The Hidden Flame

Neha Bhatt couldn't place why anyone would drop off an envelope at the office specifically for her. The newsroom was a mess of deadlines and caffeine-induced rants, not a place for clandestine packages. But there it was — a crimson envelope that smelled faintly of incense and contained only words: *“Meet me on Diwali. Midnight. Old Haveli. Jaipur.”* She stuffed it into her bag and went on with her day, the festive clamor outside contrasting with her buzzing mind. Unlike the million lights adorning Jaipur's rooftops, this mystery only added to her shadows. Neha arrived in Jaipur just before Diwali. Her duties as a journalist had kept her away from her hometown for too long. The city had changed — but Jaipur never failed to embrace its chaos with a comforting warmth, especially during the festival of lights. Seeking answers, Neha resolved to visit the haveli. The night of Diwali glowed magnificently as if the whole earth was trying to outshine the stars. Families gathered on balconies, lighting colorful firecrackers that screeched and dazzled. Neha took a cab to the outskirts. The driver peered at her furtively when she mentioned the haveli, but she'd grown used to odd reactions. "Be careful, miss," he mumbled as she stepped out. "People say it's haunted." If supernatural spirits were all she had to deal with, she'd consider it a lucky break. The old haveli stood desolate but dignified, wrapped in tendrils of ivy and fading grandeur. As she pushed open the wrought iron gate, the hinges creaked, slicing through the silence. Her heart skipped a beat — anticipation and trepidation in equal measure. She entered the courtyard, its solitary fountain dry and melancholic. Her flashlight illuminated faint, peeling murals of past Diwalis, stories told by withering walls. As midnight closed in, she began doubting her decision, believing perhaps this was a wild goose chase. But then she heard soft footsteps. Neha pointed her flashlight, revealing an elderly man with eyes carrying the weight of untold stories. "You came," he whispered as if afraid anyone else might hear. She nodded, masking her nervousness with determined curiosity. "Who are you? Why am I here?" "Sandeep," he introduced himself, barely maintaining eye contact. "And I asked you here, because only you can help." Before Neha could question further, Sandeep handed her a sheaf of papers, hastily scrawled revelations about a proposed destruction targeting tonight's celebration. A group planned to sabotage the city's fireworks display — igniting chaos among thousands. Her heart raced, dread creeping in. "But... why tell me all this?" Sandeep looked up, the weight finally lifted. "Because my granddaughter — she was a journalist like you. Before..." His voice grew gravelly. "She died trying to expose them. You're the only one who knows how they work." Holding back tears, Neha understood. They had once been investigative partners but drifted apart over the years. Suddenly, this sabotage felt personal — a chance to honor her friend's legacy. Adrenaline fueled Neha as she set off a chain of phone calls that night, detailing how and when the sabotage would be enacted. Colleagues rallied, redirecting gear and manpower. As the hour closed in, Jaipur's usual chaos became a prelude to anticipated calamity. Then, just as orchestrated, news spread that the companies involved in the fireworks had been temporarily shut down due to "technical difficulties." To the thousands gathered, it seemed like an inconvenience. But to Neha's antenna, it marked success. Back at the haveli, past stories whispered on cool breezes. Neha tinkered with the idea of what could have been, what still needed remembering. She turned to Sandeep, who now bore a relieved smile. "Was it you who summoned me, Sandeep?" The old man shook his head, chuckling softly. "No, my dear. She did. I simply acted as the messenger."