the floor, checked it quickly, and set it to flight mode.

“Safe,” she hissed. “No more trouble from my in-laws. My friends are covering my tracks there, so don’t give loose talks… else I’ll say you bangd me in the woods by kidnapping me here.”

She laughed—short, confident, dangerous.
Vikram understood. She did it because her husband was gay? He smirked inside. In a world where perfect husbands were cheated on by women… here a woman had to cheat because of this factor. The irony was bitter, almost funny.

He turned and walked back to the driver room without another word. Swathi watched him go, smile lingering.


That night Vikram threw his pen camera into sewage… he thought not needed.. The issue here is different


Two days later, they rolled back toward Chennai. The car cut through the early morning mist, engine humming low, windows cracked to let in the cool air. Vikram kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. 


Swathi sat in the backseat, legs crossed, saree still the same deep red from the wedding—now slightly wrinkled, carrying the faint scent of hill air, perfume, and something more intimate.


The car was quiet at first. No music. No orders. Just the sound of tires on asphalt and the occasional truck passing in the opposite lane.


Then Swathi’s voice came low from the back—soft, almost careful.


“I’m sorry when you came inside without announcing.”

Vikram didn’t respond. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were on him, not sharp now—something softer, almost tired.


“My boyfriend used detectives to dig your story,” she continued. “Sorry I’ve pushed you too with my insensitive jokes… like threatening you with claims and some womens already made yours mess with such claims.”


She paused, fingers playing with the edge of her pallu.
“Women fuck you over, huh?” Too many betrayals..


Vikram’s jaw tightened, but he kept silent. She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping even lower.
“Relax. That man—Krish—is my lover. A gangster. Opposite my cop politician father-in-law.


My husband’s gay. I’d settle if he weren’t. I’ve known for years. He’s kind, but… there’s nothing there. No fire. No touch. I’m not made for that kind of quiet. He enjoys with his boy friend often i had to cook and be a home women for my father in law..”



She exhaled, almost a laugh without humor.


“So I choose what I have to.. I found a partner.. But they smelled.. They fear I would let the truth about their son out.. Before they pin adultery on me, I’ll prove he’s gay out. I have photos, messages, and witnesses. It’s all ready, but concrete evidence is missing a video. It will take another 3 days to come.. It was expected to come exactly the day we came to hill.


But right now, three days gone… they’re sniffing. If they find out I was at the hill station with Krish… it’s over. My father-in-law will bury me. My husband will play the victim. The family name will win.”



She looked out the window for a moment, then back at him.


“Save me. Bury this. Say the car broke down, we were stuck in a village, no signal. Whatever story you told my father-in-law—stick to it. Make it stronger. Once I’m free, I’ll lift you. Give you a good start in business—big, with Krish. He’s connected. Sekaran uncle trusted him. You’ll have money, power, respect. Not just driving someone else’s wife around.”


Vikram asked how did you know sekaran uncle.. He seemed to connect with your father in law the equation didnt match..  Sekaran uncle daughter and I are friends. Post marriage i came to know her father and my father in law are friends.. I sued to visi his daughter to have fun time.. That is when i met krish..


Vikram kept silent. The road stretched ahead—empty, endless. Swathi watched him in the mirror.



“I know what you’re thinking,” she said quietly. “Another woman using you. Another promise. But I’m not Malar. I’m not Malavika. I don’t lie for fun. I lie to survive. Same as you.”


She leaned back, crossed her arms under her breasts, the saree shifting slightly, revealing the curve of her waist.



“You saw me on that bed. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t beg. You didn’t even touch yourself. You just… watched. Like it didn’t matter anymore. Like you’ve seen it all.”


A small smile touched her lips.
“That’s why I trust you to keep this quiet. You’re not the boy who gets hurt anymore. You’re something else.”


Vikram’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he didn’t speak.
Swathi sighed. “Three more days. Help me hold. Then I’ll make it worth it.”



The car rolled on toward Chennai. Vikram’s mind turned.



Sekaran’s name echoed again. Maybe he sent me here for a reason.
Swathi watched him in the mirror—calm, silent, unreadable.

She smiled to herself.
The game had shifted.

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 17: The Pawn's First Blood



The gates of the sprawling bungalow clanged shut behind the black sedan as Vikram killed the engine. Dawn light was just bleeding into the sky, pale and thin, the way it always looked after a long night on the hills. He stepped out, opened the rear door for Swathi. 


She didn’t thank him. Not with words. Instead, as she passed, her fingers brushed the back of his hand—light, deliberate, gone in a second. Then she walked up the marble steps without looking back.

Vikram stood by the car a moment longer, watching the front door swallow her. The house felt heavier now, like it had grown teeth overnight.

Inside the study, the air was thick with old sandalwood and cigar smoke. The politician—,  and the kind of man who owned half the city’s shadows—sat behind a teak desk the size of a small bed. Two plainclothes men stood behind him, arms folded, faces blank as stone.

Vikram entered without knocking. The door clicked shut.

“Sit,” father in law said. Not a request.

Vikram sat. The chair was low, forcing him to look up. Classic power move.

Father in law leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. “Tell me again. Exactly.”

Vikram kept his voice even. “Car broke down near Kodaikanal side road. Remote stretch—maybe ten kilometers past the last tea stall. No signal. No lights. Locals—two mechanics from a roadside shed—came after an hour, towed us to their place, fixed the fuel line by morning. Madam was scared, but safe. We left as soon as it was light.”

“Which village?”
“Didn’t catch the name. Just a cluster of houses, one small temple .”
“Who helped?”

“Two men. One older, beard, lungi. Younger one handled the tools. Didn’t ask names.”
Father in law eyes narrowed, searching for the lie like a blade testing skin. “And you didn’t think to call me? Not once?”
why you went to hill without asking me 
whom they met

He lied she said she wanted to have a darshan somewherein that hill temple..

