Subhadip ran his cycle down James Long Sarani road at a very high speed.The wheels screeched against the uneven tar as he swerved past rickshaws and honking cars, wind brushing against his face like sharp whispers.

  "Himiko," he said, breathing hard, "what can I do?"

  There was silence on the line. The kind that stings.His fingers gripped the handle tighter.

  "What can I do?" he repeated, louder this time.

  The buildings blurred past him — the tea stall, the peeling yellow walls, the stray dog limping near the lamppost. Nothing mattered in that moment except the voice beside him.

  Her voice finally came through. Calm. Steady.“Let’s go to Tonmoy’s house,” she said.

  Subhadip’s grip loosened for a second. The cycle tilted before he balanced it again.“No,” he said quickly. “If I go… I might see his face. I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  His voice cracked.“In the previous timeline… his dead face… it was hard for me.”

  The road kept rushing ahead, but Subhadip felt stuck.

  Subhadip now turned sharply onto Vivekananda College road.The rain, which had been wild just moments ago, began to slow… and so did his will.Each drop fell with a dull, tired rhythm, as if echoing his breath.

  He reached the gate of the college ground.Parked his cycle.Then he sat down, completely lost.

  Outside the rusting gate, he curled into himself, shivering. The damp soaked through his jeans, but he didn’t move.The world felt like an echo chamber. Empty.

  Himiko knelt beside him. Her hand touched his shoulder gently. “You’re not alone,” she whispered.

  But Subhadip didn’t look at her. His lips trembled.“I know,” he said slowly, “but you aren’t from this dimension.”

  He looked up at her for the first time.“I love you. But you aren’t real… at least in this realm.”

  Rain fell , lighter than before. But the cold in his chest stayed.

  The drizzle clung to his skin like quiet guilt. Subhadip sat frozen, Himiko beside him — but fading somehow, like a memory trying to stay alive.

  Just then, from across the street, he saw someone.

  Shankar.

  Walking slowly with a girl. Talking, laughing in that distant, careful way.Subhadip blinked.So… that might have been it. In the previous timeline, maybe he had dropped her off and was heading home.

  A small, strange relief passed through Subhadip’s chest, but he didn’t want to call him. Didn’t want to bother him.

  But Shankar spotted him.

  He paused mid-sentence, said something softly to the girl, and handed her his bag.“Wait here,” he told her.

  Then, umbrella in hand, he crossed the road quick but steady and came to where Subhadip sat.

  Without a word, he held the umbrella over him.Subhadip looked up, rain still dripping from his hair.Someone real stood beside him shielding him from the rain and from that gnawing silence inside.

  Shankar sat down beside him, the umbrella now covering both of them.The rain kept falling — quieter now, more like a breath than a storm.

  They didn’t speak for a moment. Just sat. Listening to the soft pattering.Then Shankar sighed. “Life’s shit, huh?”

  Subhadip gave a small nod. “Total shit.”

  Shankar let out a short laugh through his nose.Subhadip glanced sideways. “You found a perfect partner, it seems like.”

  Shankar tilted his head, lips pressing into a half-smile.

  “Who knows.”He leaned back a little.

  “Looks that way from the outside, maybe. But…”

  He stopped. Then looked directly at Subhadip.

  “You,” he said, “are not in the right state of mind.”

  Subhadip didn’t reply.

  “I know you’re introverted,” Shankar continued. “And you’re not able to express yourself properly.”

  His voice wasn’t judging — just matter-of-fact. Like he’d known it for a while.

  The umbrella tilted slightly as the wind blew, but Shankar adjusted it again, shielding both of them.

  Shankar looked ahead, eyes distant for a second. Then he spoke — softer this time.

  “I’m here for you,” he said. “I might not be a friend, to be real.”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully.“But I’m a human.”

  Subhadip didn’t move, but something in his shoulders eased.

  “And I’m not the kind of person who’ll leave someone I’ve known this long. Not like this.”

  The rain made the college gate shimmer faintly behind them.Subhadip stared at his soaked shoes, blinking slowly.

  Just silence. Honesty. And a cheap umbrella shared between two very tired boys.

  Across the road, the girl nodded politely. She had been watching, quietly understanding more than she let on. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away — blending into the soft mist of the evening rain.

  Subhadip watched her go.

  And something clicked inside him.

  He exhaled, steady this time. Then looked at Shankar.

  “You need to go,” he said.

