Whispers of Order

Two days.

That’s all it took for the entire prison to change.

No smoking.

No tobacco.

No unnecessary talking.

The corridors that once smelled of sweat and cheap cigarettes now carried a strange kind of silence — thick, uneasy, dangerous.

Every morning at six, the siren wailed.

You got up, did your work, ate your food, and went back to your cell.

No excuses. No delays.

Because now, there was a new rule everyone knew —

> “If you break the order, you don’t stand again.”

Word had already spread. In just forty-eight hours, three prisoners were on their beds — one of them, forever.

Another two were recovering with broken ribs, still trembling whenever they heard boots in the corridor.

No one said it aloud, but everyone knew the truth.

The new jailer didn’t care who you were, where you came from, or which gang protected you.

He only cared about one thing — discipline.

And once you crossed that line, Raghav didn’t think twice.

---

Araav sat quietly on his bed, staring at the faint light seeping through the iron bars.

He didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t react when others cursed the new rules, didn’t even flinch when the guards slammed their sticks against the bars to make prisoners move faster.

He just… existed.

Calm. Cold. Untouched.

The cell door clanged open.

“Prisoner 47–A,” Ravi called out, his tone hesitant. “Someone’s here to meet you.”

Araav looked up, his expression blank. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. But he looks like he doesn’t belong here.”

---

In the visitor’s room, a young man in a crisp shirt waited behind the glass wall, tapping his foot impatiently.

His name was Rohit, son of a big businessman — someone whose money usually spoke louder than words.

As soon as Araav sat down across the glass, Rohit grabbed the phone.

“Araav, listen to me. Things are getting bad in college. You know how it is — fights, police, all that crap. We can’t handle it without you, man.”

Araav didn’t respond. His eyes stayed fixed on Rohit’s reflection in the glass.

Rohit sighed, lowering his voice.

“I talked to my father’s lawyer. They said you’ll be out by Monday. Just… stay quiet till then, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

For a second, something flickered in Araav’s expression — not anger, not fear. Just a strange calm that even Rohit didn’t understand.

Then he nodded slowly. “Monday,” he said softly.

The visit ended.

Ravi led Araav back to his cell, the chains on his wrists clinking softly.

Nothing about him seemed dangerous.

Nothing at all.

---

Later that evening, Ravi was finishing paperwork at his desk.

The visitor forms were routine — names, signatures, times.

He flipped through them absentmindedly until one detail caught his eye.

> Prisoner 47–A

Name: Araav Sen

He froze.

The name echoed in his head like a memory that didn’t belong to him.

“Sen…” he whispered.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was already walking — papers still in hand — straight toward the jailer’s office.

---

Raghav’s office was dimly lit, as always.

The ceiling fan turned lazily above him.

He sat behind the desk, reading something in silence when Ravi entered.

“Sir,” Ravi started cautiously, “about prisoner 47–A… I just noticed his full name. It’s—”

Raghav looked up.

For a moment, his eyes were unreadable — and then, slowly, a faint smile curved on his face.

He leaned back in his chair.

“I know,” Raghav said quietly.

His tone was calm… too calm.

Ravi stood frozen at the door, the paper trembling in his hand.

Raghav’s eyes drifted toward the small barred window, where the moonlight fell on the cold floor.

He smiled again — this time, darker.

“Some names,” he said softly, “always find their way back.”

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