“No towers. No bars. Phone was useless.”

Silence stretched. One of the plainclothes men shifted his weight; the leather of his belt creaked.

father in law  exxhaled through his nose. “Swathi said the same. Almost word for word.” He paused. “Convenient.”
Vikram didn’t flinch. “Truth usually is, sir.”

Another long look. Then father in law leaned back. “If anything smells wrong later, boy, you’ll regret ever touching that wheel. Understood?”
“Understood.”

Vikram stood. As he turned to leave, he caught movement in the doorway. Swathi stood there, half-hidden by the frame, pallu drawn across her chest. Her eyes met his for one second—soft, grateful, almost sorry. She gave the smallest nod, then disappeared down the corridor.

He walked out to the car feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes on his back.

---

The next morning came with sirens.


Vikram was boiling water for tea in the single-room kitchenette when the jeep screeched to a halt outside. Doors slammed. Boots pounded up the narrow stairs. Before he could set the vessel down, the door burst open—wood splintering at the latch.

Four uniforms filled the space. One grabbed his collar, another twisted his arm behind him. A third kicked the chair aside.

“Thief,” the inspector barked. “Cash missing from politcians’s house. You were the last one near the safe after the trip. Hands where I can see them.”

Vikram didn’t resist. They shoved him against the wall, patted him down roughly. One of them reached into Vikram’s own travel bag—already open on the floor—and pulled out a wad of notes, still in the politician’s office band.

“See? Caught red-handed.”
Vikram’s laugh was short, bitter. “Planted. You know it.”
The inspector smiled. “We’ll let the magistrate decide.”


They cuffed him, dragged him down the stairs like a sack of rice. Neighbors watched from windows, silent. No one spoke up. In this city, silence was survival.


At the station it wasn’t the front desk. They took him straight to a back room—windowless, single bulb swinging from the ceiling, concrete floor stained dark in places. No camera. No record.

The questioning began without questions.

First came the open-hand slaps—sharp, ringing, turning his cheek hot. Then fists, low and hard, into the ribs. One cracked; he felt it give. Air rushed out in a wheeze. A lathi next—thick bamboo, swinging low against his shins, then the small of his back. Each blow landed with practiced rhythm.
“Confess,” the inspector said between swings. “You stole the money. And while you were driving madam alone in the hills, you touched her. Molested her. Say it. Make it easy.”

Or just let me know what you hide there. the entire story the politician want not this..


Vikram curled on the floor, arms wrapped around his middle. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, warm and coppery. His mind flickered—Malavika’s mocking smile, Malar’s cold threat, Swathi’s whispered promise in the car. Women accuse. Men bleed. Same cycle, different faces. 



But something had changed.
Swathi is not making him bleed for her fantasy or thrill..
He did it for her safety.
He did it for her future.
He did it because he know sekaran somewhere trusted him here.. as his daughters friend he had to save her..


He just breathed—slow, ragged—and stared at the stained concrete inches from his face. Each time a boot connected, each time the lathi whistled, the anger inside him hardened, layer by layer, like cooling steel.

Not this time.

The inspector crouched, grabbed Vikram’s hair, yanked his head back. “Still nothing? We have all day.”
Vikram met his eyes. Blood smeared his teeth when he spoke.

“Then use it.”
The next blow came faster.
But Vikram didn’t break.

Somewhere far away, in another part of the city, Swathi’s phone buzzed once—Krish’s number. She stared at the screen, heart hammering.

The game had moved again.
And this time, the pawn was bleeding—but still on the board.

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 18: Swathi realize the scheme! While vikram bleeds to save her love


Swathi paced the length of her bedroom, the heavy silk curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun, turning the room into a gilded cage. House arrest—unofficial, but real. Guards at the doors, phones monitored, her father-in-law's men watching every move. The politician, Raghunath, had cornered her in the study earlier, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet.

"Admit it," he'd said, leaning close enough for her to smell the betel nut on his breath. "The affair with Krish. Sign the papers. We'll handle the divorce quietly—your fault, our terms. Or we pin it all on that cheap driver. Say you slept with him in the hills. He's already cracking in custody. One more push, and he'll confess everything. Your word against a nobody's. The family wins either way."


She'd stared at him, heart pounding, but kept her face blank. "You're bluffing."

Father in law had smiled—cold, knowing. "Try me. He's spilling about your lover already. Krish's name will be out by evening."

Now, alone, Swathi clutched her phone, hidden under the folds of her salwar. She typed fast, fingers flying.


Swathi: They're locking me in. Threatening to frame Vikram as my lover if I don't confess about you. He's in custody—beating him to break me. Come now. Get me out.

Krish's reply buzzed almost immediately.

Krish: On my way. Back gate. 10 minutes. Be ready.

She deleted the messages, slipped the phone into her bra, and waited, pulse racing. The bungalow felt like a tomb—silent servants, locked doors, the weight of the family's power pressing down.

---

Across the city, in the dim hell of the station's back room, Vikram spat blood onto the concrete. The beatings had ramped up since morning—fists, boots, the occasional lathi crack for emphasis. His ribs screamed with every breath; one eye was a swollen slit.


The inspector circled him like a vulture, wiping sweat from his brow. "Sign it, bastard. Say you fucked Swathi madam in the car. Or spill about her real lover—the gangster. Krish, right? We know. One name, and this ends."


Vikram, chained to the chair, lifted his head slowly. Pain blurred everything, but his mind was clear—sharper than it had been in years. Flashbacks hit: Malar's lies, Malavika's games, Swathi's bold eyes on the hill bed. Women who used, men who broke.
But not him. Not anymore.


He thought of Swathi—her laugh, her threats, her quiet apology in the car. Her one genuine thing: Krish. 

The affair that burned because her life didn't. If he spilled, it crumbled. If he signed the lie about himself, she'd be free... but tainted by association with a "cheap driver."