  Shankar raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m ready now,” Subhadip added.His voice wasn’t loud, but firm. The kind of quiet that doesn’t break — it settles.

  Shankar gave a small nod. No questions. No drama.Just trust.

  He stood up, left the umbrella beside Subhadip, and began to walk down the road — the same path the girl had taken.

  For once, Subhadip didn’t feel like the one being left behind.

  Across the road, the girl nodded politely. She had been watching, quietly understanding more than she let on. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away — blending into the soft mist of the evening rain.

  Subhadip watched her go.

  And something clicked inside him.

  He exhaled, steady this time. Then looked at Shankar.“You need to go,” he said.

  Shankar raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m ready now,” Subhadip added.

  His voice wasn’t loud, but firm. The kind of quiet that doesn’t break — it settles.

  Shankar gave a small nod. No questions. No drama.Just trust.

  He stood up, left the umbrella beside Subhadip, and began to walk down the road — the same path the girl had taken.

  For once, Subhadip didn’t feel like the one being left behind.

  As Shankar disappeared down the rain-slicked road, the faint shimmer of Himiko’s presence flickered beside Subhadip once more.

  Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.“You’re stronger than you think.”

  Subhadip nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through the weight in his chest.

  “What should we do now?” he asked. His voice steady despite the storm around him.“Can we figure out what might have been the cause for the murder of the Roy family?”

  The rain drummed softly on the pavement.

  Silence stretched for a moment, but Subhadip felt something shift inside.

  He was ready to find answers.

  “I’m not going to say I know it all,” she said, “but it seems like it’s connected to the Holud Scandal.”

  Subhadip’s brow furrowed.“Wait,” he said, “ain’t that about the Chief Minister’s nephew… Abhijit Mukherjee?”

  The rain kept falling, blurring the edges of the city lights.

  Subhadip paused, the phone pressed close to his ear.“How do you know?” he asked, voice low.

  Himiko’s reply was quiet but firm.“I’m always by your side, even when you can’t see me.”

  She hesitated a moment, then added,“The only reason I can access this universe’s 4th dimension is because of the device fitted into your head.”

  Subhadip’s breath caught. “It was pretty difficult for your… godfather to fit it.”

  His voice sharpened, disbelief breaking through.“Who the fuck is this godfather?”

  Before Himiko could answer, her voice cut in, urgent.“You don’t have enough time right now.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Himiko’s voice softened for a moment, like she was pulling back the curtain just a little more.

  “Just to inform you,” she said, “the device allows me to project a virtual presence into your consciousness. I can render up to a hundred meters around you — I can see, hear, feel what’s happening nearby.”

  Subhadip listened, heart thudding harder now.

  “So there I was,” Himiko continued, “hearing the cops talking. They said Rajendro Roy was part of the team investigating the Holud Scandal. And—” she paused, “they were on the verge of reopening the Doc Rape Case.”

  Subhadip went still.

  “His superiors were already taken out. Rajendro was just a constable, but he knew everything. Every detail.”

  She breathed in.

  “So it became important to kill him too.”

  Subhadip stood up slowly, the rain soaking through his shirt.

  “So,” he said, his eyes not leaving hers, “if we take him out of the house before it happens… can the others survive?”

  Himiko stood just a few feet away — she had been there the whole time. Watching. Walking beside him. Unseen by the world, but never by him.

  “There’s a high possibility,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

  The city moved around them, indifferent. Cars hissed past on the wet road, headlights cutting through the drizzle — but no one looked at her.

  Only Subhadip could.

  And he always could.

  She was real — not in flesh, maybe — but in this tangled realm of memory, metal, and something far beyond reason.

  He didn’t need proof anymore.

  She was here. And now, they had a plan to stop the blood before it was spilled.

  Subhadip’s eyes were locked on hers now. The rain blurred the street, but not his thoughts. They were sharper than ever.

  “Should we call the police?” he asked. “If there’s a chance to stop it—maybe it’s the best shot.”

  Himiko didn’t blink. Her voice lowered, almost like the rain hushed to hear her.

  “There’s a high possibility,” she said, “that this is being orchestrated by someone inside the police.”

  Subhadip felt his stomach turn.

  “Rather,” she continued, “you should go to their house. Get Rajendro out yourself.Delay whatever leads to that night.”

  His breath caught. It was madness. But it made sense.It all made sense.

  He looked down James Long Sarani again.The lights were still on in the distance.Time was running.

  Subhadip ducked under a shade and pulled out his phone, fingers trembling not from the rain but from the weight of what he was about to do. He dialed Tonmoy.

