Trouble In Paradise

"Life is paradise. But, sometimes there is trouble in paradise."

The air was damp, signaling the arrival of rain. As I pushed open the iron gate, its slow, sharp creak shattered the silence, startling the house's inhabitants. A frightened face peeked through the curtains, but the fear quickly melted into joy.

Aanchal rushed to the door, flung it open, and embraced me tightly. I hugged her back. She playfully punched my arm.

"Where have you been, sir? I was so anxious, wondering what would happen when Sarla found out what you did for us."

I smiled. "He was suspicious, but Raju's sudden death distracted him."

"Raju died? How?"

"Some gang violence, apparently. People like him don't usually live long."

"Yes. His sins dragged him to an early grave."

"Where's Ravi?"

"Ravi? He left for London with a British woman—a friend of yours, she said. Your friend Bhatti also left a few days ago. Apparently, he had important work and felt uneasy about staying here alone with a young girl."

"So, you're staying here all by yourself?"

"Not entirely. Your friend from London arranged for two women to stay with me. One cooks, the other washes my clothes. Not that I can't manage on my own, but they don't seem to have much else to do. I saw guns in their bags and realized they're more than just maids. Since then, I've felt much safer. Tell me the truth—are you a policeman?"

"Me?" I smiled. "Not exactly. Let's just say I work on the virtuous side of the world, keeping people like you safe from people like Sarla and Raju."

"Would you like to come in?"

"No. I have somewhere to be. I just wanted to see you before I left."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Maybe back to Kerala. There are people waiting for me there. I made a promise to someone."

"Someone?"

I felt warmth rise to my face.

Aanchal smirked. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I've seen the way Meera Didi looks at you. Sarla never deserved her. If fate has brought you two together, it's God's will."

"Sweet words," I murmured. I kissed her forehead gently and waved goodbye.

Goa held no particular interest for me, but returning to Kerala so soon didn't seem wise either. I had no fixed place to stay and no one specific to call. Bhatti was busy, and reaching out to Ms. Maria felt a little awkward. Still, I dialed her number—no answer.

I tried Sir Lorenzo next. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Where are you, my boy?"

"Goa. It's a long story. But now, I've got nothing to do here. I need something to occupy my time. Do you have any work for me?"

"Work? What do you think I am, an employer? Enjoy Goa, Harsh. Take in the beauty and relax. Leisure is a blessing—don't waste it. Just don't get caught in any unnecessary trouble. Take care."

He disconnected the call.

Sir Lorenzo was right. I needed rest. The past few months had been a whirlwind of tension and anger. Sarla wouldn't be looking for me for another two weeks, and Meera would probably be relieved to have me out of Kerala. As for Sumeet, he was smart enough to keep his cover.

I had enough money to last three weeks in Goa before heading back. With that thought, I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked toward a nearby hotel.

I walked along the cold sand, the gentle waves brushing against my soles. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow across the water, its reflection shimmering like molten gold. Around me, life moved at its own rhythm—children ran along the shore, couples sat close, vendors weaved through the crowd calling for customers, birds swooped down to peck at scattered popcorn.

Nostalgia. What a beautiful deception of the mind.

I had walked this same beach before, under the same sky, with the same sounds around me. But back then, I was just Harsh Bhardwaj—a simple man. A son. A doctor. A brother. And happy.

I don't regret my present, but sometimes, I wish I could turn back time—to the days when life was different. When there was peace. When there was certainty. When hope wasn't just an illusion. I was never the most ecstatic person, even then, but compared to now, my past felt like bliss.

I kept walking, lost in thought. Some memories were sweet. Others, bitter.

I reached my hotel sometime between one and two in the morning. The receptionist, his eyes weary with exhaustion, slid the key across the counter.

"Your keys, sir."

I took them without a word and headed toward my room. I hadn't brought any luggage—especially not clothes—which had made the hotel staff a little suspicious. But I fed them a convenient excuse about losing my bag at the airport. The manager didn't seem convinced, but once he saw the cash, he decided it wasn't his problem.

The hotel was small, nearly empty—exactly the kind of place I needed for a discreet stay. On the way in, I'd picked up a pack of instant noodles and three bottles of water. I'd considered grabbing a bottle of something stronger, but caution overruled the temptation.

I sat by the grimy window, watching the headlights of passing cars flicker like restless fireflies. Slurping my noodles, I kept my gaze on the street below. The night was quiet, save for the occasional distant honk.

When I finished eating, I dropped onto the bed. The old frame groaned under my weight, making a sharp creak like it might give out any second. I ignored it and closed my eyes.