No. Let them beat him. Let it buy her time. Let his silence keep her love intact.
He laughed—low, ragged, blood bubbling at his lips.


The inspector paused. "What's funny?"
Vikram met his eyes. "You. Thinking pain changes anything."


The next punch came hard, splitting his lip fresh. But Vikram didn't speak. For once, he thought, I choose the silence.

---

The back gate of the bungalow was a service entrance—rusted iron, hidden by overgrown bougainvillea. Krish arrived like a shadow: black SUV idling in the alley, four men spilling out with him. They moved fast—wire cutters on the chain, silenced footsteps over the gravel.


Inside, Swathi heard the faint clink. She slipped from her room, down the servant stairs, heart in her throat. A guard turned the corner—Krish's man was on him in seconds, chokehold silent and swift. The body slumped.


Krish appeared at the base of the stairs, face hard, eyes scanning. "Now."

She ran to him, no words. He pulled her through the gate, into the SUV. Doors slammed. The vehicle peeled away, leaving the bungalow's lights shrinking in the rearview.


In the backseat, Swathi exhaled, trembling. "They have Vikram. Beating him to make him lie—say we slept together. Or name you."


Krish gripped the wheel tighter. "He won't break. Not if he's smart."
"But they think he is. I can't let him take this."


Krish glanced at her. "We go underground. Safe house. Stall for the video. Three days."


Swathi nodded, but her mind raced ahead. As the city blurred past, she pulled out her phone again—another hidden sim.
She dialed a number she rarely used.


"Dad? It's me. I need your help. Now."

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 19: The Name That Stops the Lathi - Bharath [Bharath's Cameo]


The line connected to a quiet study in a modest flat on the city's outskirts. Swathi's father—Ramanathan, retired Additional Director General of security officer, a man whose name still opened doors in every station—listened without interrupting.


When she finished—the threats, the house arrest, Vikram's custody, Krish's rescue—his voice was steady, laced with old authority.

"You're safe?"
"Yes. With... a friend."

A pause. "Krish."

She didn't deny it.

Ramanathan sighed. "Your father-in-law's playing dirty. But influence cuts both ways. I'll make calls. Get the boy out. No charges. But Swathi—end this soon. Before it swallows you all."

"Thank you, Appa."

"Be careful. And tell that driver... he owes me nothing. But you do."

The call ended. Swathi stared at the phone, relief mixing with guilt. Vikram's silence had bought her this. Now her father's pull would free him.
Krish caught her eye in the mirror. "Your old man?"

She nodded. "He's stepping in."

"Good. But next time, we don't run. We fight."
The SUV vanished into the night traffic, leaving the bungalow's shadows behind.

But in the station, the beatings paused—for now. A phone rang in the inspector's pocket. A voice from higher up. Influence stirring.


The game twisted again.


The inspector’s phone rang again—sharp, insistent, cutting through the wet slap of fists on flesh. He stepped away from Vikram’s slumped form, wiping sweat and a smear of blood from his knuckles onto his khaki shirt. The room stank of copper, sweat, and fear that had nowhere to go.

He answered on the third ring, voice dropping low.
“Yes, sir?”
A pause. Then his face changed—eyes widening, mouth tightening into a thin line.
“Bharath? On his way now?”
The name landed like a stone in still water. The two constables froze mid-motion, one with lathi raised, the other holding Vikram’s arm twisted behind the chair. Even the bulb seemed to dim for a second.
Bharath.
Twenty-seven years old, same age as the broken man on the floor, but already a legend in the wrong circles. Ramanathan’s star pupil back in the academy—top of every class, fastest draw, coldest stare. Then something shifted. Personal grudges became professional vendettas. Accused didn’t just confess under Bharath; they shattered. Stories circulated in hushed canteen whispers: a man who once beat a suspect until the ribs caved just because the guy had looked at his sister wrong years ago. Department brass turned a blind eye—results were results. But the name alone could empty a room.

The inspector swallowed. “Understood, sir. We’ll wait.”
He hung up, stared at Vikram for a long beat, then barked at the constables.
“Stop. Clean him up a little. Bharath is coming.”

They moved fast—unlocked the cuffs, dragged Vikram to a plastic chair, splashed water from a bucket on his face. Blood diluted to pink rivulets ran down his neck. He coughed once, weakly, but his eyes stayed open, fixed on nothing.
Minutes crawled. Then the door opened.

Bharath stepped in alone—no entourage, no uniform, just dark jeans, black T-shirt stretched over a fighter’s build, and eyes that didn’t blink enough. He looked younger than the stories made him sound, almost boyish—until you met the gaze.



He didn’t speak at first. Just walked to Vikram, crouched, pressed two fingers to the side of his neck.
“Pulse is there,” Bharath said, almost to himself. “Better. Still holding.”
The inspector shifted. “Sir, he’s—”

Fir written

Inspector: No sir but..

Bharath : what ? no fir and you guys beaten him like this...?

Bharath stood without looking at him. “Department has ruthless cases piling up. Real ones. We don’t need this burden. Politicians say a lot of holy words. Doesn’t make them gospel.”

He turned to the inspector, voice flat.

“Throw him somewhere. dont let him struggle here. and i myself has to write memo on you guys.... 

The constables got ready to dismiss and take away virkram from there.. 

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 20: Arrival of the Angel – Mirnaa



The constables didn’t waste time. They hauled Vikram up—arms over shoulders like a drunk friend—and half-carried, half-dragged him through the back corridors,


They dumped him in the back, doors slammed. The van lurched forward, tires crunching gravel.

Vikram lay on the metal floor, every pothole jolting fresh pain through his ribs. He tasted blood, felt the slow seep of it from his split lip. But his mind was quiet now—clearer than it had been since the hills.

They think they broke me. They didn’t.

