In the evening, I cycled to the grave wearing a black jumpsuit, the wind brushing against my face as if it knew where I was headed.
Carrot ran ahead of me, stopping now and then to sniff the air, unaware of the weight I carried.
In my bag was a blueberry cheesecake, a bottle of champagne, her favorite flowers, and a letter I had written long ago — a letter I had planned to give her when I died.
But she had left before me.
I reached the grave and sat down slowly. The marble was cold beneath my fingers as I placed the flowers carefully in front of her name.
That's when I noticed it.
A fresh bouquet was already there.
The petals were bright. Newly placed.
My chest tightened, but I forced myself to breathe. It must have been someone from the family. It was her birthday, after all.
I poured champagne into two cups and cut the cheesecake into neat slices. My hands trembled slightly as I sang "Happy Birthday" under my breath.
"Happy birthday, Manya," I whispered. "You would have been twenty-seven today."
The words cracked as they left me.
"You wanted to be a mother. You wanted to marry Jai. You had plans. And now… it's all my fault."
I drank half the wine and slowly poured the rest onto the soil above her.
"I'm going to read you something," I said, unfolding the letter. "I wrote this for the day I would die. But you died first. So I'm reading it to you now."
Tears blurred the ink.
"Dear Manya… I know you think you're a jinx. But that's not true. It was never your fault that your parents died. It was someone else's. Someone we still haven't found. I promised I would find him for you. And if I fail, forgive me."
My voice trembled.
"You thought I was doing all that research for myself. I wasn't. I was doing it for you. You saved me. Until I was ten, I barely spoke. Not because I didn't like you — but because I was drowning in depression. But when I finally talked to you, it felt like you were my lucky star. I started eating again. I went back to school. I started living."
A chill ran down my spine.
I felt it.
That sensation.
Like someone was watching.
I turned around sharply.
Nothing.
Just shadows and trees.
"It's a public graveyard," I murmured to myself, trying to calm my racing heart.
I folded the letter and putted it to my pocket,
"Now that you're gone, my therapy sessions have started again. I can't sleep. I dream about you every night. I left your brother. We broke up. I distanced myself from Myra too. I don't want her to grow up with a depressed mother. I know you blame me for your death — and maybe you should — but"
A faint sound.
Gravel shifting.
I turned again.
Before I could see anything, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello? Who is this?"
Silence.
Then a calm male voice.
"You still talk to her."
My body froze.
"You've forgotten me, Samira."
"You. How could I forget?"
"I heard about your sister."
"You killed her."
A quiet chuckle came through the line.
"If I had, you wouldn't be standing there alone."
"Stop playing with me."
"I'm not playing. Your sister was searching for someone powerful. She got too close."
"Who?"
"You're looking in the wrong direction."
"Then tell me where to look."
A pause.
"Some men don't forgive even the smallest mistake."
"What mistake?"
"She asked a question she shouldn't have."
"And you? What are you?"
"Not your enemy."
"That's hard to believe."
"You'll understand soon."
"Then why call me?"
"To warn you."
"Warn me about what?"
"You're walking into something bigger than you think."
"Say his name."
"You're not safe talking right now."
"What does that mean?"
"I'll contact you again."
The line went dead.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the call.
I grabbed my bag and ran home with Carrot close behind me.
As soon as we reached, I left him inside and rushed to the secret base.
Manya's computer sat in the corner, untouched.
I switched it on.
The screen filled with files — documents, research folders, recordings.
One folder stood out.
"Secret."
My pulse quickened as I opened it.
A video file.
CCTV footage.
The day my brother had gone to her parents' house to tell them everything.
The audio was clear.
I leaned closer.
Then I saw him.
A figure standing beside the bushes.
Watching.
Following my brother.
I zoomed in.
Uncle Max.
Our butler.
A pistol was visible in his hand.
He hadn't just been there.
He had gone there to kill Mr. and Mrs. Shukla.
Suddenly, the security system beeped loudly. A red light flashed across the basement wall.
I switched to the live CCTV feed.
Someone was trying to climb over the outer wall.
I immediately called the police.
Within minutes, they arrived.
I stepped outside.
"What are you doing here?" the officer asked the man.
"Sir, I was watering the plants. I am their servant," he replied nervously.
"At night? Climbing walls?" I said coldly. "Since when do servants enter from walls instead of using the gate? And what kind of plants are you watering at this hour, Mister?"
The police took him into custody.
As I closed the gate behind them, something caught my eye near the ground.
A folded letter.
I bent down and picked it up.
And without opening it, I went back to the basement.