The rain poured relentlessly, casting a gloomy blanket over the deserted lanes as Tripti anxiously tried to book an Uber to get home. She hadn’t anticipated the downpour while at work and had stayed late, determined to finish a crucial report ahead of the MD’s visit from Head Office the next day. Knowing it would be a demanding day, she hoped to lighten the load by preparing the key document, one that was bound to be a central topic of discussion and a top priority on the MD’s agenda.
Earlier in the evening, a few colleagues had warned her about the threatening clouds gathering outside, urging her to leave before the weather turned worse. But Tripti, focused and resolute, had brushed aside their concerns, not realizing just how severe the situation would become.
The wind screamed through the streets, rendering her umbrella useless as it flipped and flapped against the gusts. Tripti was inevitably getting drenched, her clothes clinging to her as the cold seeped in. To make matters worse, there was no sign of transport - no Uber, no cab, nothing to take her home. The city, usually buzzing even at odd hours, now felt eerily still, as if the storm had emptied it of life.
She hadn’t taken her own car that day, her father needed it to drive her mother to a long-awaited orthopaedic appointment in Colaba. Of all days, the doctor had chosen this one to be available. Still, she was relieved to hear they’d made it home safely by evening when she called to check in and to let them know she’d be late.
Tripti stood there, utterly clueless. The office had shut down for the night, and even the security guard, who had patiently waited while she wrapped up her work, was nowhere to be seen after saying Good Night. She had no idea how he had managed to leave in this weather, disappearing without a trace while she remained stranded.
After nearly 45 minutes of standing in the relentless rain, Tripti finally spotted a faint glimmer headlights so dim they looked like pencil lines etched into the darkness, barely visible beyond 20 meters. A car, perhaps. Her heart pounded as she stepped into the middle of the slippery, empty street, waving her arms and shouting, “Help! Help,” desperately clinging to the hope that it was someone who could offer a way out. Drenched and trembling, the approaching vehicle felt like her only lifeline.
The car came to a halt, its engine humming softly beneath the roar of the downpour. But through the rain-streaked windows, Tripti couldn’t make out a thing, no movement, no silhouette. No one stepped out, no horn was blown. The silence was unsettling, almost eerie.
Her mind blank with fear and urgency, she rushed to the window and began knocking. Slowly, the windowpane slid down, but still, no words, no reaction from inside. Unable to see the driver’s face, she called out, voice trembling, “Where are you heading? Can you help me?” But there was no reply.
Driven by desperation, she tried the door handle. To her surprise, it opened. Without thinking, she climbed in quickly and slammed the door shut behind her, the storm now sealed outside, but the silence inside was no less unnerving.
Inside the car, the air was oddly still. The windshield wipers moved rhythmically, slicing through the rain, but the driver’s seat remained masked in shadow. Tripti’s breath came in shallow gasps as she wiped her face and tried to adjust to the dim interior. Her eyes darted around, no music, no phone on the dashboard, no signs of life.
“Hello?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm outside. Still no response. The figure in the driver’s seat sat motionless, face obscured by the darkness and the hood of a raincoat.
Tripti’s heart thudded in her chest. Was this a stroke of luck or something far eviller? She considered stepping out again, but the thought of facing the storm was unbearable. Gathering courage, she asked again, louder this time, “Please… can you drop me near Bandra West?”
A long pause followed. Then, without a word, the car began to move.
The car rolled forward slowly, gliding through the rain-soaked streets like a ghost. Tripti sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin, the silence inside pressing down heavier than the storm outside. She stole glances at the driver, but the figure remained eerily still, hands on the wheel manoeuvring, face hidden in shadow.
No words were exchanged. No music played. The dashboard lights glowed faintly, casting a ghostly sort across the interior. Tripti’s mind raced, was this someone who couldn’t speak? Someone lost in thought. Or is someone deliberately choosing silence?
Her thoughts spiralled. Should she ask again? Should she get out at the next signal? But the streets were deserted, and the rain showed no signs of letting up. She clutched her bag tighter, trying to calm her nerves, telling herself that maybe, just maybe, this was just a kind stranger who preferred quiet.
Yet something didn’t sit right. The way the driver hadn’t acknowledged her. The way the car had stopped exactly where she stood. The way the window had rolled down without a word. It was as if the car had been waiting.
Tripti glanced down at her drenched bag, water dripping steadily from its edges. Despite the moisture, she decided it was worth trying, if her phone’s flashlight worked, she could finally get a glimpse of the driver. With trembling fingers, she reached inside and pulled out her mobile.