He thought of Swathi—safe with Krish, probably. Thought of her father stepping in, not for him, but to keep the mess from exploding.

The van slowed, then stopped. Doors opened. Rough hands pulled him out, dropped him on the edge of a deserted stretch of highway—dust, distant truck lights, the smell of diesel and dry earth.


One constable leaned down, voice low.

The constable gave back his phone in the dirty torn shirt.. The phone just stick to it..
“Walk away. Don’t come back to the station. Ever.”

They got in, drove off. Taillights faded.

Vikram pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. Ribs burned like fire. He spat blood into the dirt, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.


Instead, he started walking—slow, limping—toward the faint glow of a roadside tea stall half a kilometer ahead.

He limped toward the faint orange glow half a kilometer ahead: a roadside tea stall, plastic chairs scattered under a tin roof, a single bulb swinging like a tired pendulum. The owner—a thin man in a faded lungi—looked up as Vikram staggered closer. One glance at the bloodied face, the swollen eye, the way he clutched his side, and the man’s expression closed.


“Tea?” Vikram rasped.

The owner shook his head, eyes sliding away. “No change, anna. Only water.” He pushed a steel tumbler across the counter, lukewarm, tasting faintly of rust.

Vikram drank it in slow gulps, water cutting tracks through the blood in his mouth. He set the tumbler down, nodded once, and kept walking. Further down the road a faded flex banner flapped in the night breeze—white letters on blue: FREE MEDICAL CAMP – 2 KM AHEAD – ORGANISED BY a FOUNDATION. He almost laughed. Hope. The word felt like a bad joke tonight.

But his legs had other ideas.

One step blurred into the next. The world tilted. Asphalt rushed up to meet him. He collapsed face-down in the dirt shoulder, arms splayed, cheek pressed to cool gravel. 

Time slipped. 

An hour? Two? Trucks thundered past, headlights washing over him like indifferent searchlights. People on two-wheelers slowed for a second, then accelerated away. No one stopped. In this city, a bleeding man on the roadside was just another hazard sign.


His mind drifted, looping through old wounds. Malar’s cold smile as she pinned the blame on him. Malavika’s laughter while the world believed her lies. Affairs he never asked for, accusations he never earned. Imposed. Always imposed.

But this time was different.

This time he had chosen.

Swathi and Krish—whatever messy, desperate love they carried—he had guarded it with silence. With cracked ribs and split lips. For once the beating served something real. Not revenge. Not lust. Just… protection.

A small, broken smile tugged at his bloody mouth.
My beatings finally used for some real love.

The thought warmed him as the edges of the world began to fray. His grip on consciousness loosened. No one was coming.




An angel who had wandered into the wrong story.



Then—an auto-rickshaw’s putt-putt engine, slowing.
Tires crunched to a stop.
Footsteps—quick, light.




A voice, soft and urgent, sliced through the fog.

“Sir… Sir! Enna aachu ungalukku?” (What happened to you, sir?)



He felt hands—small, gentle—turn him over. A face swam into view: wide eyes, innocent round cheeks, a simple cotton salwar streaked with road dust. Hair tied back in a loose braid, no makeup, just worry written everywhere.


She looked like something out of a dream he didn’t deserve—an angel who had wandered into the wrong story.

“Ayo… ivalo ratham…” (So much blood…)

She pressed fingers to his wrist, checking pulse. Her touch was cool against his fevered skin.



“Sir, please hold on. Pulse is there. Nothing to worry. Just injuries. Please hold…”
Another woman climbed out of the auto—older, stern-faced, arms crossed.



“Unakku idhu theva illaadha velai,” she muttered. (This is unnecessary work for you.)

The angel didn’t look up. “No. It’s my job. Our job. We are nurses. We are here to serve humankind.”



The words landed like scripture—simple, earnest, the kind of line only cinema or textbooks dared to speak anymore. Vikram’s eyelids fluttered. He tried to focus on her face. So much concern for a stranger. More than anyone who ever claimed to care about him.

Hands—more now—lifted him. Two, three people. Careful. He was carried, weightless, into the auto.
The angel sat first. They laid his head in her lap. The fabric of her salwar was soft against his cheek; her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, steadying him as the auto lurched forward.



The engine’s rattle became a lullaby. The warmth of her lap seeped into his battered body like medicine. For the first time in days, pain felt distant.

A phone rang—sharp, tinny.
The older woman answered.
“Where are you? Why late?”

“Sister, someone… a man is beaten badly. Wounds everywhere.”
“So what? Why are you late?”
“We are carrying him here.”


“What beaten? We need to file a security officer case before taking him into the camp.”
“Will she hear?”
“Who?”


“Mirnaa.”



Vikram’s blurred eyes cracked open wider.
Mirnaa.



The name floated through the haze like a lifeline. He looked up—into those worried eyes again. The angel’s name was Mirnaa.



His cracked lips moved, barely a whisper.
“Mirnaaa…”



She leaned closer, brow furrowed, thumb brushing a streak of blood from his temple.
“Shh… hold on, sir. We’re almost there. You’re safe now.”

The auto rattled on toward the medical camp lights glowing in the distance.
Vikram let his eyes close again.

Not because he was giving up.

Because—for the first time in a long time—he believed someone might actually mean it when they said he was safe. The eyes that had mercy he never saw in his life before...



An angel in disguise, maybe.

Or maybe just a human who still remembered what mercy looked like. Mirnaa never let go of his hand.

Women, in his world, were always the ones who accused, who used, who left scars that never quite healed. He had built walls so high he no longer expected anyone to scale them.

And yet here she was—the first woman he actually wanted to keep looking at, not for her body, not for what she might promise or take away, but purely for the mercy she carried like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.



His lips moved, again calling in peace..

