2.the news paper archive.
The symbol wouldn't leave her mind.
A circle.
Three lines cutting through it.
Aanya stood frozen near the door, staring at the muddy mark on the wooden floor. The rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy—like the storm hadn't truly ended.
It had only moved inside her.
Her father was gone.
No message.
No call.
No explanation.
Just a warning.
Trust no one.
By afternoon, the police had already come and gone.
"Maybe he went somewhere urgently," one officer said casually.
"Adults don't just disappear."
But Aanya noticed something strange.
They didn't seem surprised.
Almost as if they had seen this before.
That evening, when the house finally fell silent, Aanya opened her laptop.
Her hands trembled as she typed:
"17 July disappearance Udaipur."
Several old news links appeared.
Her breathing slowed.
She clicked the first one.
Headline (One Year Ago):
Local Shop Owner Missing During Heavy Rainstorm
The article was short.
No suspects.
No witnesses.
No body found.
At the bottom of the page was a blurred image taken by a neighbor.
Her heart skipped.
There it was.
The same symbol.
Near the shop entrance.
She opened another article.
Two years ago.
A retired lawyer.
Missing.
Heavy rain.
17 July.
Three years ago.
A college professor.
Missing.
17 July.
Rainstorm.
Every single case.
The same date.
The same storm.
The same symbol.
Five disappearances.
And now—
Her father.
Aanya leaned back in her chair, her mind racing.
This wasn't random.
This was a pattern.
And the police had to know.
So why did they act like it was normal?
Her eyes moved to her father's bedroom door.
The wardrobe.
He had told her not to open it.
Which meant…
There was something inside worth hiding.
For a moment, fear wrapped around her chest.
What if she found something she didn't want to see?
What if she found nothing at all?
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance—as if reminding her of last night.
Slowly, she stood up.
Each step toward the bedroom felt heavier.
The door creaked as she pushed it open.
The room smelled the same—old books and sandalwood.
The wardrobe stood in the corner.
Silent.
Waiting.
Her fingers hovered over the handle.
"Trust no one," she whispered to herself.
Then she pulled it open.
Inside, everything looked normal.
Clothes.
Files.
A small locked metal box.
Her heart pounded.
She pulled the box out.
It was cold.
At the bottom, scratched into the metal surface—
The same symbol.
But this time…
There was something written underneath it.
Three words.
"It begins again."
And suddenly—
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She hesitated.
Then answered.
A distorted voice whispered:
"You opened it… didn't you?"
The call disconnected.
Aanya stared at the phone.
Someone was watching.
And this was never just about her father.