11 hours ago
Chapter 31 : The Staged Crash
The morning light slipped through the thin curtains in pale, hesitant streaks, turning the small flat gold at the edges. Jeeva woke early
He rose, got ready and stepped into the hall.
Anandhi was already up — bustling in the kitchen, her cream saree swishing softly as she poured water into a steel kettle. Its metallic chime rang out as she turned, her white skin catching the light, black hair pinned loosely in a bun that swayed with each step.
Jeeva cleared his throat.
“Hello, Anandhi. I have work in the town — a sudden plan. I don’t want lunch.
I’m going now — will reach by night.”
Anandhi’s dark eyes flicked up, curious.
“Going by cab?”
“No. Bike.”
Anandhi paused — brow furrowing slightly.
“What bike?”
“Surya’s bike. I got the key yesterday.”
Anandhi’s expression shifted — surprise, then a flicker of concern and confusion.
When did they start sharing so much?
Did they become friends?
She recovered quickly — voice soft yet firm.
“Be safe.”
She turned back to the stove — steam began curling upward, filling the air with the warm scent of boiling water.
Jeeva nodded — grabbed a fresh shirt (cotton crisp against his skin) — and headed out exactly twenty minutes before her usual departure — 8:20 AM. The town was still sleepy, dust swirling lazily around his sandals as he climbed onto Surya’s bike.
The engine roared to life.
When Anandhi went to lock the door, after got ready with kids, she noticed the house spare key she gave for Jeeva is still on table. He had forgotten the key she said to herself and rushed to college
He sped a block away — then staged the perfect crash.
He slammed the bike into a pile of crates outside a fruit stall mangoes tumbled, their sweet tang bursting into the air, metal scbangd pavement with a grating screech — he tumbled off, rolling convincingly into the dirt — grinning inwardly.
“Real enough.”
He dialed Surya — voice sharp.
“Come quick. Accident.”
Surya’s reply crackled through.
“Got it.”
Minutes later — a wiry friend of Surya’s (his connection) arrived. Fake bandages wrapped Jeeva’s right leg and hand — white gauze stark against his skin. The bike was hauled off for an “afternoon fix.”
By 11 AM, Surya drove him to Anandhi’s college in his car — engine rumbling low.
The collegeyard buzzed with children’s chatter as Surya parked.
He stepped out — broad frame filling the space — shirt stretched over his six-pack, white skin glistening with a faint morning sweat.
He walked to the headmaster’s room — a stout man with a graying mustache looked up.
“Her guest had an accident,” Surya said — voice calm despite the act.
The headmaster nodded — pressed the intercom.
“Send Anandhi down.”
Static buzzed.
Anandhi arrived — saree swaying — puzzled.
Her eyes widened at Surya.
“You?”
“Why do you search for me?” she asked — voice soft, uncertain. “They said in the intercom my relative got an accident.”
Surya stepped forward.
“Yes — something happened to Jeeva.”
Her breath caught.
“What happened?”
Surya’s tone steadied.
“Accident. Not major. His hand and leg, broken for now. They gave him bandages, but nothing can be said — waiting for other reports. Another check-up is around 2 PM. The hospital is not ready to admit him. They ask for his documents — all were in your house and I don’t even have your phone number. So I reached here. After the results are done, if he can be rested at home, I’ll take him there.”
Anandhi blinked — rushed to the teachers’ cabin — sandals clicking on the tiled floor, returning with the key. Metal glinted as she pressed it into Surya’s palm.
“Is it major? Should I come with you?”
Surya panicked inside — if she came, there’d be no doctor, no wound — their staged drama would collapse.
He shook his head.
“No — you stay here. It’s not major. I’m here to update you.”
He paused , then asked.
“ How could i inform you .. ? Should I call the college for updates?”
She shook her head.
“No. Take my phone number.”
Surya dialed — a missed call pinged on her phone.
“Save my number too.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll call.”
He left — car rumbling away.
