The call ended.
Silence filled the room.
Aanya slowly lowered the phone from her ear. Her heartbeat was so loud it felt like someone was knocking from inside her chest.
You opened it… didn't you?
Who knew?
Who was watching her?
She looked around the room instinctively, as if expecting someone to be standing in the corner.
Nothing.
Just the wardrobe.
The half-open drawer.
The metal box in her hands.
She locked the bedroom door.
If someone was playing a game, she needed answers.
Now.
The metal box had a small keyhole.
Her father always kept a key ring in the kitchen drawer. She ran to get it. Her hands shook as she tried one key after another.
The third key clicked.
The lock opened.
For a second, she hesitated.
Then she lifted the lid.
Inside were three things:
A photograph
A folded newspaper cutting
A small black diary
Her breath caught.
The Photograph
It was old. Slightly faded.
Five men standing together.
All smiling.
One of them—
Her father.
She looked closer.
Her stomach dropped.
She recognized two other faces from the newspaper articles.
The missing lawyer.
The missing professor.
They were all together.
All of them.
Under the photo, written in blue ink:
"17 July – The Pact."
The Newspaper Cutting
It was much older.
Ten years old.
The headline read:
"Young Man Found Dead Near Lake Pichola Under Mysterious Circumstances."
Her eyes widened.
Lake Pichola
The article mentioned five witnesses who were present that night.
Five names.
The same five men from the photograph.
Including her father.
Her throat felt dry.
This wasn't random.
This was connected.
The Diary
She opened it carefully.
The first few pages were blank.
Then—
A sentence.
"We promised never to speak of that night."
The next page:
"It was an accident. It had to be."
Further down:
"But someone saw us."
Aanya's vision blurred.
Someone saw them.
Someone knew the truth.
And now, one by one—
They were disappearing.
Suddenly—
A loud knock on the front door.
Aanya jumped.
Her heart raced again.
Who could it be?
Slowly, she walked toward the entrance.
Another knock.
Stronger this time.
"Police," a deep voice called out.
She opened the door slightly.
A tall man stood outside.
Sharp eyes. Calm expression.
"I'm Inspector Arjun Rathore," he said. "We need to talk about your father."
His gaze shifted past her shoulder—
Toward the house.
Almost as if he knew something was inside.
"Did your father ever mention Lake Pichola?" he asked quietly.
Aanya's blood ran cold.
Because she hadn't told anyone about the box.
Or the diary.
Or the photograph.
So how did he know?
Inspector Rathore looked at her carefully.
And then he said—
"Before this becomes worse… you need to tell me everything."
Behind him, dark clouds were gathering again.
Another storm was coming.