Burari Case Diary Notes Novels & Stories

We both looked at what was in the crawl space. A box. Small, wooden, the kind of plain undecorated thing you bought because you needed something to put something in and appearance was beside the point. And beside the box, laid flat and open, a leather journal. I reached for the journal. It was filled, cover to cover, in Indira’s handwriting. Small and exact and consistent, the handwriting of someone who wrote the way they thought. Methodically. Nothing wasted. I turned to the last entry. The date was two days ago.

Colton sighed and passed a file towards me, not even sparing a glance, his gaze accentuated on the Pepsi straw. I wiped my hands on a tissue and opened the blue file. Nathan had some kind of OCD so he had forced us to make a file and keep all the papers and notes and information nicely strapped in it. I opened the file and was greeted by Nathan's neat cursive handwriting. (A/N: Things can get confusing for you if you don't understand this. I know because even I got confused at the start) Rodrigo Barrett case. - Dead: Nick Mills, Partner. - Accused: Rodrigo Barrett.

After dinner,I asked Nicola to take him to his room and I went in the kitchen to bring luke warm milk for him with turmeric and other healing ingredients. When I entered in his room ,he was by the window . He was writing something.. perhaps in his diary .I recognize it's brown cover. "You should be in bed til now..Mr. Shekhawat.."I said sitting on the bed. He was too much lost in his writing that he didn't realize my presence in his room resulting him to flinch . He quickly closed his diary and turned to me. "So...many secrets must be in this diary.."I pointed at the diary.

I gave a half smile as I kept aside three CD plates having images and soundtracks of Brian. When I fondled further into the cupboard I could find a sizable diary, which had Brian’s name scribbled on it. Upon seeing the diary, I was puzzled and took it out “Welcome To My… Little Secret…” I read the first note on the dairy, and raised a brow when I flipped through pages to realize the uncountable secret he had written down. I am Scribbling down these little secrets in explicit sentences;

Near Rohini, Delhi A group of people was looking into the old records. They were in the premises of the records department. They were looking for a file of the juvenile suspect. It was found in the cupboard containing the files of the cases that had been closed. The person who found it handed it over to his fellow mate. ‘We’ve got the details,’ the person said to his fellow mates, when he opened and read the file. ‘Yes Sir,’ he replied. ‘We need to verify some of the details.’

I took a deep breath inhaling all the dust that had been stagnating in the room. 'The watchman has become blind ', I thought as I decided to lock the door again when I noticed something. A diary. I walked in and picked it up. Pink I'm colour, had to be a girl's diary. I walked out with it turning off the lights and locking the door again. I opened it. This Diary belongs to Akansha Goenka. The first sentence I read after opening it in fine cursive handwriting. It belonged to Akansha. Not that bad either.

His pen rested flat against the desk. Then it tapped once. Just once. She did not look at him. She opened her notepad and wrote a single word at the top of a clean page. Good. She tore it off. Slid it onto his side of the table without ceremony. He read it. Put it in his pocket. Neither of them said anything. When Zoya introduced the complaint record Harrison’s hand moved toward his legal pad. Raiyan put two fingers flat on the table. Harrison stopped. Raiyan looked at the document on the evidence board. The date. The county filing stamp. The third party name in the top left corner.

Besides that, there was also something very important inside! Xavia quickly took a bottle of water and walked over to him. “Young Master Burton, there is no coffee here, so why don’t you drink some water?” As she spoke, Xavia put the diary on the table away and hid it inside the drawer. Zivon knitted his brows. “Why? Is there something unseemly inside?” “No. It’s just my own personal notes. I’m afraid they might taint your eyes, Young Master Burton.” Personal notes?

The mending basket on the chair by the window had one less item in it than yesterday. Small things. I catalogued them the way I catalogued everything, and then I sat down at the kitchen table and made myself open the file. Brennan had been thorough. He always was. The file on Silas Bourgeard ran to fourteen pages of close handwriting, organized chronologically from his earliest years in Broken Arrow through his exile and the years of silence that followed. Brennan didn’t type anything; he didn’t trust computers. I read it straight through once. Then I went back to the beginning and read it again more slowly.

With trembling hands, I approached it, my fingers brushing against the rough wood. With a creak, I lifted the lid, revealing a treasure trove of forgotten memories. Among the yellowed pages and faded photographs, my gaze landed on a leather-bound diary. It was weathered with time, its once vibrant cover now worn and aged. I knew instinctively that this diary held the answers we had been searching for.