The darkness swallowed the house whole.
For a second, Sibom thought he had gone blind. The power cut was too sudden, too complete. Even the streetlights outside had died.
Only his phone screen glowed in his trembling hand.
00:00.
The scheduled post was live.
The video was no longer his secret.
It belonged to the world.
Downstairs, the front door creaked wider.
A slow, deliberate sound.
Wood scraping against tile.
His mother's voice whispered from the hallway, "What happened? Why did the lights go—"
Her words stopped.
A shadow moved across the faint outline of the staircase wall.
Sibom's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
"Dad?" he called softly.
No reply.
Only the sound of shoes stepping inside the house.
Not rushing.
Not hiding.
Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing.
His phone vibrated violently in his hand.
Notifications began exploding across the screen.
Instagram.
WhatsApp.
Messages.
Missed calls.
The video was spreading.
Shares increasing by the second.
He didn't have time to check.
A male voice spoke downstairs.
Calm.
Controlled.
"You should not have done that."
Sibom's stomach tightened.
It wasn't Arjun.
It was older.
Colder.
His father stepped into the hallway. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Another voice answered.
"You know who I am."
Silence.
Then—
Arjun's father.
Sibom recognized the tone from the background of earlier calls.
Confident. Authoritative.
"You broke into our house?" Sibom shouted from the staircase.
"No," the man replied calmly. "The door was open."
It wasn't.
The lie was deliberate.
A warning.
His phone vibrated again.
This time a call from Arjun.
Sibom answered immediately.
"What did you do?" Arjun whispered urgently.
"I didn't cancel it."
"I know!" Arjun snapped. "It's everywhere. People are reposting. News pages picked it up."
Good, Sibom thought.
But his relief was short-lived.
"He's at your house, isn't he?" Arjun asked quietly.
Sibom didn't respond.
That was answer enough.
"Listen carefully," Arjun continued. "He's not there to argue."
"I figured."
"Don't provoke him."
Too late for that.
Downstairs, Arjun's father spoke again.
"You've made a mistake, Sibom."
Sibom stepped halfway down the staircase.
Even in darkness, he could see the silhouette of a tall man standing near the living room entrance.
"How?" Sibom asked.
"By thinking this is only about one fall."
The words were deliberate.
Carefully chosen.
"Isn't it?" Sibom replied.
"No."
His father stepped closer to the stranger.
"If you have something to say, say it clearly."
Arjun's father sighed.
"The video will clear his name," he said flatly. "Yes."
Sibom's heart skipped.
Then why—
"But it will also attract attention."
"From who?" Sibom asked sharply.
Instead of answering, the man looked toward the dark window.
As if expecting someone.
A car engine started outside.
Not one.
Two.
Sibom felt a cold realization creeping in.
"You think my influence is limited to social pressure?" Arjun's father asked softly.
The front gate creaked.
More footsteps.
His mother gasped.
"What is this?" she whispered.
Arjun's father's voice lowered.
"You've stepped into matters you don't understand."
Sibom's anger flared.
"Then explain."
For the first time, the man's tone shifted slightly.
"There are people behind investments you know nothing about."
Investments?
Sibom's mind raced.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"You released a video filmed in a private property warehouse."
The warehouse.
"You think that building is just storage?" the man continued.
A chill ran through Sibom.
The warehouse meeting.
The CCTV camera angle.
The timing.
Something wasn't random.
Arjun's father stepped closer to the staircase.
"Your video didn't just show a fall."
He paused.
"It showed who was inside that building."
Sibom's stomach dropped.
His mind replayed the footage.
In the background—
Through a half-open office door—
There had been movement.
He had ignored it.
Focused only on Arjun falling.
"What was in that office?" Sibom demanded.
The man didn't answer directly.
Instead, he asked, "Have you checked the comments?"
Sibom quickly opened the post.
Views: 48,000.
Climbing.
Comments flooding.
Most were supportive.
But then he saw one.
Pinned.
By an anonymous account.
*Zoom into 02:17.*
His heart skipped.
