5. THE PACT
We never shook hands.
We never smiled.
But that night, we formed a pact.
Not for justice.
Not for some closure.
But for revenge.
I remember the way Harish looked at me that night — calm, unreadable, like he already knew what I was going to do before I did it.
He was the opposite of me in every way.
I was rage; he was restraint.
I had scars; he had strategy.
He had a file on every single person links to the school— the teachers, the donors, the ex-students, the victims, the predators, the muter and the silencer. He tracked things that most people forgot to notice. Payments, names, dates, favours, dust under the so called elite school rug. It was like he had spent years quietly watching the rot grow, waiting for the right moment to burn it all.
He called it “THE SYSTEM.”
“We don’t go after small fires,” he said.
“We burn the engine.”
His words stayed in my head for days after that. I kept thinking — maybe he was right. Maybe ruining one man wasn’t enough. Maybe revenge needed planning, not passion.
But I wasn’t made for patience.
Fire doesn’t wait for blueprints.
And I was fire.
......
My first mistake came too soon.
His name was Arvind Mehta — once a warden in our school, now the principal of some fancy boarding academy. On paper, he was respected. A family man. A trusted educator.
But Harish’s file told a different story.
There were complaints — hushed ones — from parents, from staff. A few suspensions that were quietly withdrawn. One student who “transferred suddenly.”
Just like I faced.
Wiped out without trace.
Every page made my stomach twist.
I saw Vijay’s face in all of them.
We followed Mehta for days.
Harish did it with precision.
I did it with fury.
He’d sit in the car, quietly noting patterns — when Mehta left, who he met, which staff he spoke to.
I’d just stare, feeling my blood boil with every smile that man gave to his students.
One evening, I saw it.
The way he lingered too long near a student after class.
The way the girl flinched when he placed his hand on her shoulder.
That single moment broke me.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept seeing the girl’s face. The fear. The helplessness.
And my own reflection in her eyes.
The same fear I once had.
The same silence I once carried.
I told myself I wasn’t going to kill him.
Just warn him.
Make him feel the same fear he gave others.
So I went.
Through the data Harish shared I got his address.
It was after midnight when I reached his house. The lights were off. I broke the lock with a rock — hands shaking, heart pounding, adrenaline burning every sane thought.
The knife was in my bag, wrapped in a cloth.
It wasn’t supposed to come out.
Just a precaution, I told myself.
The floor creaked as I stepped inside.
The air smelled of whisky and cheap cologne.
I could hear him snoring.
For a moment, I thought of leaving.
But then I saw his desk — photographs of smiling students, trophies, an award for “Educational Excellence.”
It made me sick.
I whispered under my breath, “You don’t deserve that.”
I wanted to scare him. To show him that karma existed.
But when I got close, he stirred. His eyes opened — small, bleary, confused — and then he saw me.
“What the hell—” he muttered, grabbing my wrist.
“Crazy girl!”, he smirked as he threw me on his bed
That action was disgusting.
Everything blurred after that.
The knife wasn’t supposed to leave the bag.
But it did.
I didn’t stab to kill.
I stabbed to stop.
To silence his voice.
To erase that smirk and disgusting actions.
Blood spilled.
It was warm on my hands.
Too real.
Too fast.
He’s not dead.
He’s not dead.
Call someone. Fix this.
My breath turned shallow. My mind screamed to move, to call for help, call Harish. But my body froze.
That’s when the door creaked.
And I saw him.
Harish.
He didn’t look surprised.
He didn’t even flinch at the blood.
“Get out,” he said quietly walking past me.
I stared at him, shaking. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Now, Kamna. Leave everything. I’ll handle it.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him I wasn’t weak.
But something in his eyes — calm, unshaken told me he was prepared for this.
Like he had known it would happen.
I left.
I ran like a coward.
By the time I reached his apartment, my clothes were soaked, my hands trembling so bad I couldn’t even untie my hair. He poured me a glass of water and said nothing for a long time.
I was more scared than last time.
Which ached me more.
The clock ticked loud.
My heart even louder.
Then finally, he spoke.
“It was a setup,” he said. “Police tip-off. He was bait.”
My mind went blank.
“What?”
“They’ve been tracking movements. Someone caught you stalking him. I suspected it. That’s why I followed you.”
“If I hadn’t, you’d be in jail right now.”
His voice was cold.
Detached.
Like he was reporting the weather.
I stared at him.
“You… knew?”
“I suspected.”, he said.
“And you didn’t tell me?”, I was planning to attack him.
“Would you have listened?”, his one sentence stopped me.
He was right.
I wouldn’t have.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Then he looked up, his voice lower now — not angry, just tired.
“You’re reckless, Kamna. But not stupid.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
“You think I enjoy this? You think this is fun for me?”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached into his drawer and dropped a file on the table.
It was Ragini’s autopsy.
And something else — a grainy video.
Ragini, crying in the principal’s office.
Wearing that same school dress. Begging. Pleading—
Her voice shaking as she knelt down on her knees begging, “Please, sir. Don’t make me—”
I turned it off halfway.
I couldn’t breathe.
He spoke softly this time.
“This is what happens when no one steps in.”
My throat tightened. My eyes burned.
“Why do you have this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He looked at me — no emotion, no pity.
“Because I’ve been watching longer than you think.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated, then said, “You weren’t the only one he hurt. You were just the only one who survived.”
The room went silent again.
My pulse stuttered.
He knew.
Everything.
How I suffered. How I escaped. How I lived with it.
He had known all along.
And suddenly, something inside me cracked — a strange mix of rage, grief, and something close to trust.
He wasn’t saving me out of pity.
He was saving me because he understood.
Because he hated the same people I did.
That was enough.
......
That night, he gave me a choice.
“You can walk away,” he said.
“Or you can stay. But if you stay, you follow my plan. You think like me. You don’t cry. You don’t hesitate.”
I looked at the city outside his window — the same city that forgot Ragini, that forgave Vijay, that buried stories like ours under polite silence.
I thought of all the years I spent hiding — working, surviving, pretending I had moved on.
And how it never healed.
So I looked back at him and said the only truth left in me.
“We kill his legacy,” I whispered. “Then we will ruin him for good.”
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t smile.
Just looked at me — straight, unwavering — and nodded.
“Then we start tomorrow.”
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about everything — about how I ended up trusting a man who was same— richer, stronger, and dangerous like the one who ruined my life.
Harish was everything Vijay used to be — confident, privileged, untouchable.
And yet… I trusted him.
Maybe because he never pretended to be good.
Maybe because he didn’t pity me.
Maybe because, for once, someone saw the fire in me and didn’t tell me to put it out.
He just told me where to aim it.
In the morning, he made tea.
Strong, no sugar — just how he liked it.
He handed me a cup and said, “You’re shaking less today.”
I laughed weakly. “Maybe because I’m out of tears.”
He didn’t smile.
“Good. Tears make you predictable.”
For the first time in years, I felt something close to purpose.
It wasn’t hope.
It wasn’t peace.
It was focus — sharp, painful, alive.
I wasn’t a victim anymore.
I was part of something larger.
Something dangerous.
We didn’t shake hands.
We didn’t smile.
But that morning, our pact became real.
And for the first time after that red party and since Ragini died,
I felt like the world had finally tilted in my favour,
even if it was towards darkness.
I am on it.
