I was walking down the road, lost in my thoughts, thinking about how my aunt had once again taunted me at the breakfast table this morning.
“This whole writer thing is useless. There’s no money in it. Do something that earns you respect and fame!”
I don’t understand how a woman who gave up her ambition for marriage is giving me advice on how to tackle my dreams. My parents support me completely, but these relatives will never let me live in peace!
What do they even know about dreams and ambitions?
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice when a car sped past me, splashing water all over me.
“Can’t you see?” I shouted at the driver, but it had no effect.
However, a few moments later, the car stopped, and a man stepped out.
Handsome would be an understatement—he was magnificent! He wore a corporate suit and glasses, looking as if he was the CEO of some big company.
He came running toward me and stopped.
“Sorry, sorry! I was running late for the office and didn’t see you! I am really sorry!”
I was too stunned to say anything, so he waved his hand in front of my eyes.
“Hello?” he said.
“Uh… yeah! Please be careful while driving! You ruined my clothes!” I told him as water dripped from my outfit.
“I’m so sorry! Look, there’s a shop right in front. Come with me, and I’ll buy you a new dress!” he offered.
“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ll just go home,” I replied.
“Please, let me do this. It was my fault. Please!”
“Okay,” I finally agreed.
We entered the shop, and I quickly picked a dress because I was craving coffee. I had planned to go out for a nice coffee, and now, look what had happened!
I went into the trial room, changed into the dress, and took off my wet clothes. But then, I noticed something—there was a book lying behind the small couch.
I picked it up. The title read:
“The Untold Stories of the Dark house” by Nikita Shah.
Why would someone leave their manuscript in a trial room? I picked it up and put it in my bag.
After coming out, I went to the man, and he paid the bill.
As we walked out of the store, I thanked him and was about to leave when he asked, “Can I know your name?”
I replied, “Kritika Kapoor,” and he said, “Viren Aggarwal.”
And then, we went our separate ways.
The moment I sat down in a coffee shop, I pulled out the manuscript and started reading.
I lost track of time. By the time I finished the book, my hands were sweaty, and I was trembling. The writer had spoken so much truth in this book that a lot of people would have a problem if it got published.
But what had happened that made her throw away her manuscript?
I flipped to the last page of the book and found a note inside. It read:
“I love you so much, and I know you love me too. But they will kill me! They won’t let me live! They are all connected! The publishing world is far more dangerous than we thought! I’m leaving… and you should too. Run!”
—V
Who was “V”?
At the end of the manuscript, the author had mentioned a reference number—her assistant’s. I quickly dialed the number and waited.
“Hello?” a girl answered.
“Hello, is this Akansha speaking?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I need to talk to Nikita ma’am about a book. Can I come over today?” I asked.
“Umm… Nikita ma’am is on a trip abroad. She’s been gone for a month. You won’t be able to talk to her right now,” she said and was about to hang up.
“Wait! I need to talk about her previous publishing house!” I said quickly.
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
“Meet me at High Street Cafe in 30 minutes,” Akansha finally said and cut the call.
I ran out and quickly booked a cab to High Street Mall. I reached the venue in 40 minutes and waited for Akansha at a table. She was late.
A girl entered and started looking around. I called out, “Akansha!”
She turned to look at me and walked over.
“What do you know?” she asked.
I pulled out the manuscript and placed it in front of her.
Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly pushed the manuscript down onto the table.
“Where did you find this?” she asked, and I told her everything.
“Ma’am did a lot of research and uncovered the truth behind this book. This was supposed to be her blockbuster novel. But then… something happened, and everything was destroyed,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“When Ma’am moved to Mumbai, she published her first book, The Dark Years, through a publishing house. Then, she started working there. But while working, she discovered that the publishing house was hiding a lot of secrets. They were involved with The Wolf Gang!
“This gang targeted budding writers, forcing them to sign contracts stating that their first ten books had to be published exclusively with this house. If they refused, the gang would threaten or harm their family members. And that was just one of the many illegal contracts this company was running!
“But one day, Ma’am uncovered everything while working at that very office. She wrote this book, documenting all their crimes. But someone from that publishing house tipped off the gang. And from that moment on, they were after her.
“Since then, she kept changing cities. And then, one day… we lost all contact with her,” she finished.
“Then why didn’t she publish the book directly?” I asked.
“She made a mistake. She went to threaten the CEO of the company, telling him she was writing about their crimes!” Akansha said.
“Didn’t she have any friends or someone who could help her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Ma’am kept everything private,” she replied.
“And what is this?” I asked, handing her the note.
“V? I don’t know who ‘V’ is,” she said after reading the note I found in the Manuscript.
Then, suddenly, she pulled out her phone from her bag.
“Ma’am used to save all her important numbers on my phone because she rarely used her personal phone for official matters,” Akansha said as she scrolled through her contacts.
