Before Sanjay could even process what was happening, Guru vanished from his sight — as if he’d disappeared into thin air. In the next moment, the faint sound of a door shutting echoed through the room. Then... silence. The only thing Sanjay could hear now was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. His breathing quickened as he sensed Guru’s presence — close, right behind him. He tried to move, straining against the ropes binding his hands and feet, but they wouldn’t budge. Out of instinct, he shifted his eyes toward the corner... and there, he caught a glimpse — Guru’s shadow moving behind him.

Before he could even turn his head, something hard slammed against his skull. His eyes widened in horror. A sharp pain shot through his body, and then everything began to fade — his body going numb, his ears ringing until the world around him fell completely silent.

Guru untied Sanjay’s hands and legs one by one. The ropes dropped to the floor with a dull thud. In his other hand, Guru held a metal rod — his grip firm, his eyes cold. He didn’t rush. He simply stood there, waiting for Sanjay to regain consciousness.

A few moments later, Sanjay stirred. His head throbbed as he tried to push himself up, his body trembling with weakness. He attempted to stand — but his knees betrayed him, collapsing instantly as he fell at Guru’s feet.

For a second, Guru just stared down at him — expressionless. Then, without a word, he reached out, gripped Sanjay’s shoulder, and forced him back onto his feet.

Sanjay’s fury erupted the moment he regained his strength. He grabbed Guru by the neck, his eyes burning with rage.

“Gaddar hai tu...!”

(You traitor!) he hissed through clenched teeth. “Kyun kar raha hai yeh sab? Paiso ke liye—” (Why are you doing all this? For money—)

“us din amma ke sath us kamre me reddy akele nahi tha haina?”

Guru suddenly blurted out, his voice breaking through the tension like thunder.

Sanjay froze. His eyes widened in disbelief, the blood draining from his face. His grip around Guru’s neck faltered — confusion flickering across his features.

But before he could say a word, Guru’s hand shot up, grabbing Sanjay’s throat in return. His expression was no longer calm — it was personal now, raw with anger and pain.

“Nahi, dar mat... bachpan se pata hota toh us din apne baap ke saath-saath tujhe bhi khatam kar deta...”

(“No, don’t be afraid... if I had known since childhood, I would’ve finished you along with your father that day...”)

“Ajeeb hai na...”

Guru’s voice was low, almost trembling with the kind of anger that comes from pain.

“Woh aurat tujhe bohot maanti thi... . Uski chita ko apun na aag nahi di, is baat ka gham nahi hai... par tune di na— is baat pe apun ko bohot gussa hai...”

(“Strange, isn’t it... that woman respected you so much. I don’t regret not lighting her pyre... but you did, didn’t you? And for that... I’m furious.”)

Guru’s grip around Sanjay’s throat tightened mercilessly, his knuckles turning white with rage. Then, all of a sudden, he let go. Sanjay gasped, stumbling backward, his legs too weak to hold him up. He crashed against the door and slid down, coughing, trying to catch his breath.

With his vision spinning and his body trembling, Sanjay somehow pushed the door open and staggered out of the room. Panic replaced strength — he ran, or rather stumbled,  his footsteps uneven and desperate.

Sanjay’s foot slipped, and he rolled down the steps, hitting the ground hard. His body ached, breath ragged, vision spinning. He blinked through the blur — and then froze.

Guru was walking toward him. Each step steady. Unhurried. The same cold look in his eyes that Sanjay had seen once before — years ago.

Sanjay’s pulse hammered. Even through the haze of pain, that memory clawed back — a thirteen-year-old boy, eyes burning with the same rage, the same silence that spoke louder than screams. And now, after all these years, that same boy was standing before him… a man shaped entirely by that anger.

Those eyes — cold, still, merciless — the same ones he had seen in that thirteen-year-old boy long ago. Eyes that had lost everything. Eyes that had learned how to kill.

Sanjay’s lips parted, his voice barely a whisper, “Tu... tu waise hi dekhta hai jaise us din...”

Guru knelt down beside him, his face inches away, his tone calm but heavy with venom.

“Soch raha hoga yeh sab mujhe kab pata chala, kaise? Par apun yeh sab batake teri atma ko shanti nahi dena chahta... toh aise hi mar.”

His words slithered through the silence like poison. Sanjay’s chest tightened — he wanted to speak, to beg, to curse — but no sound came.

