Growing Before My Eyes

 I fall in love with you every single day,
not all at once, but quietly, again and again.
I watch you grow before my eyes,
time moving faster than my heart can hold.

Life’s richest blessing is this simple sight
your footsteps stretching into tomorrow.
Your love, your laughter, your open arms,
feel like blessings earned across a thousand years.

To see you grow…
is to witness the best part of life unfold.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 12 - Final

 The Echo That Remained

They never officially closed Anika Rao’s case.

How do you close something that keeps resurfacing?

Six months after Vikram Rao’s confession shattered governments, a different kind of silence settled in. Not peace—just absence. Empty boardrooms. Vacant mansions. Graves without names.

Director Sen resigned quietly. No farewell. No scandal. Her files vanished from the system she once commanded.

Leela disappeared.

Not dead.
Not alive.

Just… gone.

And Anika?

Anika Rao ceased to exist.

---

In a coastal town where maps ended early and names didn’t matter, a woman lived alone in a whitewashed house. She worked nights repairing radios and mornings walking along the shore, barefoot, unnoticed.

She answered to Aarohi now.

Sometimes, strangers came—journalists chasing rumors, men with questions framed like threats. They never stayed long. Some left afraid. Some left convinced they’d imagined her.

A few never left at all.

At night, Aarohi listened to old recordings.

Her father’s voice.
Her mother’s laughter—thin, tired, but real.
Even Vikram’s confession, once.

She didn’t hate anymore.

Hate required energy.

She had learned something darker, quieter, more permanent.

Systems didn’t fall because of anger.
They fell because someone refused to stop.

---

One evening, a young woman stood at her door.

Eyes sharp.
Hands shaking.
Holding a folder too thick to be coincidence.

“They told me you could help,” the girl said.

Aarohi studied her for a long moment.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” the girl replied.

Aarohi smiled faintly.

“No,” she said, stepping aside. “It never does.”

The folder hit the table with a familiar sound.

A thud.

Thick.

Outside, the sea kept moving—patient, endless, erasing footprints without mercy.

Aarohi poured two cups of tea.

Somewhere far away, a powerful man would wake up uneasy.
A document would surface.
A lie would fracture.

The world would call it coincidence.
Bad luck.
Another scandal.

They would never say her name.

And that was the point.

Because Anika Rao was not a person anymore.

She was what remained after silence broke.

She was the echo.

And echoes don’t die.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 11

 The Leash and the Knife

They didn’t tell Anika where they were taking her.

They didn’t need to.

The room they brought her to was underground—no windows, no clocks, no sense of direction. Just concrete, steel, and a single table bolted to the floor. Across from her sat the woman with steel-gray hair.

She finally gave her name.

“Director Sen.”

Anika almost laughed. “Of course.”

Sen slid a tablet across the table. On the screen was a live feed.

Vikram Rao.

Alive.
Scarred.
Strapped to a hospital bed, one eye permanently clouded, his once-perfect composure fractured into something feral.

“You kept him alive,” Anika said flatly.

“We kept him useful,” Sen replied. “He knows every shadow route, every buried account, every name that hasn’t surfaced yet.”

Anika leaned back. “Then why do you need me?”

Sen tapped the screen.

Vikram smiled weakly. “Because I won’t talk to you,” he rasped. “But I’ll talk to her.”

Anika’s stomach tightened.

Sen continued, “You go in. You get what we need. He gives us the final ledger—the one your father never found.”

“And after?” Anika asked.

Sen’s silence was answer enough.

Anika looked back at Vikram on the screen. He was watching her now, his remaining eye bright with recognition—and triumph.

“You see?” he said hoarsely. “Even when you win… you belong to someone else.”

Something inside Anika went still.

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

---

They brought her to him that night.

No guards in the room.
No cameras she could see.
Just Vikram, restrained, breathing shallowly, the illusion of control finally stripped away.

He smiled when he saw her.

“You chose the state over blood,” he whispered. “How noble.”

Anika pulled up a chair and sat.

“I didn’t choose them,” she said. “I chose myself.”

Vikram laughed, then coughed, pain wracking his body. “You think you’re free? You’re a blade they’ll use until you’re blunt.”

“Maybe,” Anika said. “But blades cut both ways.”

She leaned in close—so close he could smell her.

“My father left more than recordings,” she continued. “He left contingencies.”

Vikram’s smile faltered.

“You trained me to survive,” she said. “But you trained him to prepare.”

She stood and walked to the door.

“That ledger you’re protecting?” she added. “It’s already public. Leela released it six hours ago.”

Vikram’s breath hitched.

“No,” he whispered. “That’s impossible.”

Anika turned back one last time.

“The only thing they still need,” she said, “is your confession. And you’re going to give it—to everyone.”

She pressed a button on the wall.

