Yesterday, 08:45 AM
Chapter 39: The Anniversary Alarm & The Past resurfacing
Six months had slipped by like sand through fingers.
One morning in early 2026, the soft chime of the calendar alarm Vikram had set months earlier woke him. He reached for the phone, squinting at the note he’d typed long ago and forgotten:
3rd year anniversary is nearing.
He stared at the screen, heart lurching.
How fast the first two years had gone.
Business had exploded—30 stores now, cash flowing from every direction, Krish’s financial network fully his to steer. He was entering much darker yet safer spaces—secret deals, hidden money vaults in the beach house—but he stopped himself each time for Mirnaa. Their bond had never been shaken. She was his anchor.
The biggest plus for Vikram was Mirnaa’s undemanding nature. All she wanted was for him to hear her hospital stories every night. She cooked for him early, packed lunch for herself and him, and in the evenings, they sometimes ate out, sometimes in—simple, loving rhythms.
For Mirnaa, nothing felt strange—except that one week stretch months ago when Vikram didn’t touch her. She’d worried, but he’d assured her it was stress, and it passed.
Every night, she came home and shared.
One evening, she sat beside him on the veranda, head on his shoulder.
“Today, a boy came in—eight years old, with broken legs from a fall. His family is struggling so much for financial need. The bills… they can’t afford the medicines.”
Vikram nodded, listening quietly, his arm around her.
She talked more—details of the boy’s pain, the mother’s tears, the father’s helplessness. Vikram nodded again, absorbing every word.
Next morning, he handed her an envelope—50,000 rupees.
“Give this for the medicines. Tell them it’s from a friend.”
Mirnaa’s eyes widened. She hugged him tightly, "I love you.”
She blindly trusted him—never questioning where the money came from.
Another night: “A family today… the husband lost his job due to staying overnight in hospitals, can’t afford the burden. Their daughter needs surgery, but the costs…”
Vikram nodded, his hand stroking her hair.
Next day, he said: “Give them my card. Tell them to call—I’ll get them better jobs. Also let me pay the bills”
She hugged him again, kissed him softly on the lips. “You always know what to do. You’re my hero.”
His every action turned him into a hero before her, she found the hero she always needed just a hero who never wore a cop uniform.
He sponsored medical events too—went as guest speaker when she asked. Every time her queries were answered, she saw the love in it. For her, just being with him was love—and he had been doing more, without her knowing.
The nun from Kerala called regularly.
“How’s your health, kanna? Any news?”
Mirnaa laughed softly. “Not yet, Akka. It’s our conscious decision—to push for a few more years.”
Their sexual life had deepened gently—new positions, lace slipping over her curves, soft videos guiding her shy giggles into bolder lessons. Nothing hard, nothing brutal. Everything slow, trusting, loving. She came with soft cries, clung to him, whispered “I love you.” For her, it was perfect.
For Vikram, it was beautiful—but incomplete.
He still couldn’t unleash the aggression he’d shown Malavika. He’d ended the affair six months back—not just guilt, but a quiet realization: he thought he could explore more with Mirnaa. Yet his body never went there. He missed the raw release he’d found with Malavika. The cage held.
Then Krish called.
“Vikram,” Krish’s voice was low, urgent. “I’m returning next month. Very important. But before that, I need you to go to Trichy.”
Vikram’s grip tightened on the phone.
“The place where Sekaran anna tried that deal years back—you rescued him when you were driving. The land is key. Don’t ask why—not safe on phone. Trust me blindly. Go, buy everyone off with money. Do whatever it takes.”
Vikram felt the pull—old shadows stirring.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he said.
He knew a deal like this could take a week. Legalities, negotiations, payoffs.
That night, he told Mirnaa.
“I have to go to Trichy for a week. Business. Call me every day.”
Mirnaa’s eyes widened slightly. Earlier trips were same-day or overnight—never seven days straight.
She nodded, trusting as always. “Be safe. I’ll call.”
Next morning, he kissed her forehead—lingering, guilty.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” she replied, smiling softly.
He left for Trichy.
The thugs Krish sent had booked him an outstation resort—30 km from his childhood village. Close enough to feel the pull, far enough to stay hidden.
As he wandered the resort parking lot that evening, he saw a familiar figure.
Vicky.
Older now, grey hair in his early thirties, clothes worn, posture slumped. No longer the fashionable rival—just a broken man.
Vikram’s rage stirred.
The first one who framed him. The one who started it all.
Vikram wanted to humiliate him. That was still pending, right?
But who was Vicky now? Why was he here?
Vikram decided to find out.
He stepped closer, voice low.
“Vicky.”
Vicky turned—eyes widening in recognition.
“You…”
The past had just walked into the present.
