The morning had begun like any other—routine, predictable. We walked to college together, lost in our usual chatter, unaware of the storm that was about to unravel. The cafeteria buzzed with the clatter of plates and the hum of students, a mundane backdrop to what would soon become the most shocking day of my life.
It happened during the break.
She ordered food, balancing her tray carefully, but then disaster. A slip of the wrist, a tilt of the glass, and ice-cold Coke splashed all over him. The liquid darkened his shirt, dripping onto his jeans. She gasped, immediately apologizing, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry! It was an accident!"
But his reaction was instant, vicious. His face twisted into a snarl. "You stupid—" His hand shot up, not to wipe the mess away, but as if to strike her.
I didn't think. I moved.
Before he could lay a finger on her, I shoved him back—hard. He stumbled, his balance failing, and as he crashed into the table behind him, something clattered to the floor.
A small, crinkled packet.
At first, I thought it was gum. But then I saw the fine white powder leaking from the torn edge. My blood ran cold.
Drugs.
The cafeteria fell silent. His face paled, then twisted in panic as he lunged for it—but I was faster. I snatched it up, my pulse roaring in my ears. "What the hell is this?"
His eyes darted—nervous, guilty. "None of your business—"
But it became my business As this wasn't just some random guy. This was the son of Dr. Rohan Mehra—The chief scientist of my mother's pharmaceutical company. A man I'd known since childhood. A man everyone respected.
The cops arrived swiftly. He fought, he cursed, but the evidence was undeniable. As they dragged him away, his last words chilled me: "You have no idea what you've just started."
That night, sleep was impossible. My mind raced. Why would the son of a renowned scientist carry drugs? And then—the reports.
For months, there had been whispers. Students disappearing, dropping out, getting addicted to something new, something deadly. And now, the pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity.
I dug deeper. Cross-referenced medical records, chemical formulas. And then—the truth hit me like a bullet.
The drug flooding the streets wasn't just some street-grade poison. It was manufactured. Derived from a **medicine our own company produced.**
Someone was stealing it. Someone was altering it. And the only people with access to the raw materials? Insiders.
Dr. Mehra's face flashed in my mind. The kind smile. The warm advice. The man who had always been there.
Or had he?
Because if his son was dealing, who was supplying him?
The answer was a whisper in the dark, a shadow I couldn't yet grasp.
But I would.
Because this wasn't just about drugs anymore.
This was betrayal
And I was going to find out who was behind it.