The lights flared.

Cameras powered on—hidden, numerous, unmistakable.

Vikram screamed.

---

By morning, the world was drowning in his voice.

Confessions.
Names.
Orders.
Mass graves.
Wars funded and forgotten.

Director Sen watched the feeds in silence.

“Where is she?” someone asked.

Sen didn’t answer.

Because Anika Rao was already gone.

---

Leela found her at dawn, at a small cremation ground by the river.

Anika stood barefoot, ashes staining her hands.

“My mother,” Anika said quietly. “I never said goodbye.”

Leela stood beside her. “You just did.”

Anika looked out at the water. “They’ll come for me.”

“Yes,” Leela agreed.

“And they won’t stop.”

“No.”

Anika closed her eyes.

Then she said the words that terrified even Leela.

“Then this doesn’t end with him.”

In the distance, sirens rose again—not for Vikram Rao this time, but for an entire system collapsing under its own weight.

Anika walked away from the river.

No leash.
No masters.

Only one part left.

And it would decide whether the world remembered her as a criminal…

…or a reckoning.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 10

 

The Man Who Died Twice

Vikram Rao’s death was declared confirmed.

Closed-casket funeral. DNA match. Witness statements. Thirty-two floors, no survival.

And yet—

Three weeks into Anika’s custody, the doubts began.

It started with the autopsy report.

Cause of death: multiple blunt-force trauma.
But the time of death was listed as 23:41.

The fall occurred at 23:29.

Twelve minutes.

Anika noticed it immediately.

She slid the paper back through the slot to the guard. “This is wrong.”

He didn’t even look. “Everything’s wrong, miss. Get used to it.”

That night, the audio player activated on its own.

Anika sat up, heart racing.

Her father’s voice didn’t play.

A different one did.

Distorted.
Mechanical.

You pushed the wrong man.

The message ended.

The device went dead.

---

Leela felt it too.

From her hospital bed, she watched the news replay the same footage again and again—Vikram falling, Vikram dying, Vikram gone.

But she had learned long ago: men like him didn’t build empires without contingencies.

She called in every favor she had left.

Two nights later, she got a message.

Body switched post-impact. Emergency extraction confirmed.

Her blood ran cold.

---

In custody, Anika was taken for questioning by a new team.

Not police.

No badges.
No names.

A woman with steel-gray hair placed a single photo on the table.

A man in a hospital bed.
Bandaged.
Alive.

His face damaged—but unmistakable.

Vikram Rao.

“He survived,” the woman said. “Barely. And now he belongs to us.”

Anika laughed once. Sharp. Broken. “You think that scares me?”

The woman leaned forward. “No. But this will.”

She slid a second file forward.

SUBJECT: ANIKA RAO
STATUS: ASSET

“They’re cleaning up what Vikram left behind,” the woman continued. “We can either put you back in the ground… or aim you.”

Anika stared at the file.

“So this is the reward,” she said quietly. “Another cage.”

The woman smiled thinly. “No. A leash.”

Anika closed her eyes.

Her father’s words echoed.

Become the end.

She opened them again.

“What do you want?” she asked.

The woman stood. “One last job.”

---

Outside the facility, Leela received a single encrypted text.

They took her.

Leela shut her eyes.

“Of course they did,” she whispered.

In the distance, a storm gathered.

And somewhere—alive, hidden, furious—

Vikram Rao watched the world that had betrayed him burn slowly.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 9

 

The Fall That Didn’t End Him

Vikram Rao didn’t scream when Anika lunged.

He smiled.

At the last second, he stepped aside.

Anika’s momentum carried her forward—too far, too fast. She caught the railing with one hand, pain tearing through her shoulder as her body slammed hard against the steel. Thirty-two floors below, the city waited, indifferent.

Vikram grabbed her wrist.

Not to save her.

“To show you something,” he said, breathless now, human at last.

He pulled her back just enough so she wouldn’t fall.

“Look around,” he whispered. “This chaos? I built systems that survive chaos.”

Police lights flashed below. Helicopters hovered. The Rao empire was burning in public, yes—but Vikram Rao was still standing.

“You killed my mother,” Anika said, her voice hollow.

Vikram’s eyes flickered. “She chose death.”

That was it.

The last thread snapped.

Anika headbutted him.

Hard.

Vikram stumbled back, blood bursting from his nose. He recovered fast—too fast—and punched her square in the ribs. Pain exploded through her chest, but she stayed on her feet.

They fought like animals.

No elegance.
No speeches.
Just fists, breath, blood.

Anika bit him when he tried to choke her. He slammed her head into the concrete. Stars burst behind her eyes, but she didn’t stop.

“You think you’re justice?” Vikram snarled. “You’re just another weapon.”

“Maybe,” Anika gasped. “But weapons end wars.”

