Chapter two: Flashback- The Night Everything Changed
Krish was fifteen when it happened.
His home had never been a place of warmth. He was from poor family, his father, an unemployed drunk, spent his days wallowing in self-pity and his nights turning that self-pity intoviolence.
His mother worked as a laborer, breaking her back to put food on the table, only to be met with accusations, insults, and fists. That night was no different.
His father stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, muttering nonsense. "You spend all day outside, huh? Maybe you have a man feeding you, huh? That's how you survive?"
His mother, usually silent, clenched her fists.
Something was different this time.
The argument escalated. His father threw the first blow. His mother, after years of endurance, finally snapped.
She said " I get enough of your shit, you did nothing to help your family, you are an asshole!" That statement trigger him , his father start abusing his mother.
The fight start with the verbally but end up in physically fight, but this time krish mother start defending herself and throwing item at him.
Krish saw it happen—the kitchen knife glinting under the dim bulb, the way his mother's face twisted in rage as she drove it into his father's chest.
For the first time in his life, his father was silent.
Krish had imagined this moment a thousand times before. How many nights had he lain awake, fantasizing about his father disappearing? About him vanishing into the void, never to return? But now, faced with the reality of it, his breath hitched. It felt unreal. Like he had stepped into someone else's nightmare.
His father gasped, eyes wide, the cruelty in them replaced by something else—fear. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud. Blood pooled around him, dark and endless.
Krish's mother let out a shaky breath, dropping the knife as if it had burned her. She turned to Krish, her face pale, her lips quivering. "Krish…" she whispered, but no other words came.
He wanted to move. Wanted to say something. But he was frozen. His mind screamed at him to react, but his body refused to listen.
His father was dead. Just like that. The monster who had tormented them for years was gone.
So why did it feel so wrong?
His hands trembled. His vision blurred. He wasn't sure if it was from shock or the tears he didn't even realize were falling.
He was fifteen. Just a kid.
And yet, in that moment, childhood was ripped away from him, leaving behind something hollow.
Krish stood frozen, his heart hammering. Sad. Relieved. Terrified. He felt everything at once.
And then came the police.
He couldn't let them take his mother.
He hated his father, but he loved her more.
Krish did as they said, his movements slow, his mind a blur. He could hear his mother sobbing behind him, whispering his name, her voice breaking.
"Who did this?" an officer demanded. "Tell us what happened."
Krish inhaled sharply. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He glanced at his mother—her face pale, her body shaking.
If he said the truth, they would take her away. He would lose her. After everything she had suffered, after all the nights she endured his father's cruelty, would they call her a murderer? Would they lock her in a cell and erase whatever life she had left?
No.
Not her.
Never her.
Krish turned back to the officer, his hands still shaking, but his voice steady when he spoke.
"I did it."
Silence.
His mother gasped, eyes widening in horror. "No… no, Krish, don't—"
"I killed him," Krish said again, louder this time. He forced himself to look at the officers, to meet their gaze as if he wasn't terrified. "I stabbed him."
A beat of hesitation, then rough hands yanked him forward, twisting his arms behind his back. Cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists.
"Krish, no!" His mother tried to move toward him, but an officer held her back.
He didn't fight. He didn't resist.
Because this was the only way.
He couldn't lose both his parents in one night. He wouldn't let them take her.
So he stood there, a boy of fifteen, drenched in the weight of a crime he hadn't committed, and whispered,
"I love my mother."
And with that, they dragged him away.
Since he was a minor, he was sent to juvenile detention. And there, he learned what survival really meant.
A man inside the juvenile center—someone connected to the drug world—took an interest in him. He helped Krish adapt, taught him how to fight, how to endure. But it wasn't enough. He was still just another lost soul rotting behind bars.
Until Dravid found him.
Not out of kindness.
Dravid never did anything without a reason.
He needed men who owed him. Men with nothing to lose. Men he could trust in a world where trust was a weakness.
So when Krish turned nineteen , Dravid pulled some strings, got him out.
And from that day, Krish belonged to him.
Back to the Present
Krish inhaled sharply, pulling himself out of the past.
The SUV had stopped. Dravid was watching him.
"You with me, kid?"
Krish nodded. "Yeah."
Dravid smirked. "Good. I need you in Dwarka by tomorrow."
And just like that, the mission had began ..!!