Double Cross

He kept calling her number and it kept saying unreachable. He wondered what had happened.

The rain pounded against the windows of the small, dimly lit police station as Rohan Mehra sat across Inspector Priya Sharma. His hands shook as he clutched a photograph of his wife, Ananya. She had been missing for three agonizing days.

“She went out for groceries,” Rohan said, his voice wavering. “She never came back. I’ve called everyone, checked everywhere. She’s just… gone.”

Inspector Sharma studied him intently. Rohan’s anguish seemed genuine, but there was something about his story that felt off. Nevertheless, she assured him they would do everything possible to find Ananya.

“It’s always the husband,” she thought to herself. 

The search commenced. Days melted into nights, and just when hope began to fade, a breakthrough emerged. A woman matching Ananya’s description was found wandering along a deserted highway, disoriented and injured. She was quickly rushed to the hospital, and Rohan was summoned to identify her.

He was overwhelmed to see her! He could hardly believe it!

There she was—Ananya. Her face was bruised, her arm in a sling, but there was no mistaking her. Rohan’s relief washed over him as he brought her home, determined to care for her. But as the days unfolded, an unsettling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

Something felt off about Ananya. She looked the same, spoke the same, even had the same mannerisms—but Rohan couldn’t shake the nagging sense that she wasn’t truly his wife. Her laughter seemed strained, her gaze lingered for too long, and she deftly avoided discussions about the night she vanished.

The unease consumed Rohan from within. How could this be? How was it even possible? Thoughts and doubts danced chaotically in his mind. He kept asking himself several questions, questions to which he had no answer. 

One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, Ananya casually mentioned wanting to change her insurance policy. “I think it’s time to update the nominee,” she said, her tone light, but her eyes glinted with something more.

Rohan froze. His heart raced as he stared at her. “You’re not her,” he blurted out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and rage. “You can’t be her,” he screamed. 

“Of course I am,” she replied, puzzled by his outburst. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t be her. It’s impossible. Because I killed my wife. I staged it to look like an accident. So who the hell are you?” He collapsed to the floor, his face covered by trembling hands.

Ananya’s expression remained unchanged. She leaned back in her chair, a faint smile touching her lips. “Oh, Rohan,” she said softly. “You always had such confidence, didn’t you?”

Rohan’s mind raced. “What are you saying? Who are you?”

Ananya rose, her movements deliberate. “You thought you got rid of me, didn’t you? But you didn’t. 

You killed someone else.”

Rohan felt his blood run cold. “What are you talking about?”

“That night,” Ananya continued, her voice steady, “I knew what you were planning. I had seen your gaze, heard the whispers about the insurance payout. So, I devised a plan of my own. Your ex-girlfriend, Kavita, came to visit us that day. She still had feelings for you, you know. I persuaded her to dress like me, to take my place in the car. I even gave her my purse and my phone—everything. And in your rush, you didn’t even notice.”

Rohan felt his legs give way, and he sank to the floor. “No… no, that can’t be. Kavita was supposed to arrive the next day…” His voice trailed off.

“Oh, it’s entirely possible,” Ananya said, her voice icy. “You tampered with the brakes just like I knew you would. But it wasn’t me in that car, Rohan. It was Kavita. You killed her. Kavita wanted to surprise you by showing up early. And how perfectly that worked out for me, huh?” Her smirk widened.

Rohan’s thoughts spiralled. He remembered the crash, the flames, the body retrieved from the wreckage. He had been so sure it was Ananya. “But… the body… the police…”

Ananya’s smile turned sour. “The body was too badly burned for identification. The police assumed it was me because of the items Kavita carried. And you… you played the grieving husband perfectly, didn’t you? But then I went to the police with my story. And we orchestrated this entire charade to draw you out and force you to confess.”

Rohan’s world crumbled around him. He now realised why Kavita’s phone kept saying “unreachable”. He had been meticulous, so convinced of his cleverness. Yet he had been outsmarted by the one person he thought he had in his grasp.

Ananya walked to the door and opened it. Inspector Sharma stood there, accompanied by two uniformed officers. “Rohan Mehra,” Sharma stated, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Kavita Desai.”

As the officers fastened the handcuffs around him, Rohan looked at Ananya one final time. “You… you masterminded this all along.”

Ananya’s gaze was frosty. “You taught me well, Rohan. To survive, you always need to stay one step ahead.”

As Rohan was led away, the burden of his own treachery pressed heavily on his shoulders. He had considered himself the puppet master, but in the end, he was merely a pawn in a game he hadn’t even recognized.

And Ananya? She stood in the doorway, watching him leave, a small, satisfied smile gracing her lips. She had triumphed. But only she understood the price she had paid for this “victory.” 

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