Over the weekend, I watched the first season of Criminal Justice on Jio Hotstar. This was largely thanks to the YouTube algorithm, which has started putting snippets from the latest season of the web series in my feed. I ignored for a while, but then Pankaj Tripathi is hard to ignore. And then, with names like Pankaj Tripathi, Jackie Shroff, Vikrant Massey, and Mita Vashisth in the credits, expectations were there. And the series delivers — taut, slow-burning, and quietly brutal in all the right places. But, as always, what caught my eye were not the performances basking in the limelight.

I’ve always had a fascination for the characters without whom the story wouldn’t exist — but who rarely get named in summaries or spotlighted in reviews. Russo in Reacher season 2, Gauri Bhaiya in 12th fail, and others. In the first season of Criminal Justice, two such figures stood out: Avni Parasher and ACP Raghu Salian.

Avni Parasher is Aditya’s sister. She does not speak often, and she certainly doesn’t perform grief the way television often demands it. But her presence is undeniable. She is the steady heartbeat of a family spiraling into confusion and media hysteria. While everyone else is panicking, resigning, or doubting, Avni becomes the quiet keeper of faith. There is something quietly magnificent about her belief — not loud, not performative — just this calm, unyielding conviction that her brother deserves to be heard.

And she does all this while carrying a child and later as a new mother. In one of the scenes, where she has to establish that she can be a good single mother to her child, she says –

“Jab se college se nikli hoon, main kabhi ghar par nahin baithi. Pichla job bhi bahut hi unethical way se mujh se chheena gaya hai. Par main kaabil hoon, aur main koshish kar rahi hoon. Aur I know sab achha hoga.”

This is Avni’s strength, in one scene.

Her struggles are never front and center, never milked for sympathy. But they are there — the pregnancy, the quiet strength of a woman who is about to give birth while holding a family together, a new mother who doesn’t want to live with her husband anymore. Her calm is not just strength; it is sacrifice. She is not only a sister and daughter, but also a mother in the making. And yet, her focus never wavers. She stands beside her brother, walks alongside her parents, and somehow becomes the stabilizing force everyone else draws from. It’s easy to dramatize emotion. Much harder to portray strength as something calm and competent. The story could have easily functioned without her arc being so pronounced. But without Avni, there is no anchor. No slow, consistent resistance to despair.

Rucha Inamdar, who plays Avni, delivers this balance with exceptional grace. Understated but unforgettable.

And then there’s ACP Raghu Salian. When we first meet him, he’s the system incarnate — cool, controlled, with a veneer of indifference sharpened by a lifetime spent examining crime in all its variety. But beneath that control, there is rage. Personal rage. He is a father to a 15-year-old girl. And when he sees the crime Aditya is accused of — rape and murder — something personal ignites. In his book, there is no forgiveness. Aditya must hang. It’s not just professional duty. It’s paternal fury, a sense of justice so absolute that it blinds him to doubt.

But then, Raghu changes. Not in a dramatic, cinematic redemption. But in a series of increasingly human choices. He listens. He revisits. And he takes responsibility. That moment when he chooses to act differently — not because someone forces his hand, but because he knows something was missed — is rare. Rare in real life, rarer still in screenwriting.

Pankaj Saraswat, in this role, adds a surprising emotional weight — portraying not just power but the vulnerability that comes with seeing one’s own mistake.

What these two characters show is that justice isn’t a verdict. It’s a process — long, fraught, and often shaped by those who are never thanked. Avni and Raghu are not the leads. But they are the spine.

There’s something beautiful about that. About the ones who hold the line while the spotlight drifts elsewhere. The ones who make sure the story still has a soul.

These are the people I watch for. And these are the stories I want to remember.