  “Tonma,” he said the moment the call connected, “give the phone to your father. Now. It’s urgent.”

  There was confusion on the other end, but within seconds, Rajendro Roy’s voice came through — cautious, firm.

  “Hello?”

  Subhadip didn’t waste a second.

  “I know everything about the case,” he said. “About the Holud Scandal. The Doc rape case. And I know someone’s trying to kill you… and your family.”

  A pause. The rain seemed to grow louder.

  “You need to get out of that house,” Subhadip continued, his voice low, fierce. “If you want your family to survive — you leave now.”

  There was hesitation on the line. Rajendro Roy didn’t respond at first.

  Subhadip took a sharp breath. Himiko’s words echoed in his mind — “He was crying… said he had just called him at 7 PM…”

  Subhadip closed his eyes and spoke, quiet but certain.“Just 59 minutes ago… your other son called you. Said he’d be back by 11. Right?”

  The line went dead silent.

  No reply. No movement.

  Because only Rajendro knew that.

  “I know it because it’s already happened,” Subhadip continued. “I know how it ends. I know what you said after you broke down in that corner room, alone. I heard you.”

  On the other end, Rajendro finally spoke.

  “…Who are you?”

  “I’m the only one who can help you now,” Subhadip said. “Please. Just get out of the house.”

  Rajendro’s voice came back, lower now — shaken, not with fear, but with belief.

  “Can you meet me near Nabapally playground?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

  Subhadip didn’t hesitate.“I’m on my way.”

  He ended the call, looked at Himiko — still standing there, silent, rain glistening through her unreal form.She nodded.

  No more words.Just urgency.

  He hopped on his cycle, heart thudding.Nabapally wasn’t far — but the clock was ticking. And someone still wanted blood before the hour was done.

  The rain had thinned to a mist by the time Subhadip reached Nabapally playground. The streetlights flickered through the haze, casting long, trembling shadows on the wet ground.

  And then—he saw him.

  Rajendro Roy, standing alone near the gate. Nervous. Waiting.

  And behind him—

  A figure in black. Masked. Silent. A gun raised.

  Subhadip didn’t think.

  He spotted a rusted rod lying by the fence—grabbed it in one swift motion, feet thudding on the wet earth as he sprinted.

  And then—

  CLANG!

  The rod struck the masked man’s head.The gun fell.So did the man.

  Rajendro turned, stunned, eyes wide in disbelief.

  “What the—?!”

  Subhadip dropped the rod, panting, heart hammering.“You believe me now?” he said through gritted teeth.

  Rajendro caught his breath, still shaken from the close call. His eyes locked onto Subhadip’s with a new intensity — a mixture of fear and determination.

  “You don’t know the full story,” Rajendro began, voice low but urgent. “The Holud Scandal… it’s bigger than anyone realizes. If it gets exposed, it could bring down the entire ruling government of West Bengal.”

  He paused, looking around to make sure they were alone.

  “And the Doc rape case? It’s connected. Not just a random crime.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “There are heinous crimes buried beneath it all — sex rackets, syndicates, smuggling rings… even illegal immigration networks. They’re all tied together, protected by powerful people.”

  Rajendro’s hands clenched into fists.

  “This is why they had to silence those investigating — including me. Because if the truth comes out, no one in power would be safe.”

  Subhadip looked Rajendro in the eye, his voice steady but urgent.“You should call your colleagues. Go to the station. It might be safer there.”

  He wanted Rajendro to live—really live—not just survive another day hiding.

  But Rajendro shook his head, his face clouded with doubt.“I’m not sure if I’ll make it out alive,” he said quietly. “The file… the one that holds everything… it’s still in my room. If they find that, it’s over.”

  He swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if the walls themselves were closing in.“I have to protect that file. It’s the only proof we have.”

  Rajendro’s voice grew heavier, burdened by years of silence.“All the other evidence… it’s gone. Destroyed. Burned.”

  He glanced around nervously.“The ones in authority? They bought it all out. Paid off witnesses, corrupted officials—anything to bury the truth.”

  He clenched his fists.“That file in my room is the last piece that can expose everything.”

  Rajendro placed a trembling hand on Subhadip’s shoulder.

  “If anything happens to me…”His voice cracked.“Promise me you’ll take care of my family. My wife. My sons. They don’t deserve to be part of this hell.”