She drove her knee into his stomach. Vikram doubled over, coughing violently. She grabbed his collar and dragged him toward the edge.

For the first time, fear entered his eyes.

“You won’t,” he said. “You’re not like me.”

Anika looked down at the city.

At the lives already lost.
At her mother’s last smile.
At her father’s blood written into walls.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m worse.”

She pushed him.

Vikram Rao fell.

His scream cut through the night until it didn’t.

The impact was distant. Final.

Anika stood at the edge, shaking—not from regret, but from the sudden silence inside her.

Minutes later, hands grabbed her from behind.

Police.

Guns.
Shouting.
Orders.

She didn’t resist.

As they dragged her away, a senior officer leaned close and whispered, “You think this makes you free?”

Anika met his eyes.

“No,” she said. “It makes me finished.”

---

Three days later, the world changed.

Governments fell.
Accounts were frozen.
Names vanished overnight.

The Rao empire collapsed like a rotten spine.

Leela survived—but barely. A bullet grazed her spine. She would never field-operate again.

She visited Anika once.

Through thick glass.

“You did it,” Leela said quietly.

Anika stared at the floor. “I lost everything.”

Leela nodded. “That’s the price.”

As Leela stood to leave, she hesitated. “There’s something you should know.”

Anika looked up.

“Your father,” Leela continued, “knew he would die. He recorded everything. Gave us time to prepare.” Her voice softened. “He didn’t fail, Anika.”

She slid a small audio player through the slot.

“He planned for you to survive.”

That night, alone in her cell, Anika pressed play.

Her father’s voice filled the room.

If you’re hearing this, it means I’m gone. And you’re alive. That’s enough.

Tears slid silently down her face.

Do not become me. Do not become them. Become the end.

Anika closed her eyes.

For the first time since the cupboard.
Since the blood.
Since the lies—

She slept.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 8

 

The Choice That Breaks Gods

The location Vikram sent was not secret.

That was the point.

A public place. Floodlights. Cameras. An unfinished high-rise on the edge of the city—glass, steel, and open sky. A place where screams could disappear into traffic noise.

Anika arrived alone.

No weapons visible.
No Leela.
No backup.

Vikram stood at the edge of the thirty-second floor, city lights burning behind him like a crown. He looked thinner. Older. But his eyes—those were unchanged.

In front of him were two large screens.

On the first:
Her mother, strapped to a hospital bed, IV lines snaking into her arms. A heart monitor beeped steadily.

On the second:
A live press conference.

Journalists. Cameras. Microphones.

Leela stood at the podium.

Behind her, projected onto a massive screen, was the Rao empire laid bare—documents, transactions, faces. Everything Arjun Rao had died for.

Vikram smiled.

“You see,” he said softly, “this is where your father failed. He thought truth was enough.”

Anika’s voice was ice. “What do you want?”

Vikram held up a small remote.

“One button,” he said. “Two outcomes.”

He pointed to the first screen. “Your mother lives. Quietly. Hidden. But Leela dies tonight. The evidence vanishes. The Rao empire survives—wounded, but alive.”

Then the second. “You let the truth go public. My empire burns. Politicians fall. Wars lose funding.”

He leaned closer. “And your mother’s heart monitor flatlines.”

Anika’s breath came shallow.

“You trained me to survive,” Vikram continued. “Your mother trained you to love. Which lesson wins?”

On the screen, her mother stirred. Her eyes opened.

And she spoke.

“Anika,” she whispered, her voice weak but clear. “Listen to me.”

Vikram frowned. “I told you not to—”

“I watched your father die,” her mother said. “I lived because others didn’t.” Her eyes filled with tears. “If you save me by letting this continue… then everything he stood for dies with me.”

Anika shook her head violently. “No. I won’t choose.”

Vikram’s finger hovered over the button.

“You already have.”

The countdown began.

10

Anika’s mind screamed for a third option.
A miracle.
A loophole.

8

Leela’s voice echoed through the screen. “If anyone can hear this—remember the name Arjun Rao. Remember what silence costs.”

6

Her mother smiled faintly. Proud. Peaceful.

“I am not afraid anymore,” she said.

4

Anika stepped forward.

Tears streamed down her face—not weakness, but mourning.

“I love you,” she whispered.

2

She looked Vikram straight in the eyes.

And made her choice.

She grabbed the remote—

—and smashed it against the concrete floor.

The screens went black.

For one terrible second, there was only silence.

Then—

Phones across the city exploded with alerts.

BREAKING NEWS
MAJOR CORRUPTION SCANDAL EXPOSED
RAO GROUP UNDER INVESTIGATION

Vikram staggered back, disbelief cracking his mask.

“No,” he whispered. “You chose chaos.”

Anika’s phone buzzed.

A final message.