“Mirnaaa…”

[Muralimm]

This is truly amazing script writer man superb

Really its like a novel man the story plot line, your narration excellent

Truly amazing script writing

[heygiwriter]

This is truly amazing script writer man superb

Really its like a novel man the story plot line, your narration excellent

Truly amazing script writing

Thanks a lot as usual the encouragements keeps pushing me to do spend time on writing.. thanks again

[Whyamihere]

Just awesome story telling.... man now I would have to wait for hours or days for a new update.... but dont rush ... we will wait for your next update... take time as we know that you also have life to live.... but thanks alot man.... fkkk sex... I just love the story, the plot... I am normally good in guessing thriller mystery,  but ur storelies are hard to read and expect future plots.. JUST WOWWWWW? ????????

[heygiwriter]

Just awesome story telling.... man now I would have to wait for hours or days for a new update.... but dont rush ... we will wait for your next update... take time as we know that you also have life to live.... but thanks alot man.... fkkk sex... I just love the story, the plot... I am normally good in guessing thriller mystery,  but ur storelies are hard to read and expect future plots.. JUST WOWWWWW? ????????

Thank you :) Glad to know

[DeanWinchester00007]

.... fkkk sex... I just love the story, the plot... I am normally good in guessing thriller mystery,  but ur storelies are hard to read and expect future plots.. JUST WOWWWWW? ????????

Totally agree with this .

[DeanWinchester00007]

You have brought a new breath to the air . Everything You have created is so unique and Fresh .Even your style and your writing skills are of very high level . I cannot write much for your praise because I dont know many words and I have yet to read the 15 chapters .

I have read the last chapter , I am just curious Why do you hate your Protagonist so much , hahahahaha . VIKRAM is fighting for his life  .

In all your story the Central character suffered so much , First Cancer , Second Cheating wife , Now the guy is about to die . Why ? Just Kidding

Keep Going .

Your Fan .

     

[heygiwriter]

You have brought a new breath to the air . Everything You have created is so unique and Fresh .Even your style and your writing skills are of very high level . I cannot write much for your praise because I dont know many words and I have yet to read the 15 chapters .

I have read the last chapter , I am just curious Why do you hate your Protagonist so much , hahahahaha . VIKRAM is fighting for his life  .

In all your story the Central character suffered so much , First Cancer , Second Cheating wife , Now the guy is about to die . Why ? Just Kidding

Keep Going .

Your Fan .

     

Vikram character here is for two reasons in the Husband Doubt there will be a character called Vikram he was supposed to be g ame changer but he was not used well. So retained that name and second is just for all the struggling of protagonists in all my stories for the compensation.. here look out for what he is up to.. after he met Mirnaa :)


and Thanks for the appreciation. More update today planned lets see

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 21: The Camp & The First Touch of Mercy



The medical camp glowed like a small island of light on the dark highway shoulder—white tents, portable generators humming, volunteers in blue aprons moving between cots. 


The NGO-Church banner fluttered above the entrance: "Free Care for the Broken & Forgotten." Vikram was carried in on a makeshift stretcher—two camp workers holding the edges, Mirna walking beside them, one hand steady on his shoulder.


The moment they stepped inside, the buzz changed.
Heads turned. Doctors paused mid-stitch. Nurses whispered. A few volunteers stepped back instinctively.



"He looks like he was beaten half to death," someone muttered.

Another voice, low: "security officer threw him out. I saw the van drop him on the road like trash. Kms away."
Hands stilled. No one moved to help.



Mirna’s voice rose—quiet but firm, cutting through the hesitation.

"Please. He needs care. Now."



A nun—older, white habit, gentle but unyielding—stepped forward. She looked at Vikram’s swollen face, the blood on his shirt, the way he barely breathed, then at Mirna.

"You brought him in alone?"


Mirna nodded. "He collapsed on the road. I couldn't leave him."

The old doctor—an elderly man with thick glasses and steady hands—pushed through the crowd. He knelt beside the stretcher, checked Vikram’s pulse, lifted an eyelid.


"Multiple fractures. Ribs, maybe one punctured lung. Dehydration. Shock setting in."

He looked up at the nun. "Admit him soon. He needs immediate care."


But the camp buzzed with hesitation. Other doctors, staff, organizers shook their heads.

"Let's call the security officer first," one said. "We can't operate without a security officer FIR. What if he's a criminal? We could get in trouble."


Another nodded. "He looks like he escaped custody. No way we touch him without clearance."

Mirna pleaded, voice rising. "He's dying! We can't wait!"


Vikram heard every word through the haze—blurred, distant, like echoes in a storm. No energy to thank her. To defend himself. He just prayed, silent and broken: Something good… let me see her one proper look before it ends. She's the only good person a women I've witnessed in my life so far.


That was when a constable—stationed to guard the camp—pushed through the crowd. He squinted at Vikram’s swollen face, recognition flickering. He was another constable who had taken Vikram from the mansion back then. Vikram's story was popular in those circles—how women had framed a good man, false accusations that ruined him.

He didn't detail what happened to Vikram. Didn't say the words. He just realized he'd seen him in the case, and it was popular back then.


The constable pulled out his phone, dialed quickly. The call connected.

"Mohan anna? It's me. The boy from the mansion… the one with the village FIR. He's here. Badly beaten. They say security officer dumped him on the road."



A pause. Then the constable nodded.


"Okay. I'll tell them."

He hung up, turned to the old doctor. "Treat him. He's clean. That was Mohan—the hostel owner. He vouches for him."


But the hesitation lingered. "We still need an FIR," someone muttered. "security officer clearance."


Mohan was out of station. But he called Sekaran. Sekaran, with one call, sent a security officer inspector.
Within minutes, the inspector rolled up—gravel crunching under tires. He stepped inside the tent, looked at Vikram, then at the constable.

"Same kid from the mansion case?"


The constable nodded. "Same one."

The inspector exhaled. "Treat him. No charges. I'll handle the paperwork. He is not a criminal he is a good person.."


