They didn't give her time.
Grief was acknowledged only with a look—brief, professional, empty.
"Mrs. Kashvi," the officer said firmly, clipboard already in hand,
"We need to ask you a few questions."
Not may we.
Need to.
The corridor suddenly felt narrower. Bhi
Kriday was taken gently to another room by a nurse despite Kashvi's instinctive resistance.
"I'll be right here," the nurse assured.
Kashvi nodded, forcing herself to let go.
The moment her arms were empty, the weight doubled.
They led her into a small room.
Two chairs.
One table.
One bulb buzzing faintly overhead.
A female officer sat across from her. Calm. Observant. Unsmiling.
Another officer stood near the door, arms folded.
"State your full name," the woman began.
"Kashvi," she replied. Her voice didn't echo. It disappeared.
"Relationship to the deceased?"
The word landed like a slap.
"…He was my friend."
The officer paused, pen hovering.
"Your former husband?"
Kashvi inhaled slowly.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"Were you aware of any threat to Mr. Ved's life today?"
"No."
True.
"And yet," the officer continued evenly,
"he was shot at your wedding."
Kashvi didn't respond.
"Let's talk about the wedding," the officer said.
"Did you notice anything unusual before the incident?"
Kashvi's mind replayed everything.
The calls.
The signals.
The stillness.
"Yes," she said carefully.
"I noticed tension."
"What kind of tension?"
"Emotional."
The officer's jaw tightened slightly.
"Multiple witnesses state you were on your phone several times during the ceremony," the officer said, eyes sharp now.
"Who were you speaking to?"
Kashvi looked at the table.
"I don't know."
The lie slid out smoothly.
Too smoothly.
"Mrs. Kashvi," the officer said quietly, leaning forward,
"A man is dead."
Kashvi's fingers curled into her palms.
"I know," she replied.
And that—more than anything—made the room colder.
The door opened briefly.
Another officer whispered something into the female officer's ear.
Her expression didn't change—but her eyes darkened.
"Your phone records show multiple calls to an unregistered number," she said.
"All within the last twenty-four hours."
Kashvi raised her gaze slowly.
"Yes."
"Who is that number registered to?"
"I don't know."
"Why were you coordinating timings?"
Kashvi froze.
Just for half a second.
Enough.
The officer noticed.
"Timing of what?" Kashvi asked softly.
The officer leaned back.
"Of movements," she said.
"Of presence."
A pause.
"Of opportunity."
Outside the room, Krish's raised voice echoed faintly.
"She planned this! She ruined everything!"
The sound made Kashvi flinch—for the first time since the shooting.
The officer watched closely.
"Did you want this wedding to happen?" she asked suddenly.
Kashvi swallowed.
"No."
"Did you feel trapped?"
"Yes."
"Did you believe this marriage would end your life as you knew it?"
Kashvi hesitated.
Then—
"Yes."
Silence fell like judgment.
"Mrs. Kashvi," the officer said carefully,
"If this incident was meant to frighten someone…
if it was meant to interrupt the ceremony…"
She leaned in.
"Why did the only man who died end up being the one person who stood closest to you emotionally?"
The question shattered the room.
Kashvi's breath caught.
Her composure cracked—not loudly, not completely—but enough for tears to finally fill her eyes.
"I didn't plan for him to be there," she whispered.
"I didn't plan for him."
The officer studied her for a long moment.
Then she closed the file.
"This interrogation isn't over," she said.
"Not by a long shot."
She stood.
"For now," she added,
"you're not under arrest."
Kashvi looked up sharply.
"But," the officer continued,
"you are no longer just a witness."
She paused at the door.
"You're a person of interest."
The door opened.
Light spilled in.
And with it—
the reality that whatever Kashvi had tried to escape…
She had walked straight into something far worse.