Then my phone buzzed.

Ms. Maria.

"Hello," I answered.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. Why did you call me?"

"Is everything going okay there? Do you need help? Are you in some kind of trouble? Where is Sumeet?" She threw her questions like bullets, rapid and relentless.

"Relax," I said. "I'm fine. Still in Goa. Nothing's happened to anyone—it's all part of the plan. I just called for something, but Sir Lorenzo already handled it. I visited Aanchal. She's fine. I heard from her that Ravi is with you now. How's he doing?"

"Nothing special," she sighed. "Obedient, but not particularly skilled. A tedious student, if you ask me."

I smirked. "I knew another Ravi like that once."

"Whatever." She brushed it off. "How's your plan progressing?"

"Tedious," I admitted. "Sarla seems to trust me. His wife and I have formed a bond. Sumeet is still under Mukesh, and there haven't been any major shifts. In short, we need more time."

"Time," she said sharply, "is something slipping through our fingers. Henderson has already issued three notices on you and Sumeet for dragging this out longer than intended."

I exhaled, irritated. "I don't get that man. First, he threatens me on day one, tells me not to screw this up. Now, he's the one throwing hurdles in my way."

"He isn't," Maria corrected. "Time is critical, Harsh. VPS is advancing fast. If we don't act soon, he'll be untouchable—not that he isn't already. We have others tracking him, but for some reason, Henderson insists that you should be the one tailing him. He believes an Indian can understand another Indian's mindset better." She scoffed. "I don't know if that's racist or just impractical. Either way, wrap up your work in India. We have bigger fish to catch."

She hung up before I could say another word.

I let the phone drop onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

They thought this was easy. They assumed Sarla was just another street thug—a local goon running a trafficking racket who I could simply snatch like a chicken and present to the UCID headquarters. They didn't see the daily dilemmas I had to navigate.

On one side, Meera kept pushing me toward revolution, wanting me to wage war against Sarla. On the other, the idiots in London wanted me to play it smart, to act with caution rather than emotion.

But every time I saw Sarla's men terrorizing the poor, I felt the rage boil inside me. And yet, I was bound.

My phone buzzed again.

An unknown number.

I hesitated for a second before answering. "Who is this?"

"It's John, my boy." The voice was smooth, almost cheerful. "You did a marvelous job. Truly marvelous! Just calling to check in. You still in Goa?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"Good, good. Best to stay low for a while. Garry and I are in Athens right now—beautiful place. Wish you were here. Garry is dull company." He chuckled. "Anyway, I spoke to Sarla. He suspects nothing. I told him you're taking a well-earned vacation. He bought it, no questions asked."

I stayed silent, listening.

"Sarla and I won't have another deal for at least a year and a half," John continued. "If you stick around till then, I might send you somewhere nicer next time. Maybe Italy. Or Spain. My men secured the girls. They're safe. You should be proud of what you accomplished."

And just like Maria, he hung up before I could respond.

I let out a sharp breath and switched off my phone.

The room felt heavy with silence.

I killed the lights and lay back, staring into the darkness until sleep finally took over.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me awake. I sat up, groggy, and called out, "Who is it? Room service? Come back in an hour."

A voice replied, firm and unfamiliar. "No. It's not room service. Open the door."

I frowned. "Who are you, then?"

"Why don't you open the door and find out?"

I sighed, irritation creeping into my tone. "Whoever you are, you've got the wrong room."

Silence. Then—boom!

The door crashed to the floor. Two massive men stormed in before I could react, seizing my arms in a vice-like grip. I struggled, but their strength was overwhelming.

"What the hell is this?" I shouted. "Who are you?"

"Shut up."

The command came from outside, deep and authoritative. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode in, his dark eyes cold and calculating. A thick walrus mustache framed his scowl, and his fingers, heavy with jeweled rings, gleamed under the dim light.

Behind him, another figure stepped forward—a boy. He was younger, lean but confident, his eyes alight with cruel amusement. He stopped in front of me, tilting my chin up with two fingers, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Remember me?"

Before I could answer, his fist connected with my face. Pain exploded through my jaw, my head snapping to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. And then it hit me. I knew him.

He was the same boy I had humiliated—the one I had stopped from harassing the foreign tourists.

His smile widened, pleased by my recognition. "Take him to the villa," he ordered. "I'll handle him there."

The men holding me tightened their grip and dragged me outside. I barely had time to catch my breath before they hurled me into the back of a car. My body slammed against the hard surface. Pain shot up my spine.

My vision blurred. My mind swam. Darkness crept in, pulling me under—into uncertainty, into helplessness.....