DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction and fan-created fantasy. All characters, settings, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional context for the purpose of fan enjoyment. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
The clock struck 5:00 AM in Mumbai’s Matunga district. The city was still stretching awake, but ACP Hema Malini was already up, dressed in her neatly pressed uniform, hair tied in a precise bun, her revolver holstered and her eyes clear with purpose.
In her home, the scent of fresh filter coffee drifted through the air. Hema moved quietly between the kitchen and her daughter’s bedroom, setting out breakfast before gently waking up 12-year-old Ananya.
“Come on, beta,” she whispered, brushing hair off her daughter’s forehead. “Big test today, right?”
Ananya stirred. “You’ll be back in time for my drama performance?”
Hema smiled. “I’ll try, sweetheart. You know duty comes first.”
“But… I’m playing Rani Lakshmibai!” Ananya pouted.
“And I’m her biggest fan,” Hema replied, kissing her forehead. “Now go get ready.”
By 7:00 AM, Hema was at the police station, briefing her team. A series of burglaries had struck residential neighborhoods, and today they were closing in on a suspect. Her commanding voice, calm under pressure, carried weight among her officers. She was fair but firm—respected not just for her rank, but for her unshakable principles.
Midday brought an update: the suspect had been spotted near the Dadar market. Hema sprang into action, leading the team herself. The chase was swift—across streets, over carts, through chaos. The man was cornered near a railway underpass. She stepped forward and disarmed him with precision.
“Tell me,” she said coldly, “do you steal because you need to… or because you think you’ll never be caught?”
He stayed silent.
Her cuffs clicked shut.
Back at the station, as officers celebrated the breakthrough, Hema glanced at the clock. 5:45 PM. The play started at 6.
Without waiting for applause, she handed over charge to her deputy. “File the report. I have somewhere important to be.”
She raced through evening traffic, her siren muted—this time, she was not ACP Malini, but simply Ananya’s mother.
She slipped into the auditorium just as the curtain rose. In the front row, breathless and beaming, she watched her daughter step onto the stage in full costume—sword in hand, voice ringing clear.
“Main apni Jhansi nahi doongi!”
Tears welled in Hema’s eyes. Not from pride alone—but from knowing she’d kept both promises.
After the play, Ananya ran into her arms. “You made it!”
“Of course,” Hema whispered. “The queen never misses the queen.”
