The village lay wrapped in silence, broken only by laughter.

A forest stretched behind it—dense, dark, and old. In front of it lay a small open ground where children played as if the world had nothing to fear.

Bare feet kicked up dust, voices echoed freely, and glass bottles stood lined up on a broken wall like silent targets.

Happiness lived here—simple, careless.

A car suddenly tore through the calm.

It stopped near the ground with a harsh jerk.

The laughter slowed.

The car door opened, and a woman stepped out. She looked at the tyre, bent slightly, and sighed.

Punctured.

She straightened and looked around.

Mud houses. Trees. Curious eyes watching from a distance.

Too quiet.

Her name was Haseena Malik, though no one here knew that.

She rested one hand on the car and scanned the village—not like a traveler, but like someone measuring space, exits, and people. Her face remained calm, but her mind was already working.

Flashback

“Jai Hind, ma’am.”

“Jai Hind,” the DSP replied. “SHO Haseena Malik.”

Haseena stood at attention.

“Humein aapko ek bahut hi critical case ke liye bulaya hai,” the DSP continued.

“Lucknow se lagbhag 40 kilometer door ek gaon hai. Wahan kuch bachche gayab ho rahe hain.”

Haseena’s eyes hardened.

“Bachchon ko khane mein drugs milayi ja rahi hain. Chemical food supply ho rahi hai. Parents… majboor hain. Din bhar ki majdoori mein unke liye bachchon par dhyaan dena mushkil ho gaya hai.”

The DSP paused.

“Intelligence ke mutabiq, isi gaon mein bade criminals chhupe hue hain. Duplicate notes, kala dhanda—sab kuch yahin se operate hota hai.”

“And my role?” Haseena asked calmly.

“Aap wahan ek normal insaan bankar rahengi. Koi shak nahi hona chahiye. Aap sheher ki lagengi—lekin wahan rehne ka koi bahana banayengi.

Rehkar hi sach bahar laana hai.”

Haseena nodded once.

“Hum poori koshish karenge. Bachchon ke saath jo ho raha hai—kidnapping, drugs—sab ka sach pata lagayenge.”

“Jai Hind.”

“Jai Hind.”

Flashback ends

This was Haseena Malik.

To the world, she was a police officer.

To the system, she was much more.

A RAW agent with an unbroken record.

Known for solving cases others labeled impossible.

Calm under pressure. Emotionless when required.

A woman who used observation as a weapon and patience as armor.

She had cracked narcotic rings, dismantled terror cells, and rescued victims without firing a single bullet.

And yet today—

She stood in a forgotten village pretending to be ordinary.

Her eyes moved again.

And then—

A sharp crash pulled Haseena back to the present.

Glass shattered.

She turned.

A girl stood among the children, a stone still in her hand. One bottle lay broken cleanly at the neck. No hesitation. No correction.

Another bottle.

Another hit.

Not a single miss.

Haseena’s eyes narrowed.

How could a child—barely twelve—have such precision?

“Karishma! Ek aakhri bottle bachi hai!” a boy shouted excitedly.

“Tum kar sakti ho!”

Karishma stepped forward.

She wore torn slippers, dust-covered clothes, and a careless smile—but her eyes were sharp. Observant. Alert.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t rush.

She stood still.

Breathed once.

The stone flew.

The bottle shattered perfectly.

The children erupted in celebration.

Haseena didn’t move.

Because what she saw wasn’t a game.

It was control.

Suddenly, a loud voice broke the moment.

“Aye! Bhago yahan se!”

The landlord stormed in with a stick.

Children screamed and scattered in all directions.

All except one.

Karishma ran—but not like the others.

She ran ahead.

Fast. Balanced. Controlled.

Her posture was straight, steps measured, movements clean—like someone trained, not taught. She disappeared into the trees before anyone else.

Haseena stood frozen.

That wasn’t normal.

Minutes passed.

The landlord left, frustrated.

The ground emptied.

Only silence remained.

Then footsteps.

The same girl returned.

“Didi,” she said softly.

Haseena turned.

The girl pointed at the car. “Tyre puncture ho gaya hai. Naya tyre hai?”

“Nahi,” Haseena replied.

“Rukiye,” the girl said. “Hum le aate hain.”

Before Haseena could stop her, the girl ran off.

She returned moments later carrying a heavy spare tyre—as if it weighed nothing.

Haseena’s shock deepened.

The girl bent down and fixed the tyre calmly, confidently, her hands moving with familiarity no village child should have.

She stood up, dusted her hands, and smiled.

“Ho gaya.”

Haseena looked at her closely.

“Tumhara naam?”

“Karishma. Karishma Singh.”

A village girl from a poor family.

No formal education beyond basics.

Yet strong beyond her age.

Instinctively disciplined.

Mentally alert.

Physically precise.

A child with the reflexes of a soldier and the awareness of an officer.

Haseena nodded.

“Didi,” Karishma said seriously, “aapka yahan rehna safe nahi hai. Sheher ke log jab yahan aate hain na… bade sahab chhodte nahi hain.”

She stepped back.

“Shaam hone wali hai. Shaam se pehle yahan se jaana hi behtar hota hai.”

And then she ran.

Vanished.

Haseena stood there long after the girl was gone.

The village wasn’t just hiding criminals.

It was hiding something far more dangerous.

A child who didn’t know

she was already trained by instinct.

For the first time in years, a case didn’t scare Haseena Malik—

It disturbed her.

Because this village wasn’t just hiding criminals.

It was hiding a child the system would destroy if it found her too soon.

And Haseena Malik knew one thing with certainty:

This mission had just become personal.

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That's it for today's chapter! ✨

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