The handcuffs were cold against Nisha Joshi’s wrists. She sat in the dimly lit interrogation room, her fingers clenched into fists on the steel table. The fluorescent light overhead flickered, casting shadows across the cracked concrete walls.

She had been in this very room before—but never on this side of the table.

Across from her, resplendent in her tidy uniform, ACP Meera Sharma sat with authority, but her brown eyes betrayed something more—doubt, struggle, perhaps even remorse.

Nisha's tone was calm, but her chest thudded with a pounding heart. "You don't really believe this, do you?"

Meera let out a sharp breath, pushing a case file across the table. "We have evidence, Nisha."

Nisha didn't even bother to look. She knew the case was a setup. Someone had framed her. The question was, why?

"I didn't murder anyone," she said, her voice soft but resolute.

Meera's lips compressed into a thin line. "Then prove it."

***

Twelve hours ago.

The day began as any other. Nisha had entered the Anti-Corruption Bureau (ACB) office, her black blazer properly buttoned, coffee in hand. She was one of the department's top officers—keen, dogged, and not afraid to bring anyone down, however influential.

Her most recent case had involved a prominent politician, Manohar Verma, accused of laundering billions via shell companies. The case against him was solid. She had spent months gathering witness testimony, financial documents, and surveillance recordings.

Tomorrow, she was set to arrest him.

Tonight, she was the one under arrest.

It came quickly. A group of officers burst into her apartment. No warrant. No warning. Charges of murder. The victim? A government informant who had been assisting her on the Verma case.

Now, in the interrogation room, she knew precisely what had occurred.

She had come too close to the truth.

And the individuals she was about to reveal had framed her to ensure she never had the opportunity.

But what she didn't anticipate—what hurt more than the betrayal itself—was that the case against her was prosecuted by Meera.

***

Nisha and Meera had been like sisters.

They had gone through the police academy together, goading one another through intense training exercises, basking in their triumphs, flushing their defeats down cheap roadside chai. They had envisioned purifying the system, battling corruption, delivering justice where others dared not.

But five years earlier, it all had changed.

A case. A powerful tycoon. A disappearing witness.

Nisha had been determined to take the case to court. Meera had begged her to let it go.

“We can’t fight this, Nisha. You don’t understand how deep this goes.”

But Nisha hadn’t listened.

The next day, crucial evidence vanished. Witnesses disappeared. And Meera—her own best friend—testified against her.

Nisha had won the case, but the cost had been high.

She lost Meera that day.

And now, five years on, her so-called best friend was the one sitting opposite her, seeing her world disintegrate.

***

Nisha knew one thing for sure.

If she remained there, she wouldn't make it.

The individuals who conspired against her weren't just seeking to destroy her career—she needed to die.

So, she did what she had to do.

She waited.

Hours went by. The officers outside became sloppy. She knew the drill—at 2 AM, the shift changed. Security would be relaxed for a few minutes.

When the moment arrived, she slumped forward, her breathing slowing, her body still.

A guard burst in, pushing her shoulder. "Hey, wake up."

She did not stir.

Alarm broke out. "Get the doctor!"

The second the officer turned, she moved. With a single motion, she elbowed him in the ribs, took his gun, and locked him in the room.

Then she ran.

Through the deserted corridors, down the stairs. She knew the blind spots. Knew where the cameras couldn't reach. In minutes, she was out, vanishing into the dark alleys of the city.

She wasn't running for her life alone.

She was running to uncover the truth.

***

Hiding in an abandoned warehouse, Nisha pulled out her phone. She had one contact she could trust.

Raghav.

An ex-intelligence officer, now a hacker-for-hire, Raghav owed her a favor.

“I need information,” she said the second he picked up. “On my case. Who set me up?”

Raghav hesitated. “Nisha… you’re not going to like this.”

“Just tell me.”

A pause. Then—

It was an inside job. One of the force members assisted in framing you."

Nisha's hand clinched. "Who?"

There was no answer on the other end.

Then Raghav breathed the name that froze her blood.

"Meera."

***

Two nights after that, Nisha confronted Meera in her apartment.

The woman whom she had previously trusted with her life stood motionless, gun placed squarely in front of her.

"You knew I was innocent," Nisha told her, voice perilously level. "You knew, and you still let them set me up."

Meera did not deny it.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, her hands shaking. "They threatened my family. If I didn't do it, they were going to murder my brother."

Nisha's heart hammered. She wanted to hate Meera. Wanted to think of her as nothing but a traitor.

But she knew, deep down, that fear was a formidable thing.

You had a choice, Meera," she told her. "And you chose to betray me."

One tear trickled down Meera's face. Then, hesitantly, she inserted her hand into her desk drawer.

Pulled out a file.

Nisha's eyes hardened.

"These are all the names," Meera breathed. "The people who framed you. The ones who wanted you dead."

Nisha accepted the file, scanning the pages. Names. Bank transfers. Evidence.

Meera stood her ground. "Let's end this.

And for the first time in years, Nisha laid eyes on the friend she used to know.

***

A month later, the headlines burst.

"High-Ranking Officials Arrested in Corruption Scandal."
"ACP Nisha Joshi Cleared of All Charges."

The perpetrators who had set her up were in jail. The system had been rattled.

And Nisha?

She stood atop the ACB headquarters' rooftop, gazing out over the city she had almost given her life to defend. The gentle night breeze caressed her face, redolent with rain.

Meera appeared beside her, standing in silence.

Finally, after a lengthy silence, she spoke.

"I don't anticipate forgiveness," Meera whispered. "But I wish to correct the wrongs. If you'll give me a chance."

Nisha looked at her. The woman standing in front of her wasn't only the officer who had betrayed her. She was the friend who had fought alongside her, who had shared cups of chai with her, who had stood up for her in a way no one else ever had.

There was pain between them, but so was history.

Taking a deep breath, Nisha fished into her pocket and produced a small packet. Meera scowled as Nisha extended it to her.

Ginger chai. Their favorite.

Meera's lips trembled into a smile as she accepted it. "Is this…?"

"A truce," said Nisha. "Let's begin again."

Meera let out a shaky breath, then nodded.

They stood there in silence for a moment longer, the burden of the past still heavy, but no longer insupportable.

Then, with a tiny smile, Nisha elbowed Meera in the shoulder.

"Come on," she said. "You owe me a cup of chai."

And in that instant, the connection they had lost started to heal.