From her mother.

You chose the right future.

The heart monitor tone went flat.

Anika screamed.

Not like a child.

Like a weapon breaking.

Vikram laughed—until Anika stepped toward him, eyes empty now.

“You took everything,” she said quietly. “Now you’ll watch it die.”

Below them, sirens wailed. Helicopters circled. The world was waking up.

Vikram backed away, suddenly afraid.

“You think this ends with me?” he spat. “People like us don’t die. We echo.”

Anika smiled through tears.

“So do ghosts.”

She lunged.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 7

 

The Death That Set Her Free

Anika died at 3:17 a.m.

At least, that’s what the news reported.

A burned-out car was found at the edge of the river, twisted metal still smoking, a body inside so charred it couldn’t be identified. Dental records were inconclusive. The name released to the media was Anika Rao.

Vikram watched the footage in silence.

Too silent.

“She was smarter than this,” he murmured.

But the world believed it. Candles were lit. Social media mourned. A monster was declared dead, and the system exhaled in relief.

In an underground safehouse miles away, Anika watched herself die on a cracked television screen.

Leela switched it off. “Congratulations,” she said flatly. “You’re officially erased.”

Anika didn’t smile.

Her mother lay in the next room, sedated, hidden under a new identity. Alive—but fragile. Every breath she took was borrowed time.

“What now?” Anika asked.

Leela slid a folder across the table.

Inside were photographs.

Men in suits shaking hands with men holding rifles.
Containers marked medical aid filled with weapons.
Children’s shelters doubling as recruitment camps.

Stamped across every page was the same symbol.

A stylized R.

“The Rao empire doesn’t just kill,” Leela said. “It feeds on silence. On distance. On people who think this is someone else’s problem.”

Anika flipped the final page.

A name stared back at her.

Dr. Sameer Kulkarni
Humanitarian.
Whistleblower advocate.
Secret Rao financier.

“He launders money through relief funds,” Leela continued. “Testifies in court. Wins awards. Sleeps well.”

Anika closed the file.

“I’ll take him,” she said.

Leela studied her. “Your first kill won’t be heroic.”

“I’m not looking for heroic.”

---

Dr. Kulkarni died alone.

Anika followed him for three days. Learned his routines. His prayers. His lies. On the fourth night, she stepped into his apartment wearing a nurse’s uniform and a borrowed face.

He didn’t even see her coming.

She poisoned his tea slowly—enough to paralyze, not enough to kill. She wanted him awake.

“Who sent you?” he gasped, eyes wide, body betraying him.

Anika leaned close. “A man you erased. And a child you thought wouldn’t remember.”

She injected the second dose.

As life drained from his eyes, she felt nothing.

No relief.
No horror.

Only clarity.

By morning, his death was ruled natural.

Leela said nothing when Anika returned. She only handed her a towel to wipe the blood from her hands.

“You crossed it,” Leela said quietly. “The line.”

Anika nodded. “I know.”

That night, Anika dreamed of her father—not dead, not bleeding, but watching her from across a table.

Finish it, he said.

When she woke, her phone was vibrating.

A message from an unknown number.

You’re becoming exactly what he feared.

Attached was a photo.

Her mother.
Awake.
Terrified.

Another message followed.

Come alone.

Anika stared at the screen, something inside her cracking—not breaking, but sharpening.

Vikram Rao wasn’t hiding anymore.

He was daring her.

And for the first time, Anika smiled.

Because death had already set her free.

And now…

She was coming for him.

Dil Na Diya lyrics

Dil Na Liya, Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Dil Na Liya, Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Tune Chaand Pe Bhi Hai Jamaye Kadam,

Dariya Mein Bhi Ghar Hai Banaya

Teri Jaado Ne Ek Rote Huye

Insaan Ko Hai Hasana Sikhaya

Upar Wala Bhi Haske

Ek Din Yeh Tumse Pooche Ga

Dil Na Liya, Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Dil Na Liya, Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Yeh Jeevan Bhi Ek Circus Hai

Abhi Sidhe The Abhi Ulte

Jisse Pyar Mila Woh Seedha Hua

Warna Latke Toh Latke

Bas Itni Si Baat

Sachi-Tu Bhi,Isko Maan Le

Dil Na Liya,Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Dil Na Liya, Dil Na Diya

Toh Bolo Na Bolo Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Aake Duniya Mein Bhi Agar

Pyar Na Kiya Toh Kya Kiya

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 6

 

What Survives the Dark

The generator kicked in after exactly ten seconds.

Emergency lights flickered to life, bathing the corridor in a sickly red glow. Anika stood frozen beside her mother’s bed, knife clenched in her fist, every nerve screaming.

The footsteps stopped outside the room.

Then applause.

Slow. Deliberate.