Guru stood up. The rod in his hand clattered to the ground, echoing through the still night. Sanjay blinked hard — and when he looked up again, Guru was gone.

His breathing quickened. The silence was unbearable. And then — a sound.

Khrr... khrr... khrr...

Something was being dragged across the ground. The faint scrape grew louder, closer. Sanjay’s eyes darted toward the noise, wide with dread. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he saw it — a hammer — crawling toward him in Guru’s hand, its metal head glinting in the dim light.

His mouth opened, a desperate, broken whisper escaping his lips.

But before the plea could leave his tongue —

THUD!

A blinding flash of pain. The world spun once, and then darkness.

Warm splatters rained down as Guru stood still, blood bursting across his face and chest. He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. The hammer slipped from his hand and fell beside the headless body.

Guru turned, walked to the steps, and sat down.

The night air was thick with the smell of iron and death. Blood still dripped down his jaw, glistening in the dim light, as he stared ahead — silent, motionless — a man who had stopped being human long ago.

Guru’s eyes were fixed on the lifeless body lying on the ground. A raindrop slid down his cheek, but it did nothing to soften him. His monstrous gaze stayed locked on the one he had once trusted the most.

His body trembled, not with fear, but with fury. Memories, suppressed for years, crashed over him like a tidal wave. And then, as if the world fell away, mukesh voice pierced through his mind — a ghost from the past:

“Tune kabhi socha nahi, Guru… Sanjay ne tujhe itne saalon tak kyun roka? Terah saal ka baccha khudko maar sakta tha… aur woh Reddy kya cheez thi? Kya tu kabhi usse poochna chaha ki jab teri maa ke saath galat hua, woh kahan tha?”

(“You never wondered, Guru… why Sanjay stopped you from acting all these years? A thirteen-year-old boy could have fought back… and what was Reddy? Did you ever want to ask him where he was when your mother was wronged?”)

After mukesh questions, Guru wanted to know the full truth. Only two people knew it — Sanjay and Reddy. To get the answers, he needed to meet Reddy. He waited impatiently for tonight, certain that something important would happen which will lead him to truth.

Reddy looked at Guru, his face tense, bleeding eyes begging whike a knife stabbed on his stomach.. “Us raat me akela nahi tha, Sanjay bhi mere sath us kamre me tha… itne saalo tak tujhe isiliye rok ke rakha, taki kabhi tujhe Sanjay ka sach pata na chal sake.”

(“That night, I wasn’t alone — Sanjay was in that room with me… that’s why he stopped you all these years, so you would never find out Sanjay’s secret.”)

“Us raat ke baad ek property ke leke mera aur Sanjay ki ladai ho gayi. Hum dono ek dusre ko napasand karte the, sirf sath the humare fayde ke liye. Lekin sab khatam ho gaya, aur hum dono alag raste…”

(“After that night, Sanjay and I fought over a property. We disliked each other, only stayed together for our own gains. But everything ended, and we went our separate ways…”)

He remembered that night — the night he came home drenched in his own father’s blood. His mother’s eyes widened in shock when she saw her child standing there, trembling, covered in red. She didn’t scream. She didn’t move. She just broke.

Terrified and shattered, she ran — ran away from the sight of her son, unable to bear the truth that her own child had become a killer. That was the last time Guru ever saw her.

When she later attempted suicide, Sanjay didn’t let him see her one final time. His words still echoed in Guru’s mind

“Teri maa mujhe apna bada bhai samjhti thi... woh marne se pehle mujhse mili aur kaha — bhai agar mujhe kuch ho gaya, toh Guru ko mera chehra dekhne mat dena. Na hi meri chita pe aag dene dena… main ek qatil ki maa nahi hoon. Mera beta toh mar gaya.”

(“Your mother considered me her elder brother... before dying, she met me and said — brother, if something happens to me, don’t let Guru see my face. Don’t let him light my pyre… I am not the mother of a murderer. My son is already dead.”)

, “Yeh sab ka...  ka zimmedar woh aadmi hai jisne tujhe yahan laake khada kar diya hai.” sanjay added.

(“… and the one responsible for all of this is the man who brought you here today.”)

Guru’s eyes slowly dropped to his hands — once again drenched in blood. The sight made his chest tighten. Maybe if his mother could see him now, she would hate him even more. Maybe she already did.

But now, there was no turning back. He couldn’t. Not when he still had something — someone — to protect. Someone more important than his own life.

Avni.

His wife.