A Valentine's Algorithm
Copyright© 2026 by Tantrayaan
Chapter 7
The drive back felt suffocating.
Vikram was behind the wheel, hands locked at ten and two. His thumb tapped a frantic rhythm against the leather. Tap-tap-tap. Pause. Tap-tap-tap. Like Morse code for something Inna couldn’t translate.
Then he started humming. Low and tuneless, just a vibration in his chest. It made Inna want to claw through the door and throw herself into traffic.
She sat pressed against the passenger window, her shoulder to the cold glass, watching the city blur past. A convenience store. Dark windows. A couple huddled under an awning, laughing about something.
Her hand was shoved deep in her coat pocket, fingers curled tight around the USB drive. The plastic edge bit into her palm.
But then she glanced at him.
The slump was gone. His shoulders had straightened. That haunted, hollow look was replaced by something terrifying. Clarity. Focus. Purpose.
She’d never seen him like this. Sharp. Dangerous. Completely present.
Alive.
And it hurt. God, it hurt. Because she’d done this. She’d helped him come back to life. Not for her, but for Elara. For the woman who’d left him shattered. For the ghost he’d been trying to resurrect for eight months.
Inna kept her face blank, but the sadness leaked through anyway. Her jaw wasn’t clenched in anger; it was set tight, like she was holding herself together. If she relaxed even a fraction, she’d break.
Vikram’s tapping stopped.
The silence changed. Went from absent to heavy.
He glanced over. His brows furrowed as he caught the curve of her mouth, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, the rigid set of her shoulders.
The memory hit him like cold water. Last night. The Anchor Bar. Amber light on the table between them. Inna’s quiet voice cutting through the noise.
I’m patient. Take the time you need.
She’d told him she liked him. Offered him a future when he thought he had none. Made herself vulnerable in a way he knew didn’t come easy.
And now, less than twelve hours later, he was dragging her across the city to help find the woman who stood in the way. The woman he’d been ready to marry. The ghost he’d been carrying like a stone in his chest.
Rama. What am I doing to her?
“Inna.” His voice lost its manic edge. Went low. Careful. He eased off the gas as they approached a red light.
She didn’t turn. Just kept staring out the window like the passing buildings were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
“Keep your eyes on the road, Vikram.”
“I’m sorry.” The words came out rough. “I’m being incredibly selfish. I just ... I’m asking you to do something that has to be difficult. After what you said last night.”
Inna felt the air turn to glass in her lungs. Hearing him acknowledge it was worse than his silence. It stripped the professional lie away. Made it real. Naked.
“I didn’t ask for an apology.”
“I know, but I should have been more...”
“More what?” She finally turned. Her eyes were hard. Flashing. “Mindful? Considerate?”
She let out a sharp breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“You found a lead in a cold case involving a woman you were going to marry. I’m a detective. This is the job. Don’t make it weird by bringing up a conversation over a drink. It’s irrelevant.”
Vikram flinched like she’d slapped him. “It isn’t irrelevant to me. You’ve been the only person who stayed. The only one who didn’t look at me like I was pathetic. I don’t want to hurt you while I’m trying to save her.”
“You aren’t hurting me.” The lie came out smooth. Professional. She straightened in her seat, retreating so far into her armor she felt untouchable. Hollow. “You’re briefing me on a case. I’m assisting. We’re partners. That’s the beginning and end of it. If you can’t keep your focus on the data, pull over and let me out.”
The light turned green.
Vikram didn’t move. Just stared at her for a second longer. He saw the wall. Saw the raw pain bleeding through the cracks.
He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her she mattered. That last night meant something.
But the coldness in her gaze told him any further kindness would be an insult. She needed professional distance.
So he gave it to her.
He turned back to the road and hit the gas.
The silence returned, but the manic energy was gone. The joy. The hope. What was left felt like driving through fog with the headlights off.
Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive.
They sat at his desk in silence. The workspace was chaos. Vikram’s table had three monitors glowing, cables snaking everywhere, empty mugs lined up like a tiny graveyard.
His hands shook as he plugged the USB drive in. Click. The soft sound of the drive mounting.
He opened the folder. A single file sat inside. No name. Just a string of random characters.
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