The phone buzzed at exactly 2:13 AM. In the silence of the apartment, the sound was jarring. Aadhya rubbed her eyes and reached for it, expecting yet another marketing text or a midnight meme from her younger cousin.
But it wasn’t that.
“I know what you did. Meet me at the old railway bridge. 3 AM sharp. Come alone.”
No name. No number. Just a message that splintered her heart into panic.
Her fingers hovered above the screen. For a second, she considered deleting it. Pretending it never came. But her trembling hands betrayed her calm exterior. She sat up, heart thudding like a hammer against her ribs.
Someone knew.
---
Just three weeks ago, life had been simple for Aadhya. Her classes at the literature college, the occasional café poetry reading, and long walks with Neeraj—her best friend, her almost-lover. But then, the accident happened.
That night blurred like a smudged painting in her memory: the slick road, the rain, the figure that appeared out of nowhere, the scream, and the silence after.
Neeraj had taken the wheel. But Aadhya had told the police it was her.
She had her reasons.
And now someone knew the truth.
---
By 2:45 AM, she was dressed in a black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. She left a note on her desk—"Gone for a walk. Don’t worry"—just in case someone woke up.
The railway bridge was half a kilometer from her building, abandoned since the new metro line opened. A place that once saw life in every passing train, now home only to rust, crows, and secrets.
She walked briskly, every step echoing with fear.
What if it was blackmail? What if it was Neeraj? What if it was the family of the man they had hit?
A small light flickered at the far end of the bridge. A torch?
No. A cigarette. Someone was waiting.
---
A hooded figure stood leaning against the railings. A thin silhouette. Young. Could be a student. Maybe even someone she knew.
"You came," the voice said. A girl. Soft, but sharp like glass.
Aadhya swallowed. “Who are you?”
The girl took a step forward and pulled her hood down. She looked barely twenty, but her eyes had seen things people twice her age hadn’t.
“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is… I was there that night.”
Aadhya’s breath caught.
“I saw everything,” the girl continued. “I was walking home after my shift at the café near Sector 8. I took shelter under a tree when the rain started. Then your car came. You didn’t even stop to check him.”
“That’s not true,” Aadhya’s voice cracked. “We did. He had no pulse. Neeraj—he panicked. We thought—”
“You thought it would ruin your perfect life. You lied to protect him.”
Silence fell again, interrupted only by the dripping water from the bridge joints.
Aadhya whispered, “What do you want?”
The girl reached into her bag and pulled out a small device. A dashcam. Cracked, but intact.
“This was thrown from the car. It must’ve fallen out during the hit. I found it two days later.”
She turned it on. The screen flickered. There was the inside of the car, blurred faces, the music, the rain—and then, the thud, the screams, the voices.
Neeraj’s voice: “Oh God… I hit him. Aadhya, what do we do?”
Aadhya’s: “Drive. Just… drive. I’ll say I was driving.”
Aadhya collapsed to her knees. “Why now? Why are you showing me this now?”
The girl’s eyes softened. “Because the man you hit… he was my brother.”
---
Time stopped.
The wind howled. The bridge seemed to groan with the weight of Aadhya’s guilt.
“I’ve followed you both for weeks. Saw how you laughed. How you moved on. I hated you. I wanted revenge. But…”
The girl looked away.
“My brother was kind. He wouldn’t have wanted another life destroyed. That’s why I didn’t go to the police. Not yet.”
Aadhya looked up, eyes red, swollen. “Then why call me here?”
“To give you a chance. To choose. Either you go to the police and tell them the truth. Or I will.”
---
Three days passed.
Neeraj didn’t know about the message. Aadhya couldn’t sleep. Her hands shook every time she picked up a pen, every time she saw headlights in the rain.
On the fourth day, she walked into the local police station with the dashcam.
“I need to report a crime,” she said.
Neeraj was arrested that evening. Shocked. Betrayed.
“You said you’d protect me,” he cried.
“I did,” Aadhya replied. “But that wasn’t protection. That was running.”
---
Weeks later, Aadhya found herself on that bridge again. The girl was there, waiting.
“You did it,” she said quietly.
“I owed it to your brother. And to myself.”
The girl nodded.
“Justice doesn’t bring people back.
But it brings peace.”
The two stood in silence.
Strangers, bound by a night
neither could forget.
As dawn painted the sky, Aadhya felt the weight on her chest finally begin to lift.
She had lost Neeraj, her reputation,
maybe even her future.
But she had found her courage.
And sometimes, that’s the real beginning.
Moral of the story
: Drive Carefully, If an accident happens, don't run away , be honest and take responsibility
It's the right thing to do
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