CHAPTER 23: "PAROLE"

  On a cold January morning, two years and seven months after his conviction, Vikram Sharma walked out of Tihar Jail. He carried a small cloth bag with his belongings—letters from Priya, a few books, a wooden elephant he had carved in the workshop.

  Priya was waiting outside the gate. She looked older, lines etched around her eyes that hadn't been there before. But she was still beautiful.

  They stood facing each other for a long moment. Then she stepped forward and embraced him. He buried his face in her hair and wept.

  "Welcome home," she whispered.

  Home was a small rented apartment in Dwarka, far from Lajpat Nagar. Their old house had been sold—no one wanted to live where so much blood had been spilled. The apartment was modest, two bedrooms, but it was clean and safe.

  Aanya was at school. She didn't know he was being released early.

  Priya wanted it to be a surprise.

  Vikram walked through the apartment, touching the walls, the furniture, marveling at the simple act of closing a door and being alone. He stood at the window, looking out at the bustling street below. Normal life. People going to work, children playing, vendors selling vegetables.

  He had forgotten what normal looked like.

  "Vikram," Priya said from behind him. "We need to talk." He turned. Her face was serious.

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  "The lawyer called last week. Rakesh Khanna's appeal was successful. His sentence was reduced to twelve years. He'll be eligible for parole in six."

  Vikram's blood ran cold. "Six years?"

  "Less, if he gets early release for good behavior. Vikram, he's still connected. Arjun says the gang is fractured but not destroyed. There are people loyal to Khanna who are still operating."

  "Are we in danger?"

  Priya hesitated. "I don't know. Inspector Singh says we should be careful. Change our routines. Maybe even relocate."

  Vikram felt the familiar weight of fear settling back onto his shoulders. He had thought it was over. He had thought he could rebuild.

  "I'm not running anymore," he said quietly. "We've already lost so much. I won't let him take anything else."

  "Then what do we do?"

  "We live. We don't hide. We live our lives and trust that the system will keep him locked up."

  Priya looked at him, searching his face. "Do you trust the system?"

  Vikram thought about Inspector Singh, about Arjun, about Justice Reddy. There were good people in the system. But there were also cracks, places where evil slipped through.

  "I trust that we've done everything we can," he said. "The rest... is beyond our control."

  That afternoon, Aanya came home from school. She opened the door, dropped her backpack, and froze.

  "Papa?"

  Vikram knelt down, his arms open. She ran to him, and he held her tight, feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

  "I'm home, beta. I'm home."

  She pulled back, her eyes red. "You're not leaving again?"

  "No. I'm here. I'm staying."

  That night, they ate dinner together as a family for the first time in nearly three years. Vikram cooked—a simple dal and rice. The taste was extraordinary. Freedom tasted like home-cooked food and laughter around a table.

  Later, after Aanya had gone to bed, Vikram sat on the balcony, looking at the Delhi skyline. Priya joined him, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders against the winter cold.

  "Do you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Everything you did?"

  Vikram thought about Bunty, about Salim, about the guard in the warehouse. He thought about the blood, the fear, the darkness.

  "I regret that I had to do it," he said. "But I don't regret protecting you and Aanya. If I had to choose again... I'd make the same choices."

  Priya leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't know if that makes you a hero or a monster."

  "Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe I'm just a man who did what he had to do."

  They sat in silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Somewhere out there, in another prison, Rakesh Khanna was planning his next move. Somewhere out there, the streets still held danger.

  But here, on this balcony, in this moment, Vikram Sharma was home.

  And that was enough.