CHAPTER 32: "THE THREAT"

  The threats escalated. Someone spray-painted "RAT" on the wall near their apartment building. A brick was thrown through the community center window during one of Vikram's classes. The note attached read: "Stop talking."

  Arjun's publisher hired private security for him. Book events were cancelled or moved to secure locations. The controversy only drove more sales, but the cost was mounting.

  Then came the direct message. It was sent to Vikram's phone from an unknown number: a photo of Aanya leaving the legal aid clinic, taken from across the street. No text. Just the photo.

  Vikram's hands shook as he called Singh. "They're targeting my daughter."

  "Send me the photo. We'll trace it, increase protection on her."

  When Vikram showed the photo to Aanya, she went pale but her voice was steady. "I'm not quitting my job. I'm not hiding."

  "They're watching you."

  "Then let them watch. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm helping people. If they want to threaten me for that, it proves everything you and Arjun exposed is true."

  "Aanya, you don't understand these people. They don't care about truth. They care about power and fear."

  "I understand perfectly. I've seen what they did to you. But Papa, I can't live my life in fear. That's letting them win."

  Vikram wanted to lock her in the apartment, to wrap her in safety. But she was twenty-three, an adult, a lawyer fighting for justice. He had

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  no right to cage her.

  Instead, he did the only thing he could. He became her shadow.

  For the next week, Vikram followed Aanya's routine. He'd drop her at the clinic in the morning, park nearby, and watch. During lunch, he'd position himself at a chai stall across the street. When she left in the evening, he'd follow her auto-rickshaw home.

  She knew. She never said anything, but she knew.

  On the seventh day, Vikram spotted them. Two men on a motorcycle, circling the block. Same faces from the Scorpio. They'd slow down near the clinic entrance, watch, then leave. Predators assessing prey.

  Vikram called Singh. "They're here. Two men, motorcycle. They're casing the clinic."

  "Plainclothes officers are five minutes away. Do not engage."

  But five minutes felt like eternity. The motorcycle made another pass. This time, one of the men had his hand in his jacket. Vikram's instincts screamed danger.

  Aanya walked out of the clinic, briefcase in hand, checking her phone. She was completely unaware.

  The motorcycle accelerated toward her.

  Vikram didn't think. He ran. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten. "Aanya!"

  She looked up. The motorcycle swerved toward the curb. The pillion rider pulled out something—not a gun, a bottle. He threw it.

  Vikram tackled Aanya, pulling her down. The bottle shattered on the wall behind them. Acid. The wall hissed and smoked where the liquid splashed.

  The motorcycle roared away. Vikram covered Aanya with his body,

  feeling shards of glass cut his arms. She was gasping, terrified but unhurt.

  "Papa?"

  "I'm here. You're safe."

  A crowd gathered. Someone called the police. Sirens wailed. Vikram helped Aanya to her feet. Her face was pale, her hands shaking.

  "They tried to—"

  "I know. But you're safe. That's all that matters."

  Singh arrived with a team. He took statements, collected the bottle fragments, reviewed nearby CCTV footage. The motorcycle had fake plates. The men wore helmets that obscured their faces. Professional. Planned.

  "This was a warning," Singh said. "They could have used worse.

  Acid is meant to disfigure, to terrorize. They want you scared."

  "It worked," Aanya whispered. For the first time, her courage cracked. She started to cry.

  Vikram held her, feeling rage and helplessness war inside him. This was his fault. His past. His choices. Now his daughter was paying the price.

  That night, Priya made the decision. "We're leaving Delhi. Not forever. Just until this blows over. My cousin has a house in Dehradun. We'll go there."

  "I can't just abandon my cases," Aanya protested weakly.

  "Your cases can wait. Your life can't." Priya's voice was steel. She looked at Vikram. "And you're coming with us. No arguments."

  Vikram nodded. Sometimes standing your ground meant knowing when to retreat.

  They left Delhi the next morning.