And Vikram felt the cage crack a little wider.
Six months had slipped by like sand through fingers.
One morning in early 2026, the soft chime of the calendar alarm Vikram had set months earlier woke him. He reached for the phone, squinting at the note he’d typed long ago and forgotten:
3rd year anniversary is nearing.
He stared at the screen, heart lurching.
How fast the first two years had gone.
Business had exploded—30 stores now, cash flowing from every direction, Krish’s financial network fully his to steer. He was entering much darker yet safer spaces—secret deals, hidden money vaults in the beach house—but he stopped himself each time for Mirnaa. Their bond had never been shaken. She was his anchor.
The biggest plus for Vikram was Mirnaa’s undemanding nature. All she wanted was for him to hear her hospital stories every night. She cooked for him early, packed lunch for herself and him, and in the evenings, they sometimes ate out, sometimes in—simple, loving rhythms.
For Mirnaa, nothing felt strange—except that one week stretch months ago when Vikram didn’t touch her. She’d worried, but he’d assured her it was stress, and it passed.
Every night, she came home and shared.
One evening, she sat beside him on the veranda, head on his shoulder.
“Today, a boy came in—eight years old, with broken legs from a fall. His family is struggling so much for financial need. The bills… they can’t afford the medicines.”
Vikram nodded, listening quietly, his arm around her.
She talked more—details of the boy’s pain, the mother’s tears, the father’s helplessness. Vikram nodded again, absorbing every word.
Next morning, he handed her an envelope—50,000 rupees.
“Give this for the medicines. Tell them it’s from a friend.”
Mirnaa’s eyes widened. She hugged him tightly, "I love you.”
She blindly trusted him—never questioning where the money came from.
Another night: “A family today… the husband lost his job due to staying overnight in hospitals, can’t afford the burden. Their daughter needs surgery, but the costs…”
Vikram nodded, his hand stroking her hair.
Next day, he said: “Give them my card. Tell them to call—I’ll get them better jobs. Also let me pay the bills”
She hugged him again, kissed him softly on the lips. “You always know what to do. You’re my hero.”
His every action turned him into a hero before her, she found the hero she always needed just a hero who never wore a cop uniform.
He sponsored medical events too—went as guest speaker when she asked. Every time her queries were answered, she saw the love in it. For her, just being with him was love—and he had been doing more, without her knowing.
The nun from Kerala called regularly.
“How’s your health, kanna? Any news?”
Mirnaa laughed softly. “Not yet, Akka. It’s our conscious decision—to push for a few more years.”
Their sexual life had deepened gently—new positions, lace slipping over her curves, soft videos guiding her shy giggles into bolder lessons. Nothing hard, nothing brutal. Everything slow, trusting, loving. She came with soft cries, clung to him, whispered “I love you.” For her, it was perfect.
For Vikram, it was beautiful—but incomplete.
He still couldn’t unleash the aggression he’d shown Malavika. He’d ended the affair six months back—not just guilt, but a quiet realization: he thought he could explore more with Mirnaa. Yet his body never went there. He missed the raw release he’d found with Malavika. The cage held.
Then Krish called.
“Vikram,” Krish’s voice was low, urgent. “I’m returning next month. Very important. But before that, I need you to go to Trichy.”
Vikram’s grip tightened on the phone.
“The place where Sekaran anna tried that deal years back—you rescued him when you were driving. The land is key. Don’t ask why—not safe on phone. Trust me blindly. Go, buy everyone off with money. Do whatever it takes.”
Vikram felt the pull—old shadows stirring.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he said.
He knew a deal like this could take a week. Legalities, negotiations, payoffs.
That night, he told Mirnaa.
“I have to go to Trichy for a week. Business. Call me every day.”
Mirnaa’s eyes widened slightly. Earlier trips were same-day or overnight—never seven days straight.
She nodded, trusting as always. “Be safe. I’ll call.”
Next morning, he kissed her forehead—lingering, guilty.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” she replied, smiling softly.
He left for Trichy.
The thugs Krish sent had booked him an outstation resort—30 km from his childhood village. Close enough to feel the pull, far enough to stay hidden.
As he wandered the resort parking lot that evening, he saw a familiar figure.
Vicky.
Older now, grey hair in his early thirties, clothes worn, posture slumped. No longer the fashionable rival—just a broken man.
Vikram’s rage stirred.
The first one who framed him. The one who started it all.
Vikram wanted to humiliate him. That was still pending, right?
But who was Vicky now? Why was he here?
Vikram decided to find out.
He stepped closer, voice low.
“Vicky.”
Vicky turned—eyes widening in recognition.
“You…”
The past had just walked into the present.
And Vikram felt the cage crack a little wider.
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