2.

♠KISSED BY A CRIMINAL ♠

Chapter -2

Dal and cumin seeds make a deadly combination

The sizzle of mustard oil in a heavy iron kadai filled the small, dimly lit kitchen. The scent of roasted cumin and dried red chilies hung thick in the air of the old, high ceilinged house.

"Maa? Haan, Maa, suno... I told you, I've already eaten," Vedant said into his phone, his voice dropping into a soft, rhythmic tone that didn't match the sharp, jagged scars on his knuckles.

He stirred the dal with practiced ease, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

"No, no, bilkul nahi! I'm not skipping meals. I'm making dal tadka right now. Aap chinta mat karo. I'm eating well, I promise."

He paused, listening to the frantic, loving scolding on the other end. He chuckled, a low, melodic sound.

"Yes, yes Thik hai, Maa. Love you too."

He hung up, the smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a mask of practiced indifference. The silence of the old house rushed back in, heavy and expectant. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked toward the small dining table, but stopped before a cracked mirror hanging near the hallway.

He leaned in, staring at his reflection. His left eye was normal deep brown, calm. But his right eye... it was a nightmare caught in a socket. A tiny, needle point black pupil sat in a sea of milky, unnatural white. It looked like a puncture wound in reality.

"Still a freak, huh?" he muttered to the reflection, his voice dry. He grinned, a sharp, predatory thing. "But at least a freak with good seasoning."

Knock Knock

The sound was sudden, jarring. Vedant didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He simply set the towel down and walked to the heavy teak door.

"Who is it?" he called out, his voice losing its warmth and becoming something flat and unreadable.

"Delivery! Bhaiya, order hai!" a young, nervous voice called from the other side.

Vedant opened the door just a crack. A teenage boy stood there, clutching a cardboard box, eyes darting around the shadows of the porch.

"Mr. Chauhan?" the boy asked, his voice cracking.

"That's me."

"Here is your... uh... your computer parts and the extra hard drive, sir." The boy's eyes landed on Vedant's face. He froze. His gaze drifted to the right eye, and his breath hitched. "Ooh..."

"Is there a problem?" Vedant asked, tilting his head. He let a hint of a smile play on his lips the kind of smile a shark might give.

"N..no! No, sir! Sorry, sir! Here is the change. Yeh lijiye." The boy practically thrust the coins into Vedant's hand and scrambled back toward his bicycle.

"Slow down, kid! The road isn't going anywhere!" Vedant called out, his tone mockingly cheerful.

He closed the door and leaned against it, the humor evaporating. He walked over to a cluttered desk in the corner of the living room, where three monitors hummed in the dark. The blue light washed over his face, making him look like a ghost.

He sat down, his fingers dancing over the keyboard with lethal precision. A window popped up a list of names, bank transfers, and encrypted files. He scrolled past a file labeled 'Seven Years Ago'.

"Almost there," he whispered to the empty room, his eyes gleaming with a dark, feverish intensity. "Just a little more digging, and then... khel shuru .. The game begins."

He leaned back, the rhythmic click-click-click of his mouse the only sound in the house, a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The cursor blinked on the screen, illuminating the name at the top of the encrypted file:

Vikram Malhotra.

Vedant stared at it, his milky-white right eye reflecting the blue light like a dead moon. Seven years ago, Vikram Malhotra had been his mentor, his boss, and the man who taught him how to manipulate data like clay. Seven years ago, Vikram had also framed Vedant for a multi crore cyber heist, leaving Vedant to take the fall of murders while Vikram climbed the corporate ladder of India's biggest tech conglomerate.

Vedant had spent five of those years in a high security prison, learning that a broken nose heals faster if you don't complain, and the last two years laying low. The world thought Vedant Chauhan was a broken, washed up ex con living off a meager freelance coding income.

The world was hilariously wrong.

"Seven years is a long time to think, Vikram," Vedant murmured, taking a bite of his dal tadka and rice. He closed his eyes in brief ecstasy. "Oh, man. The cumin is perfect. I really am a genius."

He swallowed, his demeanor shifting instantly back to cold focus. He tapped a command into the terminal. A progress bar appeared: Decryption of Malhotra Enterprise Mainframe: 94% Complete.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the desk. It wasn't his mother. It was an unknown, encrypted number.

Vedant picked it up, leaning back in his chair. "If you're selling insurance, I should warn you, my life expectancy goes down significantly when I'm annoyed."

"Still a comedian, Chauhan," a gruff voice rasped from the speaker. It was Inspector Hooda, the cop who had put him away seven years ago. "I heard you got released. I also heard you're back in Delhi. I'm watching you."

Vedant let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his heart. "Inspector! You called! I'm touched.... Truly.. But watching me? I hope you're paying for a subscription, because this premium content doesn't come cheap."

"Don't play smart with me," Hooda snapped. "A guy like you doesn't just sit in an old house eating lentils. What are you planning?"

"Right now? I'm planning to finish my dinner and watch a documentary on penguins. They are fascinating creatures, Hooda. Very loyal. Unlike humans." Vedant's voice dropped a fraction, the playful tone vanishing for a microsecond. "Goodbye, Inspector. Don't forget to look both ways before crossing the street."

He hung up and tossed the phone aside. A soft ping echoed through the room.

(Decryption Complete)

Vedant's face lit up. On the screen, a massive ledger materialized. It wasn't just corporate data; it was a digital paper trail of bribery, extortion, and offshore accounts belonging to Delhi's elite all managed by Vikram Malhotra. But more importantly, it contained the digital keys to Malhotra's personal offshore account. The one holding the exact amount Vedant had been accused of stealing seven years ago, plus seven years of compounded interest.

"Let's see... thirty two crores," Vedant read aloud, a slow, brilliant grin spreading across his face. "Plus a little tip for my troubles."

He didn't just want to clear his name. Clearing your name was for people who cared about society's opinion. Vedant wanted total, systematic ruin. He was going to drain Malhotra completely dry, broadcast his illegal ledger to the Central Bureau of Investigation, and do it all while sitting in his lungi, eating home cooked food.

He cracked his knuckles, the sharp scars tightening over his skin. His fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, a symphony of rapid clicks filling the silent house. He began routing the transfers through a dozen shell companies in the Cayman Islands, masking his IP address behind a ghost network he had spent the last two years building.

The digital trap was set. Now what it needed was a little game, which would detonate tomorrow morning at the opening of the Indian Stock Exchange.

Vedant stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and walked back to the kitchen to pack the rest of the dal into a container.

"Maa always said honesty is the best policy," Vedant chuckled to himself, locking his front door and turning off the lights, leaving only the ominous glow of the monitors. "But she never said anything about digital grand larceny."

He sat back down in the dark, his mismatched eyes fixed on the final countdown timer. The hunter was done waiting. Tomorrow, the game would truly be over.

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