It was soaked through. Tripti pressed the power button once, then again nothing. The screen stayed black, lifeless. No light, no signal, no help. Her last hope of clarity had drowned with the device, leaving her encircled in darkness, both around her and within. Even the streetlights had gone out, swallowed by the storm. No flicker of lightning, no distant headlights. Just the relentless rain and the eerie silence of a city momentarily erased.
Tripti stared at the lifeless phone in her hand, a wave of frustration rising in her chest. She had counted on it, just a flicker of light, a glimpse of reassurance. But now, even that was gone. Her fingers tightened around the device as she fought the urge to panic.
She glanced sideways again. The driver hadn’t moved. Not a word, not a glance. Just the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the wipers. Her mind wrestled with possibilities, was this person dangerous? Or simply indifferent? Was she overthinking, or ignoring her instincts?
Suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence. A low, hoarse breath barely audible over the rain. Tripti froze. It wasn’t the sound of someone clearing their throat or sighing. It was slower, deliberate… unsettling.
Her pulse quickened. She considered speaking again, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she shifted slightly in her seat, trying to appear calm while her thoughts spiralled. She had entered the car out of desperation, but now, she wasn’t sure if she’d made a mistake.
The car turned sharply onto a narrower lane, one Tripti didn’t recognize. The street signs were barely visible through the rain, and the buildings looked unfamiliar, older, quieter, almost forgotten by the city. Her unease returned, stronger now.
“Excuse me this isn’t the way to Bandra West,” she said, her voice firmer than before. Still, no response. The driver’s hands remained steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead.
Tripti’s instincts screamed. She reached for the door handle, testing it - locked. Her breath quickened. “Please stop the car,” she said, louder this time. Nothing. Just the hum of the engine and the relentless rain.
And then, without warning, the car slowed and pulled over beside an old, dimly lit building. Tripti sat frozen, her drenched clothes clinging to her skin, the silence inside the car growing heavier with each passing second. The unfamiliar lane, the locked doors, the faceless driver—it all felt wrong. She pleaded “Open the door please.”
The pitch-black silence had settled around Tripti like a blanket. Her eyes, slowly adjusting to the gloom, scanned the shadows. As she turned, a shape emerged, still and unmistakable, a body sprawled across the back seat. The face was obscured, but the lifelessness was distinctive. Her breath caught, and her pulse thundered in her ears.
The driver spoke at last, his voice low and eerily mechanical, never once turning his head. “Someone’s dead at back. Hit by my car. Didn’t see a thing. Rain was coming down hard.” Tripti’s mouth went dry. The words echoed in her mind, chilling and surreal. She stared at the driver’s unmoving profile, trying to process what she’d just heard. No emotion. No explanation. Just those few words.
She reached for the door again, still locked. Her fingers trembled. The rain outside now felt safer than the silence within.
Tripti’s breath came in short, low bursts. Her eyes rushed between the driver and the lifeless figure in the back seat. Panic surged first raw and instinctive. She pulled at the door handle again, harder this time. Still locked. Her voice cracked as she shouted, “Open the door! Let me out!”
But then, something shifted. The driver hadn’t moved. Hadn’t turned. Hadn’t threatened. Just sat there, soaked in silence, his voice still echoing in her ears: “Someone dead… back seat. I didn’t see him. Heavy pour.”
Tripti’s panic gave way to a strange, aching identification. What if he was in shock? What if he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen? The rain could’ve blinded anyone.
Frustration flared. “You can’t just sit here,” she snapped. “You need to call someone. The police. An ambulance. You can’t leave him like that.”
Still, the driver didn’t move. Tripti leaned forward, her fear now tangled with fury and disbelief. “Say something. Do something. You hit someone. You can’t just drive around with a body in the back seat.”
And then, in a voice so low it barely rose above the storm, the driver whispered: “You murdered.”
Tripti froze. Her mind reeled. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
The car started again moving slowly, the driver said nothing more. Just stared ahead, unmoving, as the rain continued to fall and the truth, whatever it was, hung heavy in the air.
Tripti knew she couldn’t rely on her phone; it was soaked and completely unresponsive. But the dashcam was blinking, quietly recording. If she played this right, it could be her silent witness.
She placed her drenched bag on her right lap, angling it between herself and the driver, to discreetly block his peripheral view. With her movements masked, she leaned slightly forward, adjusting her scarf and brushing wet strands of hair from her face.
Each gesture was deliberate. She made sure to turn her head toward the dashcam, letting it capture her face, her soaked condition, and her visible discomfort. She even muttered softly, just enough to be picked up by the mic if it was recording. “I don’t know what’s going on… I just needed a ride.”
