THE NIGHT BEFORE DEATH: TERROR STRIKES BACK

"The baddest guys have the baddest love stories."

Sonny touched down at the bustling Rajiv Gandhi International Airport in Hyderabad, the warm air greeting him as he stepped outside. His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on a man holding a sign, but to his dismay, it spelled his name incorrectly as "Sunny." With a mix of amusement and annoyance, Sonny approached the man, his bright smile masking his irritation. "Your spelling is incorrect," he chuckled lightly, before adding, "Anyway, where is your master?"

The man, unfazed by the humor, simply nodded and replied, "Come with me." Without offering any further explanation, he led Sonny to a nondescript van parked nearby. The interior was modest, and as they drove through the city, Sonny observed the vibrant streets of Hyderabad through the window, feeling a mixture of excitement and unease.

After a short drive that felt longer than it actually was, the van finally came to a stop outside a shabby shed, its peeling paint and rusted edges contrasting sharply with the lively atmosphere surrounding it. The driver turned to Sonny with a blank expression and said, "My master will meet you here." 

Sensing the oddity of the situation, Sonny felt a knot of apprehension in his stomach. He reached for his luggage, but the driver interjected, "Keep the luggage inside the car. I will carefully send it to your hotel." 

Surprised and curious, Sonny hesitated. "I won't live here?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

The driver's response was curt and impersonal. "Only if you want to." With that, he shut the door firmly and drove away, leaving Sonny standing in a cloud of dust. He waved his hand through the air to disperse it and mumbled under his breath, "What a rude guy!"

Gathering himself, Sonny turned toward the shed, its rustic appearance giving off an air of neglect. Inside, he pulled out his phone and called VPS, the reason for his visit. The room was dim and filled with the scent of damp wood and age, enhancing his sense of anticipation.

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, VPS emerged with a suddenness that took Sonny by surprise. He wrapped his arms around Sonny from behind, an affectionate gesture that brought a smile to Sonny's face. "How are you, Sonny?" VPS asked, his voice warm and inviting.

"I'm fine. What about you?" Sonny replied, matching his friend's enthusiasm.

VPS sighed, and a shadow crossed his features. "A little nostalgic," he admitted. "I used to meet my girlfriend here once. But, after I moved to Delhi, it became hard for us to maintain the relationship, and eventually, we broke up. I heard she is the mother of two boys now." 

Sonny listened intently, understanding the weight of VPS's memories and the complexities of relationships. "What was so urgent that you had to call me here personally?" he asked, genuinely curious.

VPS smiled, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Keep patience, my boy. Let us first eat something. How about biryani?" 

The mention of the iconic dish made Sonny's stomach rumble in agreement. "Sounds good," he said, anticipation growing as he wondered what surprises the day still held in store for him.

Sonny and Vikram strolled along the lively footpaths, the vibrant sounds of traffic, laughter, and street vendors creating a symphony of urban life around them. The sun cast a warm glow over Hyderabad's bustling streets, where spices' aroma wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet scent of blooming flowers from nearby vendors. As they walked side by side, Sonny glanced over at Vikram, intrigue lighting up his features. "If you don't mind sharing," he began thoughtfully, "could you tell me more about your girlfriend? With my wedding approaching, I'm certain I could use some valuable advice."

Vikram's laughter rang out, bright and infectious, harmonizing with the everyday bustle around them. "Why would I mind?" he replied, a nostalgic gaze dancing in his eyes. "My girlfriend, Shabana Sen, was a true gem here in Hyderabad. I'll never forget her captivating voice, so sweet and melodious, that it felt like a soothing song every time she spoke. Our story began two years after my arrival in the city to pursue further studies. My parents, in their protective nature, were anxious about me being here, convinced that I would encounter hostility from the local Muslim community—fears of bullying and being coerced into unwelcome food choices, like beef. They couldn't have been more wrong. The Muslim people I met here, especially Shabana, were among the most gracious and warm-hearted individuals I've ever encountered."

As he spoke, Vikram's face lit up with the spark of vivid memories, but then a shadow crossed it as he recounted their chaotic first meeting. "It was a day like any other. I was deeply engrossed in preparing an important academic document on my laptop in a cozy corner of a frequented café. Shabana, who used to work as a part-time waitress in that cafe was darting between tables, serving steaming cups of coffee to eager customers. The café was alive with the sounds of chatter and clinking dishes when, in a whirl of activity, she accidentally tripped over her own feet. In that fleeting moment, she sent a hot river of coffee cascading all over my laptop and soaking through my pristine white shirt, a cherished gift from my mother on my last birthday."

Vikram's throat tightened at the memory. "In that initial surge of anger, I lost all sense of reason. Though her apologies poured out like a fountain, desperate and sincere, I could only think of the damage done. I was furious at her for robbing me of my important work and ruining a shirt that held sentimental value. My reaction was overblown; I scolded her harshly and then took my grievances to the manager, demanding justice for my ruined property."

His features darkened as he continued, "The truth was, my temper was a notorious adversary back then. Rather than accepting it as an unfortunate accident, I let my impulsive anger rule me. I stormed out of the café without settling my bill, letting a torrent of curses flow through my mind against her, blaming her for my misfortunes as I walked to the university, the bitter taste of bitterness lingering on my tongue."

