“Sir… I’ve never been with anyone before… not a woman, not a man. You’re the first person I trusted this much…”
But the eyes…
Rohan slowly looked up at Vikram.
His hands turned ice-cold.
— “Why do you have a picture of my mother?”
Vikram’s jaw tightened.
For the first time that night, his calm expression finally cracked.
He looked away, as if the answer itself was too painful to say out loud.
Rohan’s voice rose:
— “Answer me!”
Vikram closed his eyes for a second.
Then he whispered:
— “Because I was there the night you were born.”
Rohan stopped breathing.
The room seemed to tilt around him.
The blinking red light on the recorder suddenly felt louder than his heartbeat.
— “What are you talking about?”
Vikram reached back into the folder and pulled out one final document.
An old hospital birth record.
At the bottom of the page was Rohan’s name.
And beneath it…
was a signature.
His mother’s signature.
Rohan grabbed the paper with shaking hands.
Then he saw one line that made his knees nearly give out.
Father’s name: Unknown.
But under “emergency contact,” there was another name written clearly.
Vikram Rao.
Rohan looked up slowly, his eyes filling with terror and confusion.
— “Who are you to me?”
Vikram’s face went pale.
Before he could answer, a loud knock suddenly hit the hotel room door.
Both men froze.
Then a woman’s voice came from outside.
A voice Rohan knew better than anyone.
His mother.
— “Rohan… open the door.”
Rohan’s blood turned cold.
Because his mother wasn’t supposed to know he was there.
And she definitely wasn’t supposed to know Vikram.
But when Vikram heard her voice, he whispered one sentence that shattered everything Rohan believed about his life:
— “She found us too late.”