We found a contact named “V” and froze.
I called the number, and a deep male voice answered.
“You knew about the publishing house’s crimes, didn’t you?” I asked.
Akansha stared at me, her eyes wide in shock.
There was silence.
“Who is this?” The voice said.
“Tell us who you are and how do you Nikita Shah!” I said to him.
“Meet me at Conservative Park. I’ll tell you everything,” he said.
And we ran!
At the park, we sat on a bench, waiting.
Suddenly, a man walked past me.
“Viren?” I called out. He smiled.
“Hi, Kritika! What are you doing here?” he asked.
“We’re waiting for someone,” I replied.
He chuckled, “Well, so am I!”
Then, suddenly, the realization hit me—I connected the dots.
“V!!!”
“Do you know Nikita Shah?” I asked, my eyes widening in shock as I looked at him.
His expression changed.
“You… you are V?” I asked.
“You were the one who called me?” Viren asked.
The three of us stared at each other in disbelief.
“I only know about the publishing house’s crimes, but I haven’t spoken to Nikita in a month. Yesterday, I got a call from a man named Rohit. He told me that the book must never be published. And then… he cut the call.”
“You have his number? Call him again!” I said to him.
Viren dialed the number and we waited. After a few rings, he picked upt he call.
“Where is nikita, rohit?” Viren asked him while a man laughed on the other side.
“Rohit, go outside and tell him that she is never going to be found! She knew too much! She may be alive or may be not!” A oerson said and it sent shivers down our spine!
“Rohit! Tell me now!” Viren said as the boy came out of the room.
“Sir, I know everything! She is alive! They will hurt my family! I don’t want them to hurt my family! I have no other option! Sir!” He said and we all looked at each other in shock.
The three of us stood in stunned silence as we processed what had just happened. Rohit had called Viren, warning him that Nikita’s book could never be published. But now? He said that he wants to help us? This is all so confusing! Maybe the man was threatening rohit to do his tasks!
“Call him again!” I said.
Rohit finally picked up their call after multiple attempts. His voice was shaky, almost fearful.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you, but I can’t keep quiet anymore. Nikita ma’am… she wanted the world to know the truth. She was last seen at an abandoned publishing warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Go there… but be careful. If they find out you’re looking for her, they won’t let you leave alive.”
A chill ran down my spine. There was no time to waste.
They ran!
They drove in silence to the location Rohit had given them. The old warehouse stood like a ghost from the past—its walls covered in faded posters of forgotten books. The place was eerily quiet, as if time itself had stopped within its walls.
As they stepped inside, the air smelled of old paper, ink, and something else… something metallic. How come the warehouse was empty? There must be people who held her captive or worse? Did they took her somewhere else?
We scanned the whole place but didn’t found anything.
“Kritika!” Akansha shouted suddenly and we ran. We stopped short to look at a lifeless body of—-
Rohit lying near a wooden door.
Viren threw a punch to open the wooden and we entered!
My heart pounded as we turned a corner—there, in the dim light—-
lay Nikita Shah’s lifeless body.
Akansha gasped, covering her mouth in horror. Nikita’s hands were clutching a torn piece of paper—her final message. I kneeled beside her trembling fingers and unfolded it.
“They found me before I could escape. But the truth is already out there. My book is my voice. Make sure they hear it.”
Viren clenched his fists. “They silenced her. Just like they did to so many others.” A lone tear escaped his eyes as he looked at Nikita with sadness.
But I wasn’t ready to let Nikita’s story die with her.
Back at my apartment, I worked tirelessly. I had Nikita’s manuscript. I had her research. And most importantly, I had the courage to do what Nikita couldn’t—publish the truth.
The publishing mafia had controlled the industry for too long, manipulating young writers, stealing their works, and silencing those who resisted. But not anymore.
Using every contact I had, I anonymously leaked Nikita’s manuscript online—making sure it reached journalists, readers, and publishing circles worldwide. Within hours, “The Untold Stories of the Dark” became the most talked-about book on social media.
The truth spread like wildfire.
News agencies picked up the story, exposing the dark underbelly of the publishing industry. Writers came forward with their own horror stories. Authorities were forced to launch an investigation.
And the men behind the corruption? Their empire began to crumble. While I sit in silence wondering how Nikita felt if she saw her book getting published.
Weeks later, I visited Nikita’s grave. The wind whispered through the trees as I placed a copy of the published book beside the tombstone.
“You won, Nikita,” I whispered. “They couldn’t silence you.”
A familiar voice broke the silence.
“You did it, Kritika.”
I turned to see Viren standing there, a proud smile on his face.
“You helped too,” I said, smiling back.
As we stood there, a quiet sense of peace settled over us. Nikita Shah’s story had been told. Justice had begun. And somewhere, in the pages of her book, her voice would live on forever.
THE END.
~Kanishka Tuteja
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