The night air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere inside the Punjab Kesari newspaper office.
Ayan stood on the balcony, taking a long drag from his cigarette. The glowing tip flared briefly in the darkness, casting fleeting light on his troubled expression. His eyes remained fixed on the flickering TV screen through the window, where the same Spiritual Guru's teachings were being broadcast on a local channel.
The Guru's voice carried a hypnotic blend of authority and serenity, words echoing eerily in the quiet night. "You think you understand life, but life is far different from what you know. What you have seen and understood is not the truth—"
Exhaling a plume of smoke, Ayan let the Guru's words swirl in his mind, mingling with his doubts and fears. The juxtaposition of the Guru's calm teachings and the sinister reality he had just read about felt almost unbearable. He turned his gaze to the darkened streets below, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the town. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog were the only sounds breaking the silence. Above, the cold, indifferent stars offered no comfort.
Adya walked onto the balcony, her presence breaking the solitude. She approached Ayan with a mix of determination and concern, her divine beauty almost otherworldly. Her eyes shone with a light that seemed to cut through the darkness surrounding Ayan.
"You're not going to write that report, right?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Ayan took another drag from his cigarette, his gaze distant and contemplative. "Do I have a choice?" he replied, his tone tinged with resignation.
"Yes," she said firmly. "Say no to the boss. We won't write lies. We will get justice for the girl. He raped a fifteen years old. You can't write anything to create a false good image for Guru Vinayak."
Ayan turned to face her, the cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes reflected a deep inner conflict. "My job is to write. It's up to others to decide right or wrong, not me," he said, flicking the cigarette away before walking back inside. The weight of his decision pressed heavily on his shoulders.
Adya watched him go, her frustration and helplessness evident. "Winning isn't everything, Ayan... reaching the top isn't everything," she called after him, her voice carrying a mix of desperation and hope.
Ayan's steps faltered for a moment at her words, but he continued inside, disappearing into the dimly lit interior. The balcony remained silent, a stark witness to the moral battle waging within him. Through the window, the TV screen flickered on, the Guru's teachings continuing to broadcast—a constant reminder of the choice Ayan had to make.
The Office
Three days later, the Punjab Kesari office buzzed with excitement.
The normally staid atmosphere was electric with celebration as the staff gathered around the Boss, who held the latest edition of the newspaper aloft like a trophy. His eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee as he basked in the glory of their apparent triumph.
"Wow, what a report! We've outdone all the other newspapers. This case has reached a whole new level!" the Boss exclaimed, his voice ringing through the room.
He grabbed Ayan by the cheeks, pulling him closer. His face brimmed with pride and a touch of madness. "You're a gem, baby, a real gem! Ahh, I'm thrilled!"
Ayan stood stiffly, a forced smile on his face. Behind the façade, his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. The weight of his decision still hung heavily over him, and the false praise only deepened his sense of self-betrayal.
"But tell me," the Boss continued, his tone curious, "how did you manage to write such a game-changing article?"
Ayan took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Nothing much. I went to the village, talked to the locals, and investigated the ashram. I caught the nerve of the case and wrote down what I understood."
The Boss laughed heartily, slapping Ayan on the back. "Wow! You're amazing! A journalist, a poet, a cop, a lawyer—everything rolled into one! What an article!"
He turned to a fellow reporter, thrusting the newspaper at him. "Read it, you too... Wow!" he said, his laughter filling the room.
Reading from the paper, the Boss exclaimed, "Sanya did all this under the guidance of her parents. According to the villagers, Sanya's parents concocted this fake story to extort money from Vinayak Guru's trust fund to buy a house for their son—"
The room erupted in laughter and applause.
Standing at the edge, Adya remained silent, her eyes fixed on Ayan. Her gaze, a mixture of disappointment and sadness, cut through the celebratory atmosphere like a knife. Ayan caught her eye and felt a pang of guilt. He knew what he had done, and her silent reproach was a stark reminder of the moral compromise he had made.
The truth had been twisted. The innocent were condemned, the guilty exonerated—all for the sake of a sensational story and saving Guru Vinayak.
As the room continued to buzz with excitement, Adya's unwavering stare spoke volumes. The Boss flushed with pride, reveled in the success, oblivious to the internal conflict tormenting his star reporter.