Vikram Rao stepped into the doorway, unharmed, unhurried—like a man walking into a temple he owned. Two armed men followed him, their guns already raised.

“You always were predictable,” Vikram said softly. “Love makes people sloppy.”

Anika placed herself between him and the bed. “You said she was alive.”

Vikram nodded. “I never said she was free.”

Her mother coughed, a wet, painful sound. “Vikram,” she whispered. “You were a boy once.”

He didn’t look at her.

“Phase Two,” he said, eyes locked on Anika, “was never about killing you.”

One of the men handed him a tablet.

On the screen: a live video feed.

A room Anika recognized immediately.

Her adoptive parents’ living room.

Bound.
Gagged.
Alive—for now.

Anika screamed. “Leave them out of this!”

“They raised you,” Vikram said calmly. “That makes them… assets.”

Her mother’s voice broke. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Vikram finally looked at her then, eyes cold. “You taught her to survive.”

He turned back to Anika. “Here’s the choice. Walk away. Forget everything. I let them live.”
A pause.
“Or expose the Rao empire… and watch everyone you love disappear.”

Anika’s hands shook.

Her mother reached for her again. “Listen to me,” she whispered urgently. “This was never about revenge.”

Gunfire erupted.

Not from Vikram’s men.

From the corridor behind him.

Two sharp shots. One man dropped instantly. The second turned—too late.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Female.
Short hair.
Blood on her knuckles.

“Still making messes, Vikram?” the woman said.

Vikram stiffened.

“You,” he hissed.

She smiled without warmth. “Me.”

She raised her gun.

Bang.

Vikram staggered, clutching his shoulder, shock cracking his composure for the first time.

Chaos exploded.

Anika moved on instinct—she pulled her mother off the bed as bullets tore through walls. The woman from the corridor covered them, precise, lethal.

Minutes later, silence.

Bodies on the floor.
Blood on the tiles.
Vikram gone.

The woman lowered her gun and looked straight at Anika.

“You don’t know me,” she said. “But your mother does.”

Her mother closed her eyes.

“Leela,” she whispered.

Leela nodded. “You left me to burn.”

“You chose the mission,” her mother replied. “I chose my child.”

Leela turned to Anika. “Your father wasn’t just an accountant. He was building a case—against traffickers, arms dealers, politicians.” She holstered her weapon. “The Rao empire funds wars.”

Anika felt something inside her harden.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

Leela met her gaze. “I want you to finish what your father started.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Leela stepped back. “This is where you stop being hunted… and start hunting.”

She tossed Anika a phone.

Encrypted.
Loaded.
Ready.

As Leela disappeared into the smoke, Anika looked down at her mother—weak, shaking, alive.

And understood the final truth of her life:

She had crossed the line.

There was no innocence left to save.

Only justice.

And blood.

Just Existing

 No hopes left to hold,

no wishes waiting to bloom.
Days pass by unnamed,
nights arrive the same.

I live not to reach,
not to dream or become
just breathing, just standing,
surviving for the sake of a name.

Life moves on its own,
and I move because it does.

Quiet Despair

Hope fell silent, one dream at a time,

every promise faded out of rhyme.
Life moved on, though my heart stayed still,

learning how to breathe without a will.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 5

 

The First Blood

Anika didn’t remember dropping the knife.

She only remembered the sound it made—metal kissing tile—soft, final.

Vikram Rao watched her carefully, the way one observes an animal deciding whether to fight or freeze.

“You see?” he said calmly. “Truth breaks people. Lies keep them alive.”

One of the men moved to grab her.

That was the mistake.

Anika reacted on instinct, not thought. She swung the bedside lamp with everything she had. It shattered against the man’s skull with a sickening crack. He went down without a sound.

The second man reached for his gun.

Too slow.

Anika slammed the door into his arm, heard bone give way, then shoved him back with a force she didn’t know she possessed. He stumbled, hit the wall, and collapsed—breathing, but broken.

The room went quiet.

Vikram didn’t shout.
Didn’t panic.

He smiled.

“There she is,” he murmured. “Your mother had the same fire.”

Anika grabbed the knife again, hands slick with sweat. “Where is she?”

Vikram stepped closer, unconcerned by the blade pointed at his chest. “If I tell you… you’ll die trying to save her.”

“Then I’ll die,” Anika said. “But not like you.”

For the first time, his smile faltered.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

Vikram stepped back. “I called them. Self-defense story already prepared.” He adjusted his cufflinks. “You attacked my men. You fled the scene. You killed an officer yesterday.”

Anika’s blood turned to ice.

“You framed me.”

“I owned you,” he corrected. “From the day you were found in that cupboard.”

She ran.

Through the window.
Down the fire escape.
Into the rain-soaked street where anonymity still existed.

Behind her, Vikram Rao calmly dialed a number.