While others had a relief of knowing Vikram is Good person.. 

Mirna didn't seem to care.. she just cared about his well being.. irrespective of good or bad she was ready to help.. and the moment she hears  he is a good person.. she felt nothing but a more relief..


The camp staff blinked in confusion as security officer vouched for the man they’d seen bleeding on the road. The doctors relented—threading needles, wrapping bandages, starting an IV.


Looking at her state, Nun and doctor decided to make Mirna as nurse appointed just to take care of VIkram. 

She never left his side—checking vitals, wiping blood, adjusting pillows. Her hands were steady, her voice soft.


Even in the haze of pain and morphine, Vikram could sense her touch among all others. The doctors' hands were clinical. The nurses' were hurried. But Mirna's were different—warm, careful, lingering just long enough to comfort, never to claim.


Every time she adjusted the drip, brushed hair from his forehead, or held his hand to check his pulse, something inside him relaxed. Not lust. Not fear. Just… peace.


He had been touched by women who accused, who framed, who used. This was the first touch that asked for nothing.

She only knew he called her name in his sleep—soft, broken, like a prayer.


And she never let go of his hand.


Mirna never knew her touch was recovering a man from countless hurts.

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 22: Mirnaa hears the pain of Vikram..



Doctors treated him. He was unconscious for almost 8 hours.

Mirna carefully took care of him. She got hold of his mobile and tried to check for any contacts—dad, mom, wife, or even girlfriend. Nothing. Only two names: Sekaran and Mohan.


She remembered Mohan calling earlier, telling her he would reach in 2 days—he was out of station—and that he had sent some money through someone. Sekaran was unreachable.

The old constable who saw him first in the camp—when no one wanted him treated—lingered by Vikram’s cot all these hours. He collected all intel on him. His boots scuffing the dirt floor every fifteen minutes, until he settled into a chair.

Mirna was always inside Vikram’s room. She didn’t leave him.

Looking at her, the constable decided to thank her. His voice low and gravelly as he spoke to Mirna.
"Thank you. If all nurses were like you, India would be peaceful."
Mirna looked up, surprised.

The constable continued, eyes distant. "This guy is an orphan."
Mirna got a hit—she was one too. She listened.

The constable continued, eyes distant, voice low like he was reciting a story he had carried for years.

“Family turned on him,” he began. “Raised by relatives after his parents passed early. Sharp as a tack—topped college, first in his academy batch, mechanical engineering degree in hand. But they saw him as a burden. A girl in the family—his cousin’s fiancée—wanted him out of the picture. They framed him for theft, pinned a gold ring and cash missing on him. All lies. Threw him out of the house. He walked away with nothing but the clothes on his back and that crumpled degree certificate.”

Mirna’s fingers slowed on the damp cloth she was using to clean Vikram’s brow. She listened, chest tightening.


“He came to Chennai,” the constable went on. “Tried to start fresh. Found a cheap room, you would have saw  a old man calling in the name Mohan? He was the owner of the mansion he stayed.  Vikram then hunted jobs in workshops. He got new friends there Ramesh and Suresh… 


Then another woman entered his life—Malavika. Suresh’s girlfriend. The one who got him the job at the loan company.


She acted like a sister—called him ‘anna,’ helped him with targets, shared tea, even let him drive her on Suresh’s bike. Everyone knows this then suddenly one day she claimed VIkram molested her and tried to force her. There was a witness, there was this manager Kaushik, who heroically saved her…
Everyone believed.. But it is said that.. Malavika and Kaushik were in an affair, seems like Vikram found it.. I don't know but somehow they framed him. The worst part is Suresh believed her. The mansion threw him out. That was the second time a woman broke him.”



Mirna’s breath caught. She looked down at Vikram’s bruised face—swollen eye, split lip, the quiet rise and fall of his chest.


Constable exhaled and said glad Mohan did not believe the story of Malavika,, he secretly send him out for a better place..


“He never fought back the way most men would,” the constable said softly. “Never raised a hand. Never screamed. Just… took it. Again and again. Rough life, none of it his doing.”


He stood, adjusted his cap. “I don’t know what he’s doing now. My circle says he worked for a big-shot politician, Sekaran. Vikram was good—he got taken care of like Sekaran’s own son. But after Sekaran settled with his daughter in the USA… he moved to another politician. 


Looks like he got into new trouble there. I’m not sure what happened in the new place, but all I know and heard is he is truly a gold person indeed—brilliant. Could have been an engineer, but people’s selfishness punished him.”



The constable smiled faintly. “My duty will be shifted to a nearby event tomorrow. He has no one. You should continue to take care of him.”

Mirna nodded, eyes still on Vikram. The constable walked away, boots scuffing the dirt floor one last time.
She stayed.


Minutes later, Vikram cracked an eye again, and there she was—Mirna, tears tracing her cheeks, her quiet sobs a testament to the pity she felt for a stranger’s pain.


Before she could see him opening eyes.. He gone back to unconscious state… She brushed tears away quickly, tending to him with care—lifting a cup of water to his cracked lips, adjusting the bandage on his arm—her presence a lifeline he couldn’t name.


In the evening…


The nun came and said, “Only two more days the camp will be here. I’m planning to send someone here to take care… start packing your stuff.”
She went.


The stories she heard on Vikram, his state… she resolved she should not leave him. But she was torn between the nun’s words and her thoughts—the nun who brought her up.


She decided to take care the best she can in whatever days she can. He has no one and he is just like me.. 
She slept near the bed 
Vikram eyes moved again..

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 22 :   Mirnaa Hears the Pain of Vikram II   -  Swathi Visited and Mirnaa now know more about Vikram


Vikram opened his eyes and saw Mirna sleeping aside…

He felt safer in his 27 years of life than anything.
He decided to sleep tight — Mirnaa will take care of him.
He didn’t know who she was but her mercy is what he clung onto now…


Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of Chennai, Swathi heard from her father that he had freed Vikram.


