Chapter 5: Shadows of the Past

Siddharth Chauhan wasn't the kind of cop who let things slide.

After the hospital chaos, he didn't sleep.

Instead, he drove straight to the station, leaning back in his creaking chair, reviewing Sana's file.

What little there was.

Who are you?

--- The Landlord

At dawn, he went to the address she'd given for her ID checks—the small rental house in the older part of Shamli city.

He knocked on the faded green door.

An old woman peeked through the cracked frame.

Her eyes were wary, but softened when she saw his uniform.

"Madam, I'm Inspector Siddharth Chauhan. May I ask you some questions about a tenant? Sana."

She blinked.

"Sana? Oh, that poor child. What happened to her? Is she okay?"

"She's...being investigated. I just need information."

The woman frowned.

"What do you want to know? She's lived here seven or eight months. Always polite. Paid rent on time. Never caused trouble."

Siddharth's eyebrow rose.

"Nothing strange? Visitors? Late nights?"

She shook her head firmly.

"No, beta. She's a good girl. Quiet. Sometimes helped with my dog. I don't believe she'd hurt anyone."

But Siddharth didn't trust "good girl" stories anymore.

He looked around the small, neat room she had rented.

A tiny bed, a bookshelf with dusty novels, a cracked mirror.

Nothing screamed "killer" or "con-woman."

But something felt off.

He left with her old landlady calling after him:

"If you see her, tell her I'm worried. She didn't even say goodbye."

He didn't answer.

--- Mr. Khanna's Home

Next stop: the dead man's house.

Siddharth parked outside the pale-yellow bungalow in the suburbs.

Police tape fluttered at the gate.

He showed his badge to the constable on duty and stepped in.

Inside, Mrs. Khanna sat on the sofa.

Her face was ashen.

She twisted a handkerchief in her fingers.

She jumped when Siddharth cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Khanna? I'm Inspector Chauhan. I have some questions."

She nodded numbly.

"Did you...find who killed him?"

"Not yet."

He sat opposite her.

"I need to ask about your husband's personal life. Any enemies?"

She swallowed hard.

"No. He wasn't that kind of man."

"Was he violent with you? Unfaithful?"

Her eyes widened in horror.

"No! He loved me. We fought, like anyone, but he...he wasn't cruel."

But Siddharth watched her closely.

She was shaking.

Nervous.

Sweat on her temple.

Hiding something.

He pressed on.

"Are you sure? No affairs? No jealousy? Nothing strange in his behavior lately?"

She flinched.

"Nothing I know of!"

Her voice cracked.

He noted the way she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Liar.

After leaving, he made calls to his team.

They did deep background on Mr. Khanna.

By evening, his junior officer, Meera, called him back.

"Sir. You were right. Mrs. Khanna had no lover. But...Khanna had a mistress. She's been missing since the night he died."

Siddharth's blood ran cold.

"Name?"

"Her ID is fake. We're still trying to trace it."

"Find her," he snapped.

"Sir, we think she left the city."

"Then follow her trail out of the city. I want her found."

He ended the call and stared at the street, headlights blurring in the rain.

Was Sana the mistress?

Or is she running from something worse?

--- Meanwhile in Delhi...

Hundreds of kilometers away, Delhi was alive with color and music.

The biggest buzz in town was the grand international music show in Jawaharlal Stadium.

Neon billboards flashed the name of the star attraction:

LIANG WEI — China's most famous romantic singer.

He was known for heartbreaking love ballads, perfectly tailored suits, and a devoted global fanbase.

Backstage, Liang Wei stood in front of the mirror.

His team was fussing over his hair, his outfit.

He barely noticed.

His mind was somewhere else.

His friend and manager, Zhen, clapped him on the shoulder.

"Snap out of it, man. Sold-out crowd. You're gonna kill it tonight."

Liang Wei didn't reply.

Zhen frowned.

"You okay?"

Liang's voice was hollow.

"I keep seeing her face."

"Who?"

"Aditi."

Zhen blinked.

"Liang. Don't."

But Liang Wei turned, eyes wild.

"She was there. I saw her Alive."

Zhen's jaw dropped.

"Liang! Aditi's dead. She died saving you. Don't do this to yourself."

"No!"

Liang Wei grabbed his friend's arm.

"I know what I saw. My eyes don't lie."

Zhen tried to keep his voice calm.

"It's been three years. She died in that explosion. You saw her body. We all did."

Liang Wei shook his head violently.

"It was her. Same hair. Same smile. Same eyes. She was alive."

Zhen rubbed his face, frustrated.

"You're losing it. This tour is killing you. Let's focus, okay?"

The show started.

Liang Wei went on stage to deafening cheers.

Spotlights blinded him.

He sang the first verse perfectly.

Then he froze.

In the crowd—

Near the exit doors—

He saw her again.

A woman in a hot black dress.

Long black hair in a sleek ponytail.

Smiling.

His voice cracked.

He stopped singing.

The band faltered.

The crowd murmured in confusion.

Liang Wei dropped the mic.

Security panicked.

He jumped off the stage.

He shoved past screaming fans.

He ran toward the exit, eyes locked on that face.

Aditi!

But she was gone.

He stood there, chest heaving.

Sweat dripping.

Zhen ran up, furious.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She was here!"

"WHO?"

"ADITI!"

Zhen grabbed his shoulders.

"Liang! Listen to me. That's impossible."

Liang's eyes were wild, shining with unshed tears.

"No. She was right there. She looked at me. She smiled. She's alive."

Zhen's voice dropped to a whisper.

"You know she's gone."

Liang shook his head weakly.

"My eyes don't lie. It was her. I'll find her."

Zhen sighed.

"Even if she was alive…why would she be in India? Why now?"

Liang's voice was low.

Broken.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

In the dim corridor, his team was in chaos trying to calm the fans.

Liang Wei ignored them all.

He walked to the dressing room, numb.

He sat on the couch, staring at the floor.

Whispered to himself.

"If you're alive…why did you run?"

Back in Siddharth's precinct, he pin-boarded every photo of Sana he had.

He drew lines to crime scenes, CCTV stills, witness sketches.

A map of her movements.

Her name in red ink.

He sipped black coffee, eyes bloodshot.

He muttered under his breath.

"You can run, Sana. But I'll find you."

The clock ticked in the dark office.

Two investigations, miles apart.

But both haunted by the same woman.