Yet, Vikram's tone shifted as he reached the crux of the realization. "When I finally arrived at the university, my world took an unexpected turn," he said, his voice slow and deliberate. "I learned that the document I had labored over was fundamentally flawed. My professor stood fuming, reprimanding the entire class for submitting work without proper attention, and there I was, on the verge of severe embarrassment and ridicule from my peers. Had Shabana's mishap not happened, I would have submitted that flawed work, earning my professor's ire and facing the humiliation I so dreaded. In hindsight, her small, unintentional act had actually spared me from a greater disgrace. Guilt crept into my heart; I reflected on how unfairly I had treated her—a mere waitress who was just doing her job."

Vikram's eyes softened with regret as he recalled the moment he hurried back to the café, his heart pounding with urgency. "I raced out of the classroom, driven by a desperate need to apologize. But when I reached the café, my hopes plummeted. I learned that the manager had let her go, firing her just after I left, leaving her crushed and heartbroken. I asked the receptionist for Shabana's address, wanting to make amends, but her response was cold and dismissive—another insult that deepened my despair."

Vikram shook his head, the memory weighing heavy on his heart. "I left the café feeling like a complete fool, the sting of regret gnawing at me as I walked home that day, replaying the events in my mind. Every harsh word I had spoken echoed back to me, and I lamented my inability to see the truth."

As they approached a quaint little restaurant, the tantalizing aroma of spices enveloped them, beckoning them inside. Vikram pushed the door open, the chime of the bell announcing their arrival. They settled into the cozy chairs, and Sonny leaned in, eager anticipation alight in his eyes. "What happened next? How did you finally apologize to her?"

Vikram's smile returned, brighter this time, as if the memories were weaving back together into something beautiful. "Ah, that's a tale for another time. Let me share it with you once the biryani arrives," he replied, his eyes sparkling with the promise of a heartfelt story to come.

The wait finally ended as the biryani arrived, its rich Indian aroma of spices like cardamom, turmeric, and red chili powder wafting through the air. The dish was a feast for the senses, with perfectly cooked rice and succulent pieces of grilled chicken glistening with the sheen of flavorful oil. Sonny took the first bite, the explosion of flavors dancing on his taste buds, the rice soft and fluffy, the chicken tender and juicy. Each bite was a symphony of taste, and he couldn't help but exclaim, "This tastes even better than pizza."

Vikram smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "Yes. It does. But, every food has its specialty."

Sonny, barely able to contain his excitement, asked, "What happened next? Did you meet her? How did she react?"

Vikram's eyes softened as he reminisced. "Unlike movies, where the hero meets the heroine the next day, I had to wait for three weeks to even get a glance of her. I searched many places, visited many restaurants, and even tried to bribe the receptionist to give me her address, but all efforts failed. Depressed, I finally let go of all hopes of meeting her and returned to the mundane routine of my life.

"I was a very studious person, and except for books, I rarely had any friends. I spent all my time reading and writing and was content with that. But after that fateful day, everything changed. I couldn't concentrate on my studies; lectures felt boring, and books seemed like strangers. Instead of chemical formulas in my brain, romantic songs started playing. I was in love—so deeply in love that every girl I saw looked like her. It drove me insane. I stopped attending university and often bunked classes with excuses of headaches, stomach pains, and even diarrhea. I was a diligent student, so no one suspected anything. I prayed to God to either let me meet her once again or take my life. Fortunately, God answered my first request.

"One winter morning, I was walking back to my room after buying eggs and tomatoes for breakfast when a sweet voice echoed in my ears. I turned around and saw Shabana sitting on a bench, practicing her singing. I couldn't believe my eyes and punched myself so hard that the sound shocked her. She opened her eyes and looked at me, both embarrassed and afraid. She rose and offered me her handkerchief, saying, 'Sir, blood is dripping from the side of your mouth.' I realized I had hurt myself. I quickly wiped off the blood and smiled. She asked, 'Are you okay, sir? Should I take you to a doctor?' I smiled and said, 'There is no need for that. I wanted to apologize to you.' She asked, 'Apologize to me? Why?'

"I explained the whole situation and how I had insulted her in front of everyone for a mistake anyone could have made. She laughed and said, 'No need to apologize, sir. You did the right thing. It was my fault. I delayed the order and wanted to quickly give it to the raging customer, and in my haste, your laptop and shirt got ruined. But that incident helped me. I got fired from that stupid job and found a better job at a much bigger café. You actually helped me.' I smiled and said, 'Then, it looks like we are even.' We introduced ourselves, and that's how our sweet journey began."

They finished their meal, savoring the last bites of the biryani, and walked outside the restaurant. The city buzzed with activity, and the night air was filled with the sounds of distant chatter and street vendors calling out their wares. Sonny asked, "What happened next?"

Vikram smiled, "Be patient, Sonny. Too much of anything is harmful. I will narrate the rest of the story after we meet someone. A person who is going to be quite useful to us in the near future." They walked towards the dense suburbs of Hyderabad, their figures soon blending into the lively crowd...