Upon asking where he is, he casually said, “The security officer had thrown him away… if something happened in custody, your name will be dragged.”


Swathi shouted, “Appa, what have you done?! He saved your daughter’s future, he saved your daughter’s dignity — is this the way you treat him?”


Her father reasoned calmly, “You should not care about a mere driver… let’s pay him if he comes after recovery.”

She immediately alerted Krish.

The next day it was their court hearing. The politician father-in-law could do anything to Krish or her… but she decided to risk.


At 11:20 PM Swathi slipped into the camp, her sari dark against the lantern glow, her eyes shadowed with guilt as she watched Vikram’s shallow breaths. She’d heard how her family had trashed him for her sake, and it pressed heavy on her soul.


She turned to the nurse at his side, sleeping… Mirna woke up by the sound.
Swathi asked softly, “Is there any attendant for him?”
Mirna replied, “No one. He is an orphan.”


Swathi said, “I know…” then added, “Give me some personal time.”
Mirna was puzzled. Who is she? She looked great — maybe Vikram’s girlfriend?
Mirna decided to step away.


Swathi stood there, then sat on a stool.


“I doubted you… i humiliate you calling gay, threatened you ... but you saved my dignity. You should not have taken so much for me. I’m not even your friend and you know me just for 4 days... why are you this loyal? I promise when you awake you will see a better future.”


Vikram listened — all he could. He could not react… and he didn’t want to.
He decided he should see only Mirnaa… for sometime.
Then she wiped her tears and stood, steady.


Swathi pressed a thick wad of 50,000 rupees into Mirna’s hand, her voice trembling.

“He’s gold,” she said. “Tell him Swathi came — he knows me.”

Mirna asked, puzzled, “You are his…?”


Swathi saw her unease and said, “I’m no one… but from today, I will be his friend, sister, whatever… girlfriend or wife is already stolen by Krish, my would-be,” she laughed.


For some strange reason Mirna felt happiness.
Swathi quickly read her face. She asked, “You are a nurse here or you know him?”
Mirna said, “No I don’t know him but I learned a lot about him — he is a good person.”
Swathi took a breath, she continued…


“This is my fault — he saved me from ruin. Anyone else would’ve taken cash to sell me out, but him? Two days of talk, just a driver, and he took the fall. Who is he to get a beating so that I can get freed from my gay husband? I will buy some time to  prove my husband in court and move on to live my love life with Krish… 

He got those... he is selfless..


Swathi then looked around and saw her watch…  I can’t stay — too risky, my father in laws people are looking for me.. 


She turned around before leaving took an amount , another and said 10,000 for you, that 50000 for him. Call if he needs more.”


She dropped a card — its bold print flashing her power — then slipped away, a tear catching the light.


Mirna stared at the money, the card, and saw Vikram anew — not just wronged, but noble…


Every hour passed, every new information about Vikram… 

Mirnaa wanted badly to converse with him… he is a heroic figure, a selfless figure she saw only in fairy tales…

She smiled and sat near him… she didn’t know when she slept but she slept… near him in chair…

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 23: The Sheet & The Shared Dawn



After Swathi went.. Mirnaa kept looking at Vikram's face.. 

She felt something in her but could not name it.. She didnt know when she slept.. She slept near him in a chair beside his cot.. Her read rested on his cot..


The midnight cold seeped through the tent, wind rattling the canvas. Mirna slumped beside his cot, arms crossed against the chill, no blanket to shield her. Her breathing had slowed into the soft rhythm of sleep, head tilted forward, braid loosened, one strand falling across her cheek.



Vikram opened his eyes.


Pain still lived in every breath—ribs, face, the dull throb in his back—but it was distant now, dulled by medicine and time. He turned his head slowly. The lantern light was low, flickering gold across her face. She looked smaller in sleep, unguarded, almost fragile.


In his 27 years of life, no one had ever slept beside him without wanting something. Not his relatives.

But here she was—Mirna—curled in a chair that was too small for comfort, staying through the night because she chose to. Not for money. Not for secrets. Not for power.


He felt safer than he had ever felt.

He didn’t know who she was, not really—but her mercy was what he clung to now. The only warm thing in a lifetime of cold.


His arm moved—slow, aching—reaching for the thin bedsheet stacked on the stool nearby. Every muscle protested. Ribs screamed. But he gritted his teeth and stretched, fingers trembling, until he caught the corner of the fabric.


He pulled it toward him. Then, with the last strength he had, he dbangd it over her shoulders.


The sheet settled softly, covering her arms, her back. She didn’t stir.


A nurse passed by the tent flap, footsteps light on the dirt. She saw the movement—Vikram’s shaky reach, the sheet falling over the sleeping girl—and smiled quietly. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, as if she understood, and slipped away into the night.



Vikram sank back against the thin pillow, arm brushing hers as he let himself spill half off the cot to make space. Her warmth reached him through the inches between them—quiet, steady, real.
He closed his eyes again.




Dawn broke slowly.


Mirna stirred first. She blinked awake, confused by the weight across her shoulders. The sheet. Soft, worn, smelling faintly of antiseptic and him.

She looked down.


Vikram was beside her—half-spilling off the narrow cot, arm still outstretched from where he had dbangd the fabric over her. His face was bruised, swollen eye crusted with sleep, but his breathing was even. Peaceful.


She touched the sheet, fingers lingering on the place where his had been.


A nurse passed by—older, weary from the night shift—and caught Mirna’s expression.


“Him,” the nurse said with a small smile. “Last night—he covered you.”
The voice of Nurse woke him up...


Mirna’s gaze settled on Vikram anew. Bruised. Broken. But golden.

His eyes opened then—slowly, painfully.

They met hers.
Straight to straight.
No words.


