Chapter 10: The Face Behind the Silence

Pranav sat across from Nithiya in the modest living room of Aravind’s home, his eyes calm but mind racing with connections forming faster than he could voice them.

"How is Aravind as a person?" he asked gently.

Nithiya smiled, almost sadly. "He’s good, sir. A very genuine person. In college, he did propose to two girls... maybe once or twice. But they rejected him. I don’t know the full story, though. He never talks about it. It’s like a part of his past he sealed off."

Pranav nodded, already suspecting the direction things were heading. "Yesterday, where was he around afternoon?"

"At school," Nithiya said without hesitation. "Even though it was a Sunday, he said he had some annual day work. He left by 1 p.m. and returned in about two hours."

Murali, who had been standing quietly near the window, suddenly leaned forward and whispered into Pranav’s ear, “That’s the time I learned Saravanan was dead, sir. I was with Saravanan untill noon."

A chill passed over Pranav’s spine, but he gave a brief nod and continued. "What about the girls from college? What were they like?"

Nithiya thought for a moment. "They were good girls. Most conversations were just typical college stuff — who was the prettiest, which boys liked whom. Everyone was bright, smart. Some were older batches, some juniors. But we all got along."

Pranav let the conversation flow naturally. "And how’s your school doing now? Does Aravind only work here in Coimbatore?"

"Mostly here, sir," Nithiya answered. "But sometimes he travels to Chennai for investment summits or to meet donors and trustees to raise funds for the school."

Pranav silently noted the specificity. He excused himself momentarily and called Thameem aside and whispered into his ears.

Thameem nodded and moved away discreetly, phone already in hand. Moments later, the wall clock struck 5 p.m.

Aravind walked in.

He wore a pale blue kurta, a little worn at the seams. His frame was tall, but his walk was slow, shoulders hunched like they bore a weight unseen. His face — affected by Parry-Romberg Syndrome, a real and rare condition that causes progressive facial atrophy — was partially sunken on the left, distorting his smile, and giving an unsettling asymmetry.

"Did they eat?" he asked his wife in a surprisingly soft voice — one that didn’t match his commanding posture. That voice. It triggered something in Pranav, recalling the old security guard’s comment: His voice wasn’t normal, sir. Like he was trying to be someone else.

“All good, Aravind. Thanks for asking,”

Pranav replied, watching him closely.

Aravind nodded and headed into the bedroom to change.

Pranav turned to Murali. "Check his car’s FASTag logs. Quietly. See if it crossed the toll yesterday — and when."

Murali vanished into the hallway. Meanwhile, Pranav and Mitra casually initiated conversation with Aravind when he returned. They kept it light at first — about school, real estate, local issues — until Pranav started slowly laying out images: the apartment buildings, blurry security cam photos of security guards.

Aravind grew visibly tense. "Sir, I don’t know what this is, but you're at the wrong house. Do you have any kind of warrant for this? Please leave."

Pranav leaned back. “You think we’re here without cause? Aravind, we’re far from over. I know you did it. But I need to know... why?”

Before Aravind could respond, Thameem walked in with a tablet. The data was clear — Aravind had boarded flights to Chennai five days prior to every single murder, telling Nithiya each time that it was for investment meetings. The patterns aligned like puzzle pieces.

Murali returned too. "Sir, FASTag shows he left the city at 1:30 p.m. and returned at 2:15. That’s the exact window when Saravanan was killed."

Aravind’s face went pale. He looked at the photos, the timestamps, the evidence.

Pranav placed the thick file down. "I’m asking again. Why?"

Aravind exhaled sharply, like the dam within him cracked open. His eyes welled up. His voice, now trembling, began:

"They used to call me a freak... worm… monster. In college, it started early. I was never popular — but Sowmya, Haseeba, Vaishali, and Latha — they spoke to me kindly at different times. It meant the world to me. I misunderstood it as something more. I proposed to them, one after another over the years at college… and was rejected every time. And then… the teasing began. Not just from them. From everyone."

He paused. Mitra and Murali sat still. Nithiya stood frozen.

"They’d laugh at my face. Say I didn’t belong. That I was lucky even to be allowed in college with 'half a face'. I would’ve lived with that. But they didn’t stop."

He glanced at Nithiya. "She accepted me. On the last day of college, I proposed again. She said yes. We married a year later. But the mocking didn’t stop. They started teasing her. Said she had no better options. That two 'defectives' belonged together, but nithiya was perfect just because she married me, she was called defective.

His voice broke.

"I didn’t want to kill. I wanted justice. Not legal justice — the kind that changes how people look at themselves. I wanted them to fall. To crumble. To feel what I did. I didn’t torture them. I planned it... pushed them from heights. No blood. Just... silence."

He looked at Pranav. "I followed them, stalked them, understood what, where and how they lead their daily life. Slowly I gave them fears, by sending photographs of them anonymously, sending voice messages and other things to create fear of being followed and noticed".

Breaking up, Aravind continues, "Saravanan helped me and so does every security for all the murders. I paid them. Disguised myself as security, stayed in tents, studied buildings, used different guards each time. When I was done, I vanished. Nobody suspected the man in the shadows."

He slumped, tears flowing now. Nithiya sank beside him, devastated.

Thameem called to the control room.

Two plainclothes officers entered silently.

Pranav stood. "Aravind K., you're under arrest for all the 12 murders including Saravanan."

As they cuffed him, Aravind didn’t resist. He looked at Pranav with hollow eyes.

"You saw the monster. But once, I was just a boy who wanted to be seen."

---

As they boarded the flight back to Chennai, Commissioner Ravichandran called.

"Excellent work, Pranav. Your first case as Cold Case Unit — cracked. I want you in my office Once you return. There’s another case. A personal one."

Pranav nodded. "Yes sir. Will do."

He hung up and looked out the plane window. The clouds drifted quietly, but his mind was stormed.

So many killers aren't born that way — they are built. Slowly. Layer by layer. By laughter, shame, mockery. By wounds that never heal.

Behind every crime is a mind. And behind every mind, a story. Most stories never get heard. But when they do—it isn’t to justify the horror. It’s to understand where the horror was born.

He turned to Mitra and whispered, "We caught a killer today. But we also caught a tragedy."

She nodded. The plane soared on.

-DARK SCRIBE

THE END