He got the key and the number.
The morning light slipped through the thin curtains in pale, hesitant streaks, turning the small flat gold at the edges. Jeeva woke early
He rose, got ready and stepped into the hall.
Anandhi was already up — bustling in the kitchen, her cream saree swishing softly as she poured water into a steel kettle. Its metallic chime rang out as she turned, her white skin catching the light, black hair pinned loosely in a bun that swayed with each step.
Jeeva cleared his throat.
“Hello, Anandhi. I have work in the town — a sudden plan. I don’t want lunch.
I’m going now — will reach by night.”
Anandhi’s dark eyes flicked up, curious.
“Going by cab?”
“No. Bike.”
Anandhi paused — brow furrowing slightly.
“What bike?”
“Surya’s bike. I got the key yesterday.”
Anandhi’s expression shifted — surprise, then a flicker of concern and confusion.
When did they start sharing so much?
Did they become friends?
She recovered quickly — voice soft yet firm.
“Be safe.”
She turned back to the stove — steam began curling upward, filling the air with the warm scent of boiling water.
Jeeva nodded — grabbed a fresh shirt (cotton crisp against his skin) — and headed out exactly twenty minutes before her usual departure — 8:20 AM. The town was still sleepy, dust swirling lazily around his sandals as he climbed onto Surya’s bike.
The engine roared to life.
When Anandhi went to lock the door, after got ready with kids, she noticed the house spare key she gave for Jeeva is still on table. He had forgotten the key she said to herself and rushed to college
He sped a block away — then staged the perfect crash.
He slammed the bike into a pile of crates outside a fruit stall mangoes tumbled, their sweet tang bursting into the air, metal scbangd pavement with a grating screech — he tumbled off, rolling convincingly into the dirt — grinning inwardly.
“Real enough.”
He dialed Surya — voice sharp.
“Come quick. Accident.”
Surya’s reply crackled through.
“Got it.”
Minutes later — a wiry friend of Surya’s (his connection) arrived. Fake bandages wrapped Jeeva’s right leg and hand — white gauze stark against his skin. The bike was hauled off for an “afternoon fix.”
By 11 AM, Surya drove him to Anandhi’s college in his car — engine rumbling low.
The collegeyard buzzed with children’s chatter as Surya parked.
He stepped out — broad frame filling the space — shirt stretched over his six-pack, white skin glistening with a faint morning sweat.
He walked to the headmaster’s room — a stout man with a graying mustache looked up.
“Her guest had an accident,” Surya said — voice calm despite the act.
The headmaster nodded — pressed the intercom.
“Send Anandhi down.”
Static buzzed.
Anandhi arrived — saree swaying — puzzled.
Her eyes widened at Surya.
“You?”
“Why do you search for me?” she asked — voice soft, uncertain. “They said in the intercom my relative got an accident.”
Surya stepped forward.
“Yes — something happened to Jeeva.”
Her breath caught.
“What happened?”
Surya’s tone steadied.
“Accident. Not major. His hand and leg, broken for now. They gave him bandages, but nothing can be said — waiting for other reports. Another check-up is around 2 PM. The hospital is not ready to admit him. They ask for his documents — all were in your house and I don’t even have your phone number. So I reached here. After the results are done, if he can be rested at home, I’ll take him there.”
Anandhi blinked — rushed to the teachers’ cabin — sandals clicking on the tiled floor, returning with the key. Metal glinted as she pressed it into Surya’s palm.
“Is it major? Should I come with you?”
Surya panicked inside — if she came, there’d be no doctor, no wound — their staged drama would collapse.
He shook his head.
“No — you stay here. It’s not major. I’m here to update you.”
He paused , then asked.
“ How could i inform you .. ? Should I call the college for updates?”
She shook her head.
“No. Take my phone number.”
Surya dialed — a missed call pinged on her phone.
“Save my number too.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll call.”
He left — car rumbling away.
He got the key and the number.
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