Kartik Khandelwal

I can see in her eyes; she was sad at our plight. “Even after listening to our story for over a hundredth time, she looks sad,” I thought as I turned my head up and looked at her.

“You still don’t believe us,” Prakash said in anger. “Right?”

“Prakash--”

“See, Kavita,” He cut my sentence. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but we still think that it was not a suicide, but murder.”

“That’s why, maybe, the case is still going on,” I told them. “Even the police believe us. Even after four freaking years, the case is still on!” I banged on the table, which attracted the constantly chatting crowd of the restaurant.

Kavita came closer to us, and we did the same too to avoid further distraction. She, with rage in her voice, replied, “See, I know that you two are the murderers whatsoever, so better tell the truth where Shekhar is, ‘kay?”

“We’ve already told you every--” Prakash’s sentence was cut in between.

“I FUCKING KNOW YOU TWO ARE STILL HIDING SOMETHING!” She angrily whispered. She got back in her original position, and so did we.

“Prakash, narrate further.”

“Sure.”

Prakash Kedia

“Okay then,” I said to Kartik’s proposal. “Later that day…”

Later that day, we both waved goodbyes to each other and went homes. Shekhar and I were going to our respective homes, whereas Kartik was on his way to hostel. Shekhar was sitting behind me on my bike as Kartik started the engine of his bike, waved us goodbye, and drove away towards our right. We turned left towards the intersection and went straight to a well-lighted thoroughfare. “Hey, Prakash,” Shekhar asked. “I’ve always wondered why Kartik doesn’t leave the hostel and go home once in a while.”

“Shekhar,” I tried to explain. “There’s no one to welcome him home.”

“I know what happened to his parents, but, he should, at least, leave the hostel and go home, even if he’s alone there.”

“I know he’s kinda mysterious, but he’s running away from some kind of past, I suppose. That’s why, maybe, he doesn’t wanna go home.”

“So we should help him forget his past.”

“We’re doing our best. We can’t just… just give him a party or something so that he forgets about his past and learns a lesson to focus on the future, right? It’s not realistic. All we can do is spend quality time with him, so he may have some good moments to cherish when he’s on his deathbed.”

“Actually, Prakash, Kartik just can’t go off my mind. He seems happy at all times, but still, I feel there’s something he’s sad about.”

“‘Never show emotions on the face’--That’s his motto.”

“We talked a lot about different stuff that day,” I glared at the upper vertex of the window-frame as I reminisced my last moments with him. “Not gonna tell you the topics, though.”

“Tell me what you talk--”

“… ‘Cuz I don’t remember them myself.”

“Okay, continue,” Kavita gave me the green signal.

The street was pretty much lighted up by the lighting poles beside the streets in front of the houses. I stopped my bike just in front of a normal two storey house painted light blue, with the paint actually very faint and even coming off exposing the white and yellow parts. IT had quite a garden in the front--something still a dream for many in our country. “Thanks, pal,” Shekhar patted my back as he got off the bike and stood beside me. “Meetcha tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, bruv!” I waved him as I held the handle again firmly and left off.

Shekhar stared at me going through the street and talked to himself, “I needa learn how to use a bike too.” With a smile on his face, he turned back towards the entrance when I was out of sight, and went through the footpath on the short grass area which surrounded the house. Then, he opened the gate and, in the corridor of his house, he saw the horrific scene. His father, wearing his usual kurta-pajama suit, was hung on the rope by his neck in the middle of the corridor, followed by his mother’s body behind it. The lightning stuck somewhere as he saw the bodies and glared at them emotionless. His mouth and eyes were open in shock, and he’d frozen at the exact place for a second when he saw the horrific scene. He, then, started moving backwards, and suddenly stumbled on his own feet. It started to rain heavily. A thunderstorm hit Delhi that day. Then, as he saw the creepy and dark corridor surrounded by the aura of hopelessness, despair, rage and helplessness, he stumbled again on his own feet and fell on the ground. He got his back up from the ground, and then started crawling quickly backwards towards the gate where I stood and waved him just some minutes ago. “MUMMY! PAPA!” He shouted in our Indian accent on top of his lungs. “NOOOOO!”

“Then the neighbors gathered at the area and took the bodies to the hospital,” I narrated.

“But it was of no use,” Kartik told her. “Because they were already dead hours ago when Shekhar arrived.”

“When we reached the hospital,” I continued narrating.

In front of the chairs of the waiting area, a corridor in front of the emergency room, was a glass-wall of the prestigious KF Batra Hospital. We ran hurriedly towards the waiting area and found Shekhar sitting on one of those seats, glaring at one of the plants which were planted on brown pots outside the glass-wall. “S-Shekhar…” I sympathetically looked at him and raised a hand towards him. It was not on my command, somehow. Kartik ran towards him and stood him up by his shoulders. “W-We are really sorry, Shekhar. Ev-Everything’s gonna be-be all right.”

Kartik hugged him tightly. But, Shekhar showed no emotions whatsoever. With his mouth just beside Kartik’s ear, Shekhar said, “I needa avenge my parents, Kartik.” Kartik was surprised, and his widely opened eyes demonstrated it. I did nothing, just stared at the two because I knew not how to react in front of him.