“She’s awake,” he said. “Initiate Phase Two.”

---

By morning, Anika’s face was everywhere.

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
SUSPECT IN MULTIPLE ASSAULTS
LINKED TO RETIRED OFFICER’S DEATH

She sat in an abandoned bus depot, soaked, shaking, reading the news on a cracked phone she’d stolen from one of Vikram’s men.

That was when the message came—from an encrypted app she didn’t recognize.

If you want your mother alive, stop running.

Attached was a location.

A hospital.

But not on any map.

Anika followed it anyway.

The building looked abandoned—windows boarded up, sign rusted beyond recognition. Inside, the smell of antiseptic mixed with decay.

A woman lay on a bed in the far room.

Thin.
Pale.
Alive.

Anika knew her instantly.

“Amma…” she whispered.

The woman’s eyes fluttered open.

Recognition bloomed—then terror.

“They found you,” her mother croaked. “You should have stayed hidden.”

Anika knelt beside her, tears falling freely now. “I won’t leave you.”

Her mother’s fingers tightened around her wrist with surprising strength.

“You already paid the price,” she said. “Now make them pay.”

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Slow.
Deliberate.

Her mother whispered the last truth Anika hadn’t been ready for:

“Your father wasn’t the only one murdered that night.”

The lights went out.

And Anika realized—this wasn’t a rescue.

It was a trap.

And she had just walked straight into it.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 4

 

The Name That Kills

Anika didn’t attend Inspector Iyer’s funeral.

Not because she didn’t want to—but because attending it would have been a death sentence.

The news channels called it a heart attack. A lonely retired officer found dead at his desk. No signs of struggle. No suspects. Closed within hours.

She watched the report from a roadside lodge miles away, the curtains drawn, the TV volume barely audible. Lies came easy to people who had been lying for decades.

The sealed file lay open on the bed.

Inside, beneath the crime photos and falsified reports, was something Iyer had hidden well—a handwritten statement, unsigned, unstamped.

A confession that was never allowed to exist.

Arjun Rao was auditing Rao Industrial Estate.
He discovered shell companies, ghost workers, and missing funds.
The money funded something illegal. Something violent.

Anika read the next line three times.

Orders came from within the Rao family itself.

Her hands shook.

Rao wasn’t just a surname.

It was a network.

She flipped the page.

Names.
Directors.
Trusts.
Political donors.
Police transfers signed overnight.

And one name circled repeatedly, darker than the rest:

VIKRAM RAO

Chairman. Philanthropist. Media darling.

Her adoptive uncle.

Anika’s breath stopped.

Memories crashed into her—family gatherings where Vikram Rao’s smile never reached his eyes, the way conversations died when he entered a room, the way her adoption papers had been processed too fast.

Trust no Rao.

The words burned now.

Her phone rang.

This time, it wasn’t an unknown number.

Vikram Rao (Uncle)

She let it ring.

Again.

Then a message.

Anika, beta. I hear you’ve been asking dangerous questions.

Her stomach turned.

Another message followed.

Your parents were weak people. They couldn’t handle the world we live in.

She typed back before fear could stop her.

You killed my father.

The reply came instantly.

No.
I saved you.

The door downstairs creaked.

Anika froze.

Footsteps climbed slowly, deliberately, each one measured like a countdown. She grabbed the knife again, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

The handle outside her room turned.

A familiar voice spoke softly through the door.

“Anika. Come home. This isn’t your fight.”

Her uncle.

Standing on the other side.

She backed away as the door opened.

Vikram Rao stepped inside, impeccably dressed, eyes calm, almost kind. Behind him stood two men with no expressions at all.

“You should have stayed an orphan,” he said gently. “You would have lived longer.”

Anika raised the knife, tears streaking down her face—not from fear now, but rage.

“You murdered him,” she said. “You erased my mother.”

Vikram sighed. “Your father chose the wrong ledger. Your mother chose to run.” He paused. “She didn’t get far.”

The room tilted.

“She’s dead?” Anika whispered.

“No,” he said. “Worse.”

One of the men stepped forward, holding a file.

Vikram smiled.

“She’s alive. And she’s been waiting twenty-six years for you to stop digging.”

Anika’s scream tore out of her chest as the truth finally settled in:

Her mother wasn’t missing.

She was imprisoned.

And the only reason Anika was allowed to live…

Was because she hadn’t remembered who she really was.

Yet.

The Unseen Hand

Life never walks the road we plan,
it turns without warning, soft or steep.
Just when we believe we understand,
it changes while we sleep.

Some call it luck, a random flame,
some name it blessing, whispered and kind.
Either way, it reshapes our frame,
and rewrites what we thought we’d find.

A fall becomes a hidden door,
a loss, a path we couldn’t see.
Was it chance… or something more,
guiding us where we’re meant to be?