  Subhadip didn’t flinch.“I promise,” he said, eyes steady.“I won’t let anything happen to them. Even if I have to put myself in the fire.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke—just two men standing in the rain, bound by the weight of something far greater than either had imagined.

  As Rajendro walked away into the fading mist, the rain finally stopped—like the city itself was holding its breath.

  Subhadip turned to leave, only to hear Rajendro call out one last time.

  “I have something to say.”

  But before he could respond, the scene cuts—

  ---

  Now at Tonma’s house, the mood shifts. The room smells of mustard oil and fried dough. Tonma sits cross-legged on the floor, casually popping pieces of luchi into his mouth, dipping them into spicy alur dom.

  “You want some?” Tonma mumbles, mouth half full.“You look like you just fought a war.”

  Subhadip just stares for a moment—quiet, grounded again, but the weight still in his chest.

  Tonma’s mother peeked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her gamcha.“Tonma, tell your friend to come inside. I’ve served food for your father—he should be back soon.”

  Subhadip looked at her, his voice low but certain.“Aunty… he won’t be coming back tonight.”

  She paused, the words hanging in the air like smoke.

  Tonma looked up, confused.“What do you mean?”

  Subhadip didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at the floor—exhausted, soaked, and too young to be carrying this much truth.

  Subhadip finally spoke, his voice calm but serious.“He went to the police station. It’s safer that way. He has something important… something people would kill for.”

  Tonma’s mother froze for a moment, the ladle in her hand trembling.“Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “He didn’t want to worry you,” Subhadip said gently. “But he’s okay—for now.”

  Tonma put down his plate. The crunch of luchi stopped.“Subho… what the hell is going on?”

  Subhadip looked at him.

  “Something big. Bigger than us. And it’s just started.”

  Subhadip turned to Tonma, his eyes sharp now, cutting through the heaviness in the room.

  “Wash your hands.”

  Tonma blinked. “Huh?”

  “Now. We need to find that file your father mentioned. It’s in his room. We don’t have much time.”

  Tonma stood up, wiping his fingers on his kurta as he rushed to the sink.

  “What’s even in that file?”

  “The truth,” Subhadip muttered. “The kind that gets people killed.”

  As Tonma rushed inside, Subhadip turned toward the bedroom—only to feel a tiny tug on his damp T-shirt.

  A little girl stood there, wide-eyed, clutching a wilted money plant in her small hands. Her voice came soft, curious, like a whisper carried by the rain.

  “Who are you? And… what’s happening?”

  Subhadip knelt down, rain-soaked and tired, but managed a soft smile.

  “I’m your brother’s brother. So I guess… I’m your brother too, right?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then gave a slow, innocent nod.“Okay. But don’t make Bhaiya cry.”

  He ruffled her hair gently.“I won’t. Promise.”

  For nearly an hour, the rain whispered outside while the search tore through every corner of the house.

  Drawers flung open. Bookshelves scanned. Old trunks unlocked.

  Subhadip's damp T-shirt clung to him, his hands blackened with dust. Tonma paced with a torch, checking every possible crevice. Even the gas cylinder compartment.

  And in the middle of it all, Tonma's little sister trailed them—sometimes mimicking them, sometimes asking odd questions, and sometimes just standing quietly, as if guarding something.

  Subhadip sank onto the edge of the bed, panting.“It’s not here, yaar… we tried.”

  Tonma didn’t reply. He sat on the floor, rubbing his eyes. The room was a mess. Everything turned upside down. Every lead—dead.

  And just when it all seemed hopeless…

  “I found a door!” the tiny voice rang from under the bed.

  They looked at each other. Then dove forward.

  There it was—a small wooden hatch, almost invisible, stuck to the flooring. Rusted but still intact. A bunker-like compartment.

  Inside: one single file.

  Dusty, tied in jute threads. A name on the cover, smeared with age:"Sreshtha Debnath Case + Holud Evidence"

  They sat in silence for a moment, hands trembling. Then a phone rang.

  Subhadip picked up.

  It was Tonma’s father.

  “I don’t have much time,” his voice was rushed, broken. “Don’t tell your mother. Just… just tell Tonma. He’ll understand.”

  Subhadip's throat tightened.“Where are you? What’s happening?”

  The voice on the other end hesitated.“Please… solve it. For the people of Bengal. Promise me.”

  “Where are you!?”

  But it was too late.

  A gunshot.

  Silence.

  Subhadip froze. Tonma looked at him. And somehow, without words, he knew.

  Outside, the rain had stopped. But something heavier had just begun.