She didn’t need to touch the camera. She just needed to be seen. To be documented. To leave behind a trail that proved she was a passenger, not a perpetrator.
Tripti sat still for a moment longer, her heart pounding beneath layers of soaked fabric. She had done what she could, made herself visible, spoken just enough, and masked her movements. Now, she needed to get out.
She scanned the door again, remembering the small manual lock she’d felt earlier. Her fingers, hidden behind the umbrella and bag, slowly reached for it. She waited for a distraction—a bump in the road, a turn, anything to cover the sound.
Tripti sat frozen, her mind calculating every move. She had positioned herself in view of the dashcam, spoken just enough to be recorded. But she knew, if the driver sensed her intent to flee, he would accelerate. He’d vanish along with her.
She waited for the right moment. A loud noise to mask the sound. As a deafening clap of thunder rattled the car, she flicked the manual lock and pushed the door open in one swift motion.
Rain slammed into her as she leapt out, landing hard and rolling on the wet pavement to break her fall. A sharp pain shot through her ankle.
The car roared forward, accelerating fast, disappearing into the storm like a shadow fleeing the light.
Tripti didn’t waste time. The adrenaline rush made her ran toward the nearest lantern lit shop, a pharmacy still open, and burst inside, breathless and soaked. Her legs and hands were bruised and smeared with mud.
“Please,” she gasped to the startled pharmacist, “Do you have a landline. It’s urgent.” Luckily, he confirmed affirmatively.
Tripti knew she couldn’t rely on the dashcam alone. But she had created a trail clear, documented, and immediate. She had acted fast, spoken clearly, and left behind a timestamped footprint.
Tripti clutched the landline receiver, her hands trembling as she spoke to the police. “I just escaped from a car—there’s a dead body in the back seat. The driver didn’t speak, just said “Someone’s dead at back. Hit by my car. Didn’t see a thing. Rain was coming down hard.”
She paused, trying to recall anything useful. “I couldn’t see the license plate, it was raining too hard. But the car was a dark sedan, maybe black or navy. The interior smelled damp, like old leather. And a blinking dashcam near the rearview mirror.”
She described the route they took vaguely because of poor visibility: the turn into a narrow lane, the pothole that jolted the car just before she escaped, and the pharmacy she ran into. “He picked me up near the Rajabai Clock Tower, Fort. I was trying to book an Uber but couldn’t get one.”
The pharmacist, still dumbfounded, confirmed she had burst in minutes ago, drenched and visibly shaken. He offered to speak to the police himself, noting the time she arrived and her condition.
Tripti didn’t have hard evidence, but she had a comprehensible timeline, a witness, and vivid details that couldn’t be easily fabricated. She had done everything she could to protect herself from suspicion and to help the authorities track the driver.
After speaking to the police, Tripti borrowed the pharmacist’s phone once more. Her fingers trembled as she dialled her mother’s number. The moment the call connected, her voice cracked.
“Ma… I’m okay. But something terrible happened. I’m at a pharmacy at Kurla. Please don’t worry. The police are coming.”
Her mother’s voice, filled with concern and urgency, steadied her. “We’re here if you need us. Just stay safe and wait for them.”
Tripti sank into a plastic chair near the counter, her body finally registering the cold and exhaustion. The pharmacist, kind and quiet, handed her tissues and water. She accepted both with a grateful nod, her eyes fixed on the road.
When the police arrived, two officers stepped in, calm and attentive. Tripti stood and walked toward them, her voice steady now. She narrated everything again clearly, precisely. The rain, the car, the silence, the body, the escape. She described the route vaguely, the driver’s words, the dashcam, and the moment she fled.
The officers listened carefully, took notes, and asked a few clarifying questions. One of them spoke to the pharmacist, confirming her arrival time and condition. The other gently reassured Tripti, “You did the right thing. We’ll take it from here.”
They offered to drop her home. She accepted, grateful not just for the ride, but for the quiet dignity of being treated as a witness, not a suspect.
As the police car moved through the rain-soaked streets, Tripti leaned back, watching the city blur past. The night had tested her, but she was proud she had met it with clarity, courage, and grace.
The following day, after an exhilarating and hard-fought practice match, Tripti smiled to herself. The tension she’d weathered the previous night had reached such dizzying heights that even a meeting with the Managing Director felt surprisingly manageable in comparison. After that stormy ordeal, handling the MD was almost effortless, and by the end of their discussion, he was clearly impressed. She made sure she left home on time!!