Just silence and the weight of two people seeing each other clearly for the first time.
He didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away.


They never knew they were already deeply connected.
And it was only the start of their journey.

[heygiwriter]

Chapter 24: The Reunion of Friends and Vikram’s line Mirnaa will Take Care.



Vikram watched her eyes and Mirnaa watched his eyes..


Now no words passed between them, just a shared look, a bond threading through the cold—love’s first bloom, pure and fragile, taking root in the silence.


A head nurse came in, footsteps soft on the dirt floor. She checked Vikram’s chart, then glanced at Mirna sleeping looking at him…


Nurse shocked him what are you looking at 

Mirna stirred, she came back to sense  .. “He opened his eyes,” she said quietly.
The head nurse nodded. “Good. Stay with him. I’ll get the doctor.”


Mirnaa said, “Wait here. I will be back.”

She stood, smoothed her salwar, and walked straight to the nun’s tent.
The nun was folding linens, calm as always. Mirna stopped in the doorway.
“I’m not leaving,” she said.


The nun looked up, gentle but firm. “What happens to you, child?”
Mirna took a breath. “Sister, hear me.”

She told the entire story she knew — the constable’s words, the framing, the betrayals, the mansion, the job, the second woman, the beating. She spoke of Vikram — orphan like her, brilliant, punished by others’ selfishness, a gold person who had taken pain for others again and again.

The nun listened, eyes softening. She took a breath, knowing how gold Vikram was.



Mirna said.. He has no one sister… I will stay with him.  He is a good man...
“I have no control,” the nun said. “The lead organizer needs to give his approval. Vikram needed to be shifted to a different hospital — we can’t take him to the next camp we are setting up, 60 km away.”


Mirna said i'm not asking to take him to our next camp..  I will stay with him until he recovers


Nun said: Okay, lets assume i'm allowing you to stay with him.. Will the new hospital permit you a new nurse to nurse him at the place


Mirnaa said: I will stay with him as a friend a guardian not as nurse


Nun Laughed…
Mirna pleaded. “Please.”


Nun said Kid kid.. You seemed grown now..  

Nun: “You are young, unmarried… I worry for your reputation. But I see your heart. And he has no one. If Swathi guarantees expenses and you promise daily updates… I will allow it. But only until he is immovable or unstable.”


Mirna said he got his consciousness back.. 

What he opened his eyes.. Okay regarding your stay with him... “I will speak to organizer… not for you, for that soul.”

She went.



Just 1 day to go. If no approval from the lead, she had to leave him.

Mirna returned to the cot. Vikram was awake now, eyes half-open, watching her. She sat beside him, hand near his.

She called Swathi’s number. And went out to speak with her…




Swathi answered on the first ring. “What?”

Mirna explained the issue — camp ending, no approval yet, need to shift to private hospital.
Swathi didn’t hesitate. “I’ll arrange a private hospital for him to move. Give me an hour.”



While she was speaking, Mohan arrived — with Ramesh and Suresh.
They stepped into the tent. Vikram was stunned to see them.

Ramesh asked, voice thick, “Why didn't you call us when they beat you at the station or when they took you?”


Vikram smiled but saw Vikram and was about to say sorry to him..
Suresh closed Vikram’s mouth gently. “Don’t say anything.”

Suresh continued.. I realised the betrayal…. To cut short: Kaushik divorced his wife and Malavika is his new wife. Things happened after you left the mansion in 4 months. They had already planned it. They were just finding some reason for Malavika to break up with me.. And they framed you… I only realised when they got married.

Suresh: “I had no strength to face you… that is when we heard you got a better place with Sekaran, so we didn’t disturb you.”

The friends finally hugged — careful, mindful of Vikram’s wounds.


Ramesh said, “I had shifted to Coimbatore. New family and job. But when Mohan said on the phone, we came here.”


Suresh continued in the same mansion.. Lost faith in marriages.. Earning good but the hurt still there. He said all..


Vikram signed not to worry…



Vikram was happy — eyes shining despite the bruises.
Mohan asked, voice low, “Sorry we left you with no one…”
Sekaran is in trouble, so we are assembling a new team…


Vikram grabbed strength to ask  “What?”
Mohan said, “Don’t panic. All good. Once you come back, Sekaran will meet you. He asked to pass you a message.”


Mohan added, “We will stay with you.”
Vikram said smilingly, face swollen yet showing a shy look, “No, don’t stay. I have someone else to look after me.”


The trio looked at each other. Mohan smilingly asked, “Who is that?”
Vikram said, “Mirnaa.”



Minutes later Mirna came to the bed. She said, “Swathi arranged a private hospital for you. Tomorrow they will take you there. 


Vikram face went small , he was worried that tomorrow he wont be able to see her?


Then she looked at the three new people. They got introduced to each other… but hid what Vikram said — Mirnaa will take care.



The nun came to the room and said, “Mirnaa, lead said okay for you to stay here and look after him only if he had a person taken in charge of his expenses at private places. Also he wants all the details of his identity, a local guardian of him.. Someone who can give guarantees for him..  And I tried "We can't take him to the new camp.”



Mirna said, no problem, his sister Swathi arranged a hospital. As she is away ..  I will stay with him.”


Nun asked you said he is orphan how come a sister.. 


Mirna said.. Not blood or relation to some wellwisher.. I assumed her relation could be sister-brother with Vikram. Nun was really worried about Mirna's change..

Then Nun took Mirnaa aside and said


As i said earlier.. i cant permit you when he got his stability back.. Once he got his strength back i need you to comeback.. and for the no of days.. i would permit you another 10 days not more... Even if he didn't get back you need to comeback to camp in 10 days


Nun still could not leave her alone with Vikram.. but she decided to leave her here after hearing the story of Vikram…


Vikram didn’t realize what was happening but he knew Mirnaa was already on her way to become more than a friend. he is just have no idea how to take it forward.