Life never explains its hand
it only moves, and asks us to trust the land.

Life speaks

I begin without asking, and move without pause,
sometimes as a blessing, sometimes as a cause.
I teach through loss what joy cannot say,
I bend you at night, then heal you by day.

I give you dreams and take them away,
not to punish, but to show you your way.
I test your faith with silence and time,
then answer softly, never on time.

I am not fair, nor meant to be,
yet I shape who you dare to become and see.
Love, pain, hope — all carry my name,
for I am life, ever changing, yet the same.

Main shaayar to nahin - lyrics

 Main shaayar to nahin

Main shaayar to nahin

magar aye hanseen

Jab se dekha main ne tujhko mujhko

Shaayari aa gayee

Mainn aashiq to nahin magar aye haseen

Jab se dekhaa maine tujhko mujhko

Aashiqi aa gayee

Main shaayar to nahin...

Pyaar ka naam maine suna tha magar

Pyaar kya hai ye mujhko nahin thi khabar

Pyaar ka naam maine suna tha magar

Pyaar kya hai ye mujhko nahin thi khabar

Main to ulajha raha ulajhanon ki tarah

Doston mein raha dushmanon ki tarah

Main dushman to nahin

Main dushman to nahin

magar aye haseen......

Jab se dekhaa maine tujhko mujhko

Dosti aa gayee

Main shaayar to nahin... magar aye hanseen

Jab se dekha maine tujhko mujhko

Shaayari aa gayee

Main shaayar to nahin...

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 3

 

The Man Who Wasn’t There

The power returned after exactly seven minutes.

Anika counted every second.

When the lights flickered back on, the apartment looked unchanged—no broken locks, no overturned furniture, no sign of intrusion. That disturbed her more than chaos would have. Someone had been there. She could feel it in her bones.

Her bedroom door was now fully closed.

She hadn’t touched it.

Anika didn’t sleep that night. She sat on the couch with a kitchen knife in her hand, the adoption file open on her lap, replaying every detail again and again until dawn stained the sky a dull gray.

At 6:12 a.m., she made a decision.

If official records didn’t exist, she’d find unofficial ones.

By noon, she was standing outside the city records office—an aging concrete building that smelled of damp files and forgotten crimes. Inside, behind a counter cluttered with yellowing folders, sat Inspector Devraj Iyer.

He was retired.
Officially.

But retired cops still had habits. His eyes scanned people the way others scanned exits.

“What do you want, Miss Rao?” he asked, before she even spoke.

Anika stiffened. “Do I know you?”

He studied her face for a long moment. Too long.

“No,” he said finally. “But I knew someone who looked like you. Long ago.”

Her grip tightened around the folder. “I’m looking for information about a murder. Around twenty-six years ago. Near Rao Industrial Estate.”

The name did it.

Iyer’s jaw clenched. His fingers stopped moving.

“That place burned,” he said. “Along with everything in it.”

“People survived fires,” Anika replied. “Records too.”

He leaned back slowly. “Not that one.”

She slid the photograph across the counter.

The scratched-out face stared up at him.

Iyer’s face drained of color.

“Do you recognize him?” Anika asked.

“Yes,” he whispered. Then louder, sharper: “You shouldn’t have this.”

“Who is he?”

Iyer looked around, then stood and locked the door behind the counter. The click echoed like a gunshot.

“That man,” he said, “officially never existed.”

Anika felt cold.

“He was reported dead in a robbery gone wrong. Case closed in forty-eight hours.” Iyer’s eyes hardened. “But he wasn’t robbed. And he wasn’t the only one who died that night.”

He pulled out a hidden drawer and placed a thin file on the desk.

CASE STATUS: SEALED

Inside was a crime scene photograph.

A body sprawled on the floor of a small house. Blood smeared the walls—not splattered, but written, dragged in streaks like someone had tried to crawl away.

Anika swallowed hard.

“That’s my father,” she said, though she had never seen him alive.

Iyer nodded. “Name: Arjun Rao. Textile accountant. Clean record. No enemies. At least, none that showed up on paper.”

“What about my mother?”

Iyer hesitated.

“She was the witness.”

Anika’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Witness to what?”

“To fraud. To embezzlement. To men who wore suits by day and carried knives by night.” He closed the file. “She disappeared before she could testify.”

Anika’s voice shook. “And me?”

Iyer looked at her, something like guilt flickering in his eyes.

“You were found crying beside your father’s body.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“She hid you,” he continued. “In a cupboard. Wrapped you in a towel soaked with her blood so the dogs wouldn’t find you.”

Anika’s stomach turned violently.

“Who killed him?” she asked.

Iyer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed her a card.

On it was a single sentence, handwritten:

Trust no Rao.

Before she could ask what it meant, the office phone rang.

