The night air was cool and crisp, starkly contrasting the oppressive atmosphere inside the Punjab Kesari newspaper office. Ayan stood on the balcony, taking a long drag from his cigarette. The glowing tip flared briefly in the darkness, casting fleeting light on his troubled expression. His eyes were fixed on the flickering TV screen through the window, where the same Spiritual Guru's teachings were broadcast on a local channel.

The Guru's voice carried a hypnotic blend of authority and serenity, words echoing eerily in the quiet night.

"You think you understand life, but life is far different from what you know. What you have seen and understood is not the truth—"

Ayan exhaled a plume of smoke, the Guru's words swirling in his mind, mingling with his doubts and fears. The juxtaposition of the Guru's calm teachings and the sinister reality he had just read about was almost too much to bear.

He turned his gaze to the darkened streets below, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the town. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog were the only sounds breaking the silence. The cold, indifferent stars watched over him, offering no comfort.

Adya walked onto the balcony, her presence a welcome distraction. She approached Ayan with a mix of determination and concern. Her divine beauty was almost otherworldly, her eyes shining with a light that seemed to cut through the darkness enveloping Ayan.

"You're not going to write that report, right?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Ayan took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes distant and contemplative. "Do I have a choice?" he replied, his tone tinged with resignation.

"Yes. Tell the Boss no. We won't write lies. We will get justice for the girl. He raped a 15 years old. You can't write anything to create a false good image for the Guru."

Ayan turned to face her, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes reflecting a deep inner conflict. "My job is to write. It's up to others to decide right or wrong, not me."

He flicked the cigarette away and walked back inside, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. Adya watched him go, her frustration and helplessness evident.

"Winning isn't everything, Ayan... reaching the top isn't everything," she called after him, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and hope.

Ayan's steps faltered for a moment at her words, but he continued inside, disappearing into the dimly lit interior. The balcony remained silent, a stark witness to the moral battle waging within him. The TV screen flickered on, the Guru's teachings continuing to broadcast, a constant reminder of the choice Ayan had to make.

The Punjab Kesari office buzzed with excitement three days later. The normally staid atmosphere was electric with celebration as the staff gathered around the Boss, who held the latest edition of the newspaper aloft like a trophy. His eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee as he basked in the glory of their apparent triumph.

"Wow, what a report! We've outdone all the other newspapers. This case has reached a whole new level," the Boss exulted, his voice ringing through the room. He grabbed Ayan by the cheeks, pulling him closer, his face brimming with pride and a touch of madness. "You're a gem, baby, a real gem! Ahh, I'm thrilled!"

Ayan stood stiffly, a forced smile on his face, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The weight of his decision still hung heavily over him, and the false praise only served to deepen the sense of betrayal he felt towards himself.

"But tell me," the Boss continued, his tone curious, "how did you manage to write such a game-changing article?"

Ayan took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Nothing much. I  went to the village, talked to the locals, and investigated the ashram. I caught the nerve of the case and wrote down what I understood."

The Boss laughed heartily, slapping Ayan on the back. "Wow! You're amazing! A journalist, a poet, a cop, a lawyer—everything rolled into one! What an article!" He read aloud from the newspaper, "Sanya did all this at the behest of her parents. According to the villagers, this whole story was concocted by Sanya's parents to extort money from Vinayak Babaji's trust fund to buy a house for their son—"

The Boss turned to a fellow reporter, thrusting the newspaper at him. "Read it, you too... Wow!"

As the room erupted in laughter and applause, Adya stood at the edge, her eyes fixed on Ayan. Her gaze was a mixture of disappointment and sadness, a silent accusation that cut through the celebratory atmosphere like a knife.

Ayan caught her eye and felt a pang of guilt. He knew what he had done, and her silent reproach was a reminder of the moral compromise he had made. The truth had been twisted, the innocent condemned, and the guilty exonerated, all for the sake of a sensational story and saving the Baba Vinayak.

The room continued to buzz with excitement, the staff oblivious to the silent drama unfolding between Ayan and Adya. The Boss reveled in the success, his face flushed with pride, completely unaware of the internal conflict tormenting his star reporter.