Pratham uncle—the DGP—finally came through.
The email was simple. No greeting. No preamble. Just a subject line:
Greesha Das: Docket
I’d stared at it for a full minute, not breathing. My hands had trembled as I opened it, praying for something—anything—that didn’t start with “was.”
But the contents?
They gutted me.
I still open the PDF sometimes. Like a masochist. Like an idiot. Hoping that maybe the words will change if I look at them long enough.
They never do.
No one talks about her. Not anymore. Vikram used to. He asked the day after that horrible night I lost Greesha.
Asked how I was holding up.
Another blow to the chest. Because what he meant was—
“How are you feeling now that Aarohi’s left the country?”
Not Greesha.
Rohi.
And I didn’t hesitate. My shame didn’t wait either. I told him everything. The fight. The fallout. That Greesha left. That I couldn’t find her.
His response?
Still burns.
“Uh... Viko, I’m sorry but, I thought you really liked Aarohi. I thought Greesha was just... you know. Someone you’d move on from eventually. I’m so sorry, man.”
How badly had I fucked up that even my brother thought the love of my life was disposable?
I stare at the docket again.
It always starts the same way.
Name: Greesha Das
Residence: Apartment 213, J4PF+PXH, Rajouri Garden, New Delhi, Delhi, 110064, India
Date of Birth: 17-07-1996
Date of Death: 04-03-2024
Cause of Death: Unknown
That’s usually where I stop.
The rest blurs.
My vision had gone white the first time I saw it. I’d thrown up everything I’d eaten that day. Dropped to my knees and just...stayedthere.
She was gone.
