Burari Case Diary Notes Novels & Stories

I carried a sick child through it once, at two in the morning, and sat in that waiting room with her asleep on me, reading every notice on the wall twice over. The first three drawers gave up nothing worth having. The bottom one was locked, and it gave at the second try. Inside was a notebook, brown leather, soft with handling, a band around it. I carried it to the light and opened it, and stood there reading the end of my own life. It's not a diary. There aren't any opinions in it anywhere. Dates down the left margin, times beside them, each one checked against something else that happened that same day. At the top of the fourth page, lifted whole out of my own statement to the council, one

It was very difficult to find the documents of the owner of this diary. The Blue Sea pack had many warriors, he was a warrior many years ago, so finding his information was also extremely difficult. Everyone And I were waiting for the results but obviously it wasn't easy for the person in charge. I waited until I was tired. Meanwhile, I couldn't help thinking whether to cut him or not. My subordinates did this very quickly, but it took him a long time to find some information about the owner of the diary. “I will immediately call a handwriting examiner, while we will match any remaining information with the information in this diary.” The curator said, I noticed he was sweating. Maybe he was

With a shaky breath, I put them back in the box and looked at the diary. “Just do it, Nina. You need to know the truth.” I finally picked up the diary and undid the slim rope keeping the thick leather diary close. ____ A. Gupta

_Leah's POV_ I held my breath as I carefully wedged the diary behind the bathroom cabinet. My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to stay calm, to think clearly. Tariq couldn’t know I had discovered his secrets, not yet. I took one last look at the worn leather cover. The strange symbol on it seemed to mock me with its dark promises before I shoved it deeper into the hidden crevice. When I was satisfied that it was well-hidden, I straightened up and took a deep and steadying breath.

I set the box on the counter and opened it. Inside it were few papers, a folded document, a customized pen, and a book — small, dark spine, much more like a diary… sitting at the bottom with its pages slightly fanned from use. I lifted it out. And saw something fall out. A fold of paper, tucked into the spine so carefully it. I looked at it on the counter. Her handwriting on the fold. Just two words. No name, no address. Nothing to give it out. “In case.” I put it down. But something in me kept my body pulled at it. I looked at the diary and picked it up once more. And this time, I flipped it opened.

The second I saw the name on the tab, I stopped breathing. ​Isabella Moretti. My fingers tightened slightly around the folder. I already knew the name, but seeing it in Dante’s neat handwriting made it feel real. It felt heavy. Important. I opened it slowly, and my heart started thumping against my ribs. The folder was thick—too thick to be just a few memories. It was full of surveillance notes, old photos, letters, and records. I flipped through the pages, feeling like I was stepping into a room I wasn't supposed to enter.

No official stamp, no foundation logo, and personal notes, of course. Men like him always keep their own record of the damage. I reach for the top notebook first. He puts one hand over it. “Read carefully,” he says. “You may not like what memory looks like when someone writes it down without kindness.” Aurora steps in before I can. “Move your hand.” He does. Good. I open the first notebook. The first page is enough to make my skin crawl. Subject B – intake retention notes. Not Nadia, not a child, Subject B. I keep reading anyway.

I moved toward the nearest compartment. The panel opened immediately when I touched it. Inside rested a stack of thin folders. Real paper. Not digital storage. Paper. The sight felt strangely shocking. Everything inside Sublevel Zero revolved around technology. This did not. I removed the first folder carefully. The cover contained no name. Only a designation. SUBJECT 04. My pulse quickened. I opened it. Most pages had deteriorated. Others were partially erased. Yet enough remained to read. Psychological evaluations. Behavioral observations.

Forced the morning forward until Leah could not catch her own breath. This room refuses to rush. The gown, for the first time, is not allowed to hurry her. When the exterior documentation is finished, Dr. Ward steps back. “That completes the first stage.” The case remains closed. Leah stares at it. Some part of her had expected it to look different after being documented. Smaller perhaps. Less powerful. It does not. It is still a white case on a metal table. Still sealed. Still holding the silk that knows more than Leah can remember.

It opened, and I went in. The master bedroom layout was still exactly the same as it was before. Even the color of the sheets was exactly the same as when I went to the hospital to give birth five years ago. The only difference was that there were several notebook diaries on the bedside table, and they were all locked. It seemed that Austin had gotten into a habit of locking up everything important to him over the past few years. I picked up one of the diaries and looked at it. Some of the pages in the diary looked like they had been soaked because they were quite horribly wrinkled.