Everyone is Guilty Here - Prologue
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction.
This is a work of fanfiction. All characters, names, and settings belong to their original creators and the rights holders of Dhrishyam. I claim no ownership over them.
This story is a work of fiction, created for entertainment purposes only.
The sun had just dipped below the line of old acacia trees as Y/N navigated her scooter through the outskirts of Rajyam, the small Goan town she’d always called home. This lane belonged to memories: childhood games played under banyan shade; The Salgaonkar house, where she had spent countless evenings with Anju, was at the far end.
Y/N slowed her scooter before turning into the familiar lane, the worn rubber tyres crackling over loose gravel. A chill breeze carried the scent of damp earth and wilted jasmines, lingering from pots at the gate. Her eyes flicked toward Vijay uncle’s house. The house was pitch black; not a single light flickered. Quite unusual, as they had a generator. She turned off the engine, and the sudden silence rang in her ears, sharper for the way it replaced the usual hum of her scooter. Helmet still gripped tight in her hands, she stood there for a second, listening to the absence of TV noise and Nandini aunty’s mixer, which she never let rest, pressed down on her. Quickly getting off the scooter, she brushed her palm against the rough, dusty gate handle and rushed inside the house. Her chest felt tight as she walked inside.
Everyone was in the living room. Vijay uncle sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Nandini aunty stood near the window, her arms folded, staring at nothing. Anju sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled to her chest. No one noticed Y/N at first.
“Kya hua? Sab aise kyun baithe ho jaise kisi ki maiyat ho?” y/n asked, hoping to break the tension, but no one smiled.
Anju’s eyes were blood red, she was biting her nails, her fingers bleeding slowly.
“Uncle?” y/n asked softly.
Vijay’s eyes met hers, and she understood.
“Police?” she asked, even though she knew.
Nandini aunty turned away, wiping her face with the edge of her dupatta.
Y/N took a few steps forward. “Par… case toh band ho gaya tha na? Acchanak?”
Vijay let out a slow breath. “Naya IG aaya hai. Koi Tarun Ahlawat. Case reopen kiya hai…”
Y/N frowned. “Toh?? Aap pichli baar ki tarah handle kar lenge na???”
“Woh zyadda samajhdar lagta hai,” Vijay said. “Dusron ki tarah bewakoof nahi hai.”
That sentence landed in her chest. He must be really something if her Vijay uncle was scared. Y/N looked around the room. At Anju’s trembling fingers, then at Nandini aunty’s stiff shoulders, and then the way Vijay uncle kept staring at the floor, as if it might give him answers. Something ugly inside her clicked.
“Ek minute,” she said.
She pulled her notebook out of her bag and a pen from her pocket, already doubting that their conversation was being recorded.
Vijay frowned. “Kya kar rahi hai tu?”
Instead of answering him, she wrote. “Agar woh suspend ho jaye toh?” and held the notebook in front of Vijay. He stared at the words. Then she hesitated. It wasn't that she wanted to drag someone down, but she knew how the system worked here: And she had seen enough, heard enough in college about how to create a scandal in the right place, with the right approach. She flipped the page and wrote again. “IG sahab suspend ho jaye toh baaki aapke takkar ka koi nahi rahega na?”
Vijay’s eyes met hers, and then she wrote one last line.
“Mujhe pata hai usse kaise suspend karna hai.”
The room went very still for a second, and he picked up the pen instead and wrote beneath her words.
“Jo bhi kar… dhyaan se karna.”
Y/N closed the notebook. This was enough for now.
Later, Y/N found Anju alone in her room, sitting at her study desk, her eyes unfocused and distant from the open books in front of her. Anju’s shoulders were hunched, her chin resting in one trembling hand. She kept rubbing at a spot on the desk, fingertips tracing circles over a faint stain, as if searching for comfort in the motion. Every so often, her leg bounced restlessly under the chair.
Y/N quietly pulled a seat beside her. Anju flinched, startled by her presence. For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. After a while, Anju whispered, “Woh din… mujhe sapne mein bhi dikhta hai.” Her voice cracked.
“I try not to think about it. Par phir bhi… aata hai.”
Y/N reached out, slowly, like she was afraid Anju might break if she touched her too suddenly. She held Anju’s hand, and as she had assumed, it was ice cold.
“Tu galat nahi thi,” Y/N said quietly.
Anju shook her head. "Main murderer hoon.” Her voice trembled, heavy with memories that haunted her. It was as if she could still see the blood on her hands from that night.
“Nahi tu murderer nahi hai,” Y/N said.
Anju looked at her, eyes glassy, searching.
Y/N didn’t look away. “Tu bas ek bachchi thi, aur bass darr gayi thi.” massaging her hands to warm them up.
Anju’s lips trembled.
“ Tujhe kuch nahi hone dungi…. Mein hoon na.”
A/n chapter 1 coming day after tomorrow.
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