Scars Behind the Silence — A Promise in Swindon

The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air as the four of them stepped through the tall glass doors of Swindon General Hospital. The corridors were quiet but heavy with something unspoken—fear, uncertainty, broken hope. Tara walked ahead, her stride calm but purposeful, her eyes flicking to the ward number printed on the clipboard in her hand.

Room 5B.

That was where the girls were.

Kiaan's heart pounded louder with every step. Rehan, walking beside him, kept stealing glances at the closed doors they passed, his jaw tense. Dev followed in silence, unusually quiet, for once not cracking jokes to lighten the air. He knew the gravity of this visit.

As they reached the ward, Tara paused. She turned to Kiaan and whispered, "Most of them haven't spoken a word since they were rescued. The trauma… it's deep. Just be patient."

Kiaan nodded silently.

Tara stepped in first, the sound of her boots soft against the floor. The ward was dimly lit, sunlight pushing in through partially drawn blinds. Nineteen girls, most of them barely nineteen themselves, sat or lay on hospital beds. Some turned to look. Some didn't even lift their heads.

A few older men and women stood by certain beds — parents. Their exhausted, haunted faces lit up just a little at the sight of Tara, and then flickered in confusion as their eyes landed on the stranger walking in behind her.

Tara raised her voice gently, "Everyone, this is Captain Kiaan Verma. He's part of the task force that led the operation to rescue your daughters… your sisters. He's not just a cop. He's been fighting for this case since the beginning."

There was a long silence. All eyes turned to Kiaan. His lips parted, but for a moment no words came. Then he stepped forward, took a slow breath, and said, voice steady but low:

"I know no words can erase what's been done to you… but I'm here to tell you this: You are safe now. You're not alone anymore."

A girl in the farthest bed lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were hollow, but locked onto Kiaan like she was searching for something — reassurance, maybe. A thread of trust.

Kiaan walked further in. "Some of you have already reunited with your families. The rest… will go back to your homes, to your countries, very soon. We've arranged for protection, medical care, everything you need until then. And the monsters who did this to you…" — his voice darkened, sharpened — "they won't sleep peacefully. Not until every one of them is caged, or burned by justice."

One of the mothers choked on a sob.

"If any of you," he continued, "feel ready to talk, even just a little, even just to whisper something that might help… we'll listen. You can talk to us anytime — me, Tara, Rehan, Dev. We're not just doing our job. We're here because your lives matter. Because silence won't protect you — but truth might."

Rehan watched a girl's lip tremble. Her fingers clenched the sheet. Dev's eyes misted as he turned away slightly, clearing his throat.

Kiaan glanced at Tara, who gave him the faintest nod — approval. Respect.

A girl finally whispered, her voice barely audible: "Will they come back? The ones who hurt us?"

Kiaan turned to her instantly. "Not on my watch," he said. "They come near you again, and I'll make sure they beg for mercy."

And for the first time since they entered, a few of the girls—just a few—nodded.

The silence that followed wasn't fearful anymore.

It was the beginning of trust.

The pale morning sun streamed through the wide hospital windows, casting a soft warmth over the white-tiled ward where 19 young girls lay recovering. Some sat upright, clutching their blankets, others whispered softly to their families. The hum of quiet conversations and the occasional sniffle of a mother trying to hold back tears filled the space.

Kiaan, Rehaan, Dev, and Tara stepped in together, wearing their ID tags and the weight of the mission on their shoulders. Kiaan looked around, his eyes scanning each bed carefully. Dressed in a clean black jacket, collar sharp, hair slightly tousled from the morning rush—he didn't look older than the girls he'd saved. His eyes, however, held something else entirely. Experience. Guilt. Responsibility.

As Tara introduced him, a few parents looked toward the young man she called "Captain Kiaan Verma." One mother leaned closer to another, whispering in Hindi, "He's just a boy… and yet he led the rescue?" Tara overheard and smiled.

"He's 22," she said softly. "You wouldn't believe what he's handled already."

Kiaan stepped forward, his voice steady despite the aching tightness in his shoulder and the pain in his back he tried to hide. "You all are safe now. No one will touch you again, I promise. We're continuing our investigation, and justice will come. If any of you are ready to talk, you can contact us any time—even anonymously. Your stories matter."

A father stood up, holding his daughter's hand. "You saved our children. We can never repay that. Thank you, beta."

Kiaan gave a small nod, humbled. "Just doing what's right, sir."

Meanwhile, Dev leaned in and whispered, "Kiaan, I'm working on tracking the remaining families. Some of the girls don't have passports, and a few might be undocumented. We'll need embassy clearance."

Kiaan nodded, eyes flicking to the side when he felt a gentle tug at his hand.

From the nearest bed, a girl—thin, with a bandaged wrist and wide, teary eyes—looked up at him. She looked barely seventeen. Her fingers clutched his hand with trembling trust.

"Bhai…(bro)" she said, her voice dry and emotional. "Tumne humein bacha liya…"(you saved us)

Kiaan's breath hitched. The way she said bhai—like she meant it from somewhere deep. He pulled a chair next to her bed and sat, his fingers still wrapped around hers.

"Tumhara naam kya hai?"(what is your name) he asked softly.

"Aarohi," she said. "I thought I'd never see my parents again…"

"They're coming," he assured her. "Soon. You'll go home. You'll start over. And I'll be watching from here to make sure your world stays safe."

She tried to smile, her lips quivering. "Can I hug you?"

Kiaan nodded gently. She sat up slightly, and he leaned in carefully so she could wrap her frail arms around him. It was the kind of hug that made everything he'd suffered in the last 48 hours worth it.

From across the room, Tara watched with soft eyes, murmuring to Dev, "He may be young… but damn, he was born for this."

Dev smirked. "He won't admit it, but this whole operation? It wouldn't have happened without him."

As Kiaan stood back up, Aarohi whispered, "Bhai… don't forget us. Don't forget what they did."

Kiaan squeezed her hand once more, gaze intense. "Never."