The school bell hadn't even rung when Akhil's legs moved on their own. The words echoing in the classroom — "She died" — couldn't stick inside his head. They scattered like smoke. His chest was burning, his throat dry, but his body ran, ignoring the stares of classmates, ignoring the teacher's trembling voice.
He had to see her.
She was waiting for him.
She had to be.
The streets blurred as he sprinted past honking cars and startled pedestrians. His bag fell from his shoulders, but he didn't care. His lungs screamed for air, yet his heart thundered louder.
That was when a black police van screeched in front of him. Tires burned the road, and men in uniforms spilled out. Among them was John. His eyes weren't angry — they were hungry, as though he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"Stop him!" John barked.
Two officers grabbed Akhil by the arms before he could react. He struggled, his voice cracking.
"Let me go! I need to see her—she's waiting!"
John stepped forward slowly, his polished boots stopping inches from Akhil's feet. He looked into the boy's wild eyes and smiled, not with warmth, but with the satisfaction of a predator cornering prey.
"Akhil," he said softly, "you're coming with me."
---
The police station smelled of rust and stale tobacco. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting shadows that stretched unnaturally long on the peeling walls. They dragged Akhil into a chair, his wrists bound behind him with cold steel.
John circled him like a vulture.
"You know why you're here, don't you?" he asked.
Akhil's head snapped up, sweat dripping down his temple. "Because you're insane. Because you don't believe me. Because—"
John slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Because you killed Akira."
The words froze in the air.
Akhil blinked, then… laughed. A hollow, broken laugh that startled even himself. He leaned forward, until his lips brushed against John's ear.
"Yes," he whispered. "I killed him. But you'll never find the body."
The room fell silent. For a second, even the bulb above seemed to stop flickering. Then John's smile widened into something cruel.
"Good," he murmured. "Then we'll see how long you can keep your secrets."
---
The beatings began that night.
Fists, boots, batons — every hour blurred into the next. The cell was damp, the stone floor unforgiving, yet the pain eventually became something distant. Each strike pushed him further from himself, until his body was just a vessel absorbing punishment.
Days bled into weeks. Weeks bled into months. Six months.
At first, Akhil tried to scream. He shouted for her name, for her face, for her hand. But the more he screamed, the more they broke him. Slowly, his voice fell silent. Slowly, the memory of her name slipped away, as if erased by blood and bruises.
What remained was strange. He no longer remembered who she was, what she looked like, or even why she mattered. All he carried was the burning ache in his chest, a whisper carved into his bones:
I need to see her.
That thought alone kept him alive.
He ate when they shoved food at him. He stood when they dragged him up. He fell when they threw him down. But nothing inside him stirred except that one sentence, circling endlessly.
The torturers began to fear him. Not because of his strength — he had none left — but because of his eyes. They were empty. Not the emptiness of defeat, but the emptiness of something inhuman. A man who could feel nothing could not be broken.
---
On the one hundred and eighty-second day, John visited again.
He found Akhil sitting against the wall, wrists raw from chains, eyes staring at the floor.
John crouched. "Well, Akhil? Six months. Do you still think you can hide the body?"
Akhil lifted his head slowly. His lips parted, but his voice was barely audible.
"I don't care about bodies," he said. "I just want to see… her."
John frowned. "Who?"
Akhil's gaze drifted past him, lost in a place only he could see. "I… don't know."
That answer unsettled John more than any confession could have. He searched the boy's face for traces of fear, guilt, or even hatred. There was nothing. Only the faint shadow of a longing too deep to name.
John stood abruptly, straightening his jacket. "Pathetic," he muttered, though his voice shook. "Keep him locked up."
But as he left the cell, the echo of Akhil's words followed him, crawling under his skin like a curse.
---
Akhil leaned back against the wall. His body was broken, his memories shredded, but the whisper inside remained unshaken.
He no longer knew her name.
He no longer knew her face.
He no longer knew himself.
Yet he knew one thing with certainty.
He would find her.
Even if the world had to burn for it.