Iyer picked it up.

He didn’t say a word.

His face went pale.

Slowly, he placed the receiver down.

“They know you came here,” he said quietly. “You need to leave. Now.”

A crash echoed from the back of the building.

Footsteps.

More than one.

Iyer shoved the sealed file into Anika’s hands. “Go through the fire exit. Don’t look back.”

“What about you?” she asked.

He gave her a tired smile. “I’ve been dead to them once already.”

As Anika ran, a gunshot rang out behind her.

She didn’t stop.

She didn’t scream.

Outside, hidden among the parked vehicles, she finally collapsed—gasping, shaking, alive.

Her phone buzzed.

A new message.

He shouldn’t have helped you.

Attached was a photo.

Inspector Devraj Iyer.
Lying on the floor.
Blood pooling beneath his head.

Another message followed.

You were never supposed to survive either.

Anika stared at the screen, tears burning her eyes—not from fear anymore, but fury.

They hadn’t just stolen her past.

They had murdered everyone who tried to protect it.

And now, she understood the truth that changed everything:

She wasn’t searching for a killer.

She was the last loose end.

Echoes in the Adoption File - Part 2

 

Part 2: Blood in the Margins

The first thing Anika did when she reached home was lock the door.

She didn’t know why—only that her hands moved on instinct, sliding the bolt shut, checking it twice. The apartment felt smaller than usual, the silence pressing in on her ears. She placed the adoption file on her dining table like it was evidence from a crime scene.

She turned on every light.

The photograph lay in the center, the scratched-out face staring back at her. Whoever had done it hadn’t wanted to erase the man—only to punish him. The scratches were violent, repeated, almost frantic.

Anika flipped the photo over again.

“She must never know.”

Who was she?

Her fingers moved back to the file. This time she read it like a detective, not a daughter searching for comfort. She noticed things she had ignored earlier—dates that didn’t align, signatures that changed handwriting mid-name, and a section titled “Additional Notes” that had been deliberately blacked out.

Someone had edited her life.

At the very bottom of one page, hidden near the binding, was a faint smudge. Anika tilted the paper toward the light. It wasn’t a stain—it was writing, pressed so hard it had etched into the page beneath.

She grabbed a pencil and shaded over it gently.

Letters emerged.

“…found near the body.”

Her stomach twisted.

Near which body?

Anika’s phone buzzed suddenly, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She nearly dropped the pencil.

Unknown Number

She stared at the screen, heart hammering.

She didn’t answer.

The phone stopped vibrating. A second later, a message appeared.

Stop digging.

Her throat went dry.

Another message followed.

Your parents are dead for a reason.

Anika backed away from the table, her legs weak. She looked toward the door, half-expecting the handle to turn.

“Who are you?” she whispered, though she knew there would be no answer.

She forced herself to breathe. Panic would get her killed faster than ignorance ever had.

She opened her laptop and typed in the police case number from the file. The result shocked her—not because it existed, but because it didn’t.

No records found.

She tried again. Different spellings. Different years.

Nothing.

Then she noticed something else: the number itself didn’t follow standard police formatting. It was too long. Too precise.

It wasn’t a case number.

It was a location coordinate.

Anika copied it into a map.

The screen zoomed in on a place just outside the city—a stretch of abandoned land near an old textile mill that had burned down decades ago. The map labeled it with two simple words:

Rao Industrial Estate

Her breath caught painfully.

Rao.

Her adoptive surname.

A sound came from behind her.

A soft click.

Anika turned slowly toward the hallway.

Her bedroom door, which she was certain she had closed, was now open—just an inch. Darkness spilled out from the gap like ink.

Her phone buzzed again.

Last warning.

At that exact moment, the power went out.

The lights died.
The fan fell silent.
And in the sudden darkness, Anika realized something far worse than the messages.

She was not uncovering a cold case.

The killer was still watching.

And he knew exactly where she lived.

Does Such Love Exist?

 Is there a love unseen, unnamed, unknown,
or is it only born in dreams we keep?
In a world weighed down by things we own,
can something so pure still dare to breathe?

Movies paint it soft in glowing light,
novels let it live beyond all fear.
But does such love walk in our real nights,
or stay confined to stories we revere?

Where Words Became Home

It started light, a passing stream of talk,
No weight, no promise hidden in the tone.
Just scattered words along an evening walk,
Unaware what seeds those sounds had sown.

Yet sentence by sentence, softly and slow,
Your voice found chambers I did not defend.
What felt so small began to deeply grow,
A gentle pull I could not comprehend.

Now here I stand, my guard undone, laid bare,
I yield to warmth your presence seemed to bring.
I give the love, the care, the silent prayer
All that my guarded heart could ever sing.

What once was chance now rules my every part;
I came to speak… and lost my willing heart.