Rain dripped from the edge of the CBI headquarters in Mumbai like the sky itself was sweating secrets. The corridors were dimly lit, humming with fluorescent light and soft murmurs of agents exchanging files and glances.
A agent she is just 24, wasn't in the mood for whispers.
She sat at her desk, flicking through pages of a confidential report, her leg bouncing under the table. Her coffee had gone cold an hour ago. On the surface, she looked composed - crisp ponytail, sharp jawline, black shirt perfectly buttoned. But her eyes were tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep cures.
The kind of tired that clings.
"Another late night?" her partner, Officer Bhasin, asked casually, sitting across from her.
"I don't sleep much," she said, not looking up.
"That makes one of us. I'd sell a kidney for a nap." He dropped a folder on her table. "Got a fresh one. Disappearance in Pune. Wealthy businessman. No ransom call. No sign of struggle. He left home at 11:00 PM and vanished into thin air."
She finally looked up. "How long's he been missing?"
"Three days. Family's losing their mind. The guy's name is Ramesh Kothari. And guess what? He was supposed to meet someone that night. No record of who."
She flipped through the photos - smiling family portraits, business events, his empty car found outside city limits.
"You think it's connected to the other vanishings?" she asked.
Bhasin hesitated. "Too early to say. But yeah. It smells the same. All mid-level businessmen, clean records, no enemies, no warning. Gone without a trace."
Her jaw clenched. Something about the pattern was wrong. Too clean. Too convenient.
She hated clean disappearances.
By evening, She was driving down the coastal highway, rain splattering against the windshield like static. The Bureau hadn't officially assigned her the Kothari case, but she didn't wait for permission when her gut said something isn't right.
The last location pinged on Kothari's phone was a quiet highway motel near Lonavala. She stopped there.
The motel owner was a thin, tired man with trembling hands.
"I told the police everything," he said nervously.
"Tell me again," She replied.
He sighed. "The man checked in. Alone. Room 304. Didn't ask for food, didn't make a sound. Checked out within two hours. But when the staff went to clean the room... the bed hadn't been touched. Like no one was there."
"No footage?"
He shook his head. "CCTV was down that night. Power glitch."
How convenient.
"Anything else strange?"
The man hesitated, eyes shifting. "You won't believe me."
Her stare was calm but firm. "Try me."
He swallowed. "One of the housekeepers... said she saw someone else in the mirror when she walked past his room."
She didn't react. "Did you?"
He shook his head. "I don't look in mirrors after dark."
Back in her car, she sat for a while, letting the wipers rhythmically clear the fogged windshield. Her fingers hovered over the folder. Something inside her already knew:
This wasn't just a missing persons case.
It felt familiar. Not logically - but somewhere deeper. Somewhere she didn't visit often.
She opened her notebook and scribbled:
> Kothari - Shah connection?
304. The number again.
She paused.
That number had shown up before. In another file. A different case. Same pattern.
Same silence.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Message:
> "Stop digging before it sees you."
She stared at it. No name. No emoji. No typing dots.
Just that one sentence.
Her reflection in the rear-view mirror stared back at her, rain blurring the outline of her face.
But... she didn't remember tilting her head.
Who is that man what is his connection with shah who is shah, who is she?
.......END OF CHAPTER 1...