Pramila and her Ravi were sitting together on the living room floor, giggling as they played a board game. Her two young kids were in the other room, watching cartoons, unaware of the storm looming in their lives. After a while, Ravi kissed her cheek and stood up to leave.
“Kal phir milte hain, jaan,” he whispered.
As soon as Ravi left, Ramesh, entered the house. He had returned early
from work. Pramila, still flushed, quickly composed herself.
“Aaj jaldi aa gaye?” she smiled.
“Haan, socha tumse mil loon,” Ramesh replied warmly. They had a normal, affectionate conversation. He seemed loving and gentle, but as Pramila walked into the kitchen humming, his face darkened for a moment—just a flicker of something unsettling.
Meanwhile, Ravi was out with his friend Sanjay, boasting loudly.
“Bhai, Pramila kya cheez hai! Kya rang dikhati hai bistar mein,” he laughed.
Sanjay looked uncomfortable.
“Band kar yeh sab, Ravi. Achhi baat nahi hai. Shadishuda hai wo.”
One evening, Ravi met Pramila again and tried to convince her to run away with him.
“Chal bhag chalte hain, sab chhod ke,” he said eagerly.
Pramila frowned.
“Pagal hai kya? Main unhe chhod ke kahin nahi jaa rahi. Mujhe mere bacche aur pati dono se pyaar hai. Bas tu bada sexy lagta hai, isliye milti hoon.”
But Ravi didn’t back down. He got angry and grabbed her face.
“Agar tune mujhe chhod diya na, jaan se maar dunga,” he said with a voice that was both threatening and oddly intimate.
The kids, standing silently in the hallway, watched this interaction with blank expressions—mute witnesses to a reality they couldn’t fully understand.
A few days later, Ramesh started suspecting something. He and Pramila had a heatedargument one night, though nothing was resolved. The next morning, Ramesh told her he was leaving for a short trip. Before leaving, he stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at a small storage crawl space in the living room.
“Main ek hafte ke liye jaa raha hoon,” he said to Pramila.
As he turned to leave, his son popped out of that very crawl space, laughing, startling him.
Later that night, Pramila was seen making love to Ravi in the bedroom. Unknown to them, someone was hiding in the crawl space, filming everything.
The next day, Pramila was found dead in her bedroom—strangled. The children had seen her body and were in shock.
Police began their investigation. Ramesh, having just returned, claimed he was out of town.
Ravi, on the other hand, had visible injuries—a bandaged head and scratches.
Police questioned him.
“Yeh chot kaise lagi?”
“Gir gaya tha bike se,” Ravi muttered.
They also interrogated the children, but both were too traumatized to speak.
Ravi’s friend Sanjay was brought in for questioning. He looked nervous.
“Mujhe lagta hai Ravi ne hi kiya hoga. Uska obsession alag hi level ka tha,” he said.
Neighbors told police they had heard loud arguments between Ramesh and Pramila days before the murder. With no clear alibi and growing suspicion, police arrested Ramesh.
But the case took a turn when forensic teams found foreign DNA under Pramila’s fingernails and on her clothes. Samples were taken from everyone involved.
Days later, the truth emerged. The DNA matched Sanjay.
In the police station, Sanjay broke down.
“Woh raat main chhupke Pramila ke ghar gaya tha mask pehan ke… jab unka scene chal raha tha, toh video banane laga. Dono ko sath dekh nahi paa raha tha, jalan itani badh gayi ki mai nikala almari se or maara Ravi ke sar par lohe ki baat se. Aur fir Parmila ko kitna samjhaya ki meri ho ja. Par saali mane na. Jabardasti me mera mask gir gaya. Usne pehchaan liya toh darr gaya… aur use bhi us lohe ki baat se maar diya.”
As for Ravi, he had fled in panic after being attacked. His injuries came from a scuffle with Sanjay.
Ramesh’s story was finally believed—he had passed out drunk and fallen into a drain on the night of the murder, something confirmed by CCTV footage near a liquor shop.