The knock came in the afternoon.
Not urgent.
Not aggressive.
Just three light taps—polite, almost hesitant.
Riyan looked up from the kitchen counter.
Arjun paused mid-sentence.
And something in my chest tightened—not fear, not panic.
Recognition.
"I'll get it," I said.
Riyan started to protest, then stopped himself. He watched me instead—alert, but letting the choice be mine.
I opened the door.
A woman stood there.
Mid-forties.
Simple clothes.
Eyes tired in a way that came from holding too much for too long.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I might have the wrong address."
Her voice shook.
"No," I replied gently. "You don't."
She exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for years.
"My name is Nisha," she said. "I worked at the pier. Night shifts. Maintenance."
The world narrowed slightly.
Riyan appeared behind me, silent.
"I saw you once," she continued, looking only at me. "Hiding. Crying. I didn't step in."
Her eyes filled.
"I told myself it wasn't my place."
Silence settled heavy between us.
"You didn't come to apologize," I said softly.
She shook her head. "No. I came to tell the truth. Properly. On record."
Arjun moved closer.
Riyan's posture sharpened—not defensive, but ready.
"They contacted me last week," Nisha continued. "The investigators. They said a witness had come forward. And I realized… if you could remember after everything they did to you—then I didn't get to stay silent anymore."
My throat tightened.
"Come in," I said.
---
We sat around the table.
No interrogation.
No pressure.
Just space.
"I saw them take him," Nisha said, hands folded tightly. "I saw who ordered it. I saw who signed off on the transport."
She slid a small flash drive across the table.
"I kept this," she said. "Security footage. I copied it years ago and hid it. I was afraid."
Riyan stared at the drive like it weighed a ton.
"You're not afraid now?" he asked quietly.
She met his eyes. "I am. But I'm more afraid of living another decade pretending I didn't see anything."
I felt something loosen in my chest.
"You won't be alone," I said. "Not anymore."
Her shoulders sagged in relief.
---
After she left, the apartment felt charged—like something irreversible had just happened.
"That footage," Arjun said quietly, "is the last nail."
Riyan nodded. "And the strongest one. Independent witness. Unaltered copy."
I leaned back in my chair.
"They're losing control faster than they expected," I said.
"Yes," Riyan replied. "Because silence isn't holding anymore."
He looked at me.
"And you started that."
I shook my head. "I just stopped carrying it alone."
That evening, I opened the notebook again.
I wrote slowly.
Sometimes healing invites witnesses.
Sometimes courage is contagious.
And sometimes the past doesn't come to hurt you—
it comes to tell the truth beside you.
I closed the book.
Outside, the city breathed.
Inside, I felt steady.
The past had knocked.
And this time—
I answered without fear.