He scrubbed to that timestamp.
02:17.
In the background of the video—
Through the glass office panel—
A face.
Partially visible.
Looking directly toward the camera.
Not Arjun.
Not Sibom.
Someone older.
Watching.
And when Arjun fell—
That figure didn't react.
Didn't rush.
Just stepped back into darkness.
Sibom felt his breath disappear.
"You didn't see him, did you?" Arjun's father said quietly.
Him.
"Who is he?" Sibom whispered.
The man's eyes hardened.
"Someone you should not have exposed."
Outside, one of the cars honked once.
Short.
Sharp.
A signal.
Arjun's father glanced toward the door.
"They won't wait long."
"Who won't?" Sibom demanded.
But the man was already moving.
He stepped back toward the exit.
"You've made this bigger than a school fight," he said calmly. "Now everyone will want control of the narrative."
The door opened.
Before stepping out, he turned once more.
"If you value your family's safety, be careful what you post next."
The door shut.
Silence.
But the danger didn't leave.
The cars outside didn't move.
Sibom rushed to the window.
Two black SUVs.
Engines running.
Inside, silhouettes.
Watching.
His phone vibrated again.
Arjun.
"I didn't know," Arjun said immediately.
"About what?" Sibom asked sharply.
"About that man in the office."
"You were in that warehouse. You didn't notice?"
"I thought he was just staff."
"Staff don't hide when someone falls."
Arjun's breathing grew uneven.
"I swear, I didn't know he'd be visible."
"Who is he?" Sibom demanded.
Silence.
Then—
"My father works with a private consortium," Arjun said quietly.
"What kind?"
"Real estate. Infrastructure."
"And?"
"And not everything they do is clean."
The words felt heavy.
"Are you saying—"
"I'm saying that warehouse isn't just storage."
Sibom's chest tightened.
"So now what?"
"Now," Arjun replied, "they'll try to remove the distraction."
"Meaning?"
"You."
Outside, one SUV engine revved slightly.
As if impatient.
His mother gripped his arm. "Call the police."
His father hesitated.
"If we call them," Sibom said slowly, "and those men have influence…"
The sentence didn't need finishing.
His phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number.
This time a video call.
He hesitated.
Then answered.
The screen flickered.
A dim room.
Poor lighting.
A chair.
And tied to it—
Arjun.
Bruised.
Shocked.
"What is this?" Sibom whispered.
A voice from behind the camera spoke calmly.
"You wanted truth."
The camera shifted slightly.
The same face from the office glass.
Older.
Sharp eyes.
Watching.
"You released something that doesn't belong to you," the man said.
Sibom's pulse pounded violently.
"Let him go," he demanded.
The man smiled faintly.
"He's fine. For now."
Arjun tried to speak.
"Don't—" he began.
The feed glitched.
Cut.
Call ended.
Sibom's hands shook.
This wasn't about clearing names anymore.
This was exposure.
Power.
Control.
The SUVs outside finally began to move.
Slowly reversing.
Leaving.
But not retreating.
His phone vibrated once more.
A text.
From the same unknown number.
*Delete the original file. Remove the post. Or next time, it won't be him tied to a chair.*
His mother was crying softly.
His father stood frozen.
Sibom stared at the message.
Then at the video post.
Views: 72,000.
Still rising.
He realized something terrifying.
The truth was out.
But now he didn't control it anymore.
And somewhere in the city—
Arjun was sitting in a dark room.
Waiting.
Sibom clenched his jaw.
If this had started as a fight between two boys—
It had just turned into something far more dangerous.
He looked at his father.
"I'm going out."
"Where?" his father demanded.
"To finish what I started."
Outside, in the distance—
A siren echoed faintly.
Not close enough to help.
Not far enough to ignore.
And in another part of the city—
A man in a dark office watched the viral video replay on a large screen.
He paused at 02:17.
Zoomed in.
Smiled slightly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Prepare the next move."
The screen cut to black.
And somewhere, unseen—
Someone else began recording.