The air between them had been tense for weeks, but neither of them could pinpoint when it started. Tonight, it was no different. Mridula sat on the couch the twins finally asleep in their room. Kalyan, just home from work, barely acknowledged her as he flipped through the TV channels, the remote clicking in rapid succession.

She tried to break the silence. "Did you have dinner at the station?" she asked, her voice soft.

Kalyan didn't look up. "Yeah," he muttered, eyes still on the screen.

"Do you think we should take the kids to the park tomorrow? You know to get them from fresh air. It might be nice for them."

He sighed, visibly irritated, his fingers tightening around the remote. "Mridula, not now. I just got home."

Her heart sank a little, but she tried again. "I'm just trying to plan the weekend, Kalyan. Maybe we can—"

"I said not now," he snapped, finally turning to face her. "Do you have to ask a question every second I walk in the door? Can't I have five minutes of peace?"

Mridula froze, her words stuck in her throat. She hadn't meant to annoy him—she just wanted to talk. To connect. But the space between them felt wider every day, and no matter how hard she tried, her attempts only seemed to irritate him more.

She turned away her chest tight with the growing silence between them. A silence that, bit by bit, felt like it was swallowing them whole.

29 September 2024

Time: 23:47

The night was quiet and eerie despite the distant sounds of other families living in the building, The air was thick with tension. The kind that weighs heavy on one's chest.

Kalyan sprinted up the stairs to the tenth floor ditching the idea of taking the elevator. He was too disorientated to wait for the lift. As he dashed to his house on the tenth floor, he pushed open the door in great urgency.

In his living room, Gautham was on a call pacing back and forth giving instruction over the call. At the sight of Kalyan, Gautham ended the call. "Kalyan," he said.

The dishevelled young father's face drawn tight with worry. Kalyan did not respond, his eyes immediately searching the room, frantic before they landed back on Gautham.

"Where is Mridu?" Kalyan asked, his voice tight.

"In the nursery," Gautham replied, stepping forward. He placed a firm hand on Kalyan's shoulder, grounding him. "She's shaken but Poornima is with her."

Kalyan nodded, but his gaze was distant, his body stiff with pent-up anxiety. Gautham could see the fear in his eyes, a fear he understood all too well. It wasn't just the fear of losing a child—it was the fear of being powerless to stop it, the fear of not being there.

"Tell me everything," Kalyan said, his voice low but tense. "Every detail."

Gautham nodded. "Poornima came over because she heard the baby girl crying for a long time. When she entered the room, she found Mridula holding the girl... and the crib empty."

"Mridula doesn't remember what happened?" Kalyan asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

Gautham sighed. "She's in shock. She told Poornima she put both babies down to sleep and she fell asleep in her room. When she woke up to check on them, the boy was gone."

Kalyan's fists clenched at his sides. "Someone came into our home and took my son under her watch. Under our watch! How did no one notice in this damn apartment?" His voice rose, laced with anger, grief, and guilt all tangled together.

Gautham kept his voice calm, but his eyes were sharp. "We don't know that yet. Right now, we focus on what we can control. I've already called a team in for a search. We'll get officers canvassing the area, checking surveillance cameras."

"I need to talk to her," Kalyan muttered, half to himself, already moving toward the nursery.

"Kalyan." Gautham's voice stopped him. "You're a father right now, not an inspector. She needs you to be with her, not to interrogate her."

Kalyan paused, his jaw tightening. He knew Gautham was right, but the instinct to find answers—to do something—was overpowering. He exhaled sharply and nodded.

"We'll find him," Gautham said quietly, his hand still resting on Kalyan's shoulder. "We'll find Vihaan."

Kalyan swallowed the knot of fear lodged in his throat and nodded again; this time more resolute. Without another word, he pushed open the nursery door.

The nursery door open slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. The soft whimpering of his daughter was the first sound to greet him, followed by a heavy silence that made the room feel stifling. Mridula sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the crib.

He swallowed hard. His throat dry as he stepped closer. The sight of her—so fragile, so broken—hit him like a punch to the gut. This was the woman he had once shared everything with. The woman who had given birth to their children just a few months ago. But now, there was a chasm between them that felt too wide to cross.

Mridula's face was pale, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

He crouched down beside her, unsure of how to start. "Mridu..."

But when her eyes landed on him, something shifted. For the first time in days—maybe weeks—her expression softened, and she let out a sob of relief.

"Kalyan..." she breathed, her voice cracking, barely able to get the words out. Her body trembled as she stood up, her movements shaky and unsure. "Kalyan, our son... he's missing."

Before he could respond, she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping tightly around him, as though holding on to him was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled against his uniform.

Kalyan froze for a moment, the weight of her anguish crashing into him. His own heart was pounding, his mind a blur of fear and guilt, but he knew he had to hold it together. He had to be strong—for her, for their family.

He placed his arms around her gently, pulling her closer as she cried, her whole-body trembling against his. He could feel the warmth of her tears soaking through his shirt, but he didn't care.

"Shh... it's okay. I'm here." he whispered, though his words felt hollow, his voice strained. How could he tell her it was okay when their son was missing? How could he make promises he wasn't sure he could keep? But in that moment, all he could do was hold her, try to soothe her as her world crumbled around them.

Poornima, standing nearby with their baby girl, glanced between the two of them, her own expression filled with worry. She carefully shifted the baby in her arms and quietly excused herself from the room, slipping out without a word to give them the space they needed.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Kalyan and Mridula alone in the soft glow of the nursery light.

Mridula sobbed uncontrollably in his chest. Her words choked as she spoke. "I swear I put them both to sleep. I don't what happened... When I woke up, Vihaan wasn't there..." Her breath hitched. "I searched everywhere... what if someone took him or... or what if something terrible happened?"

Kalyan tightened his grip on her, trying to stay composed, but every word she spoke felt like a knife twisting in his gut. His mind raced with all the worst possibilities, the fears that had haunted him from the moment Gautham had called. But he couldn't show it. Not now.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice thick with the weight of his own helplessness. "But I swear to you, I will find him." He cupped her face in his hands, brushing away the tears that streaked down her cheeks. "I promise you, Mridu, I'll do everything I can to bring him home."

Mridula's lip trembled as she nodded, though her eyes were still filled with fear. "I was so scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't know if you would come. I didn't know..."

Kalyan's chest tightened at her words. "Shh... I'm here now," he repeated, his voice firmer this time. "I'll always be here."

She collapsed against him again, her body shaking with fresh sobs. Kalyan held her tightly as his mind spined. He had been distant, and he knew it. The job, the long hours, the unspoken resentment that had built up between them—it had all taken its toll. But none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was finding their son.

As Mridula cried against his chest, Kalyan forced himself to stay composed, though every fibre of his being wanted to break down with her. His instincts as an inspector were already kicking in, the gears in his mind turning as he tried to piece together what could have happened. But there was no room for doubt, no time for fear.

"We'll find him," he said again, this time more to himself than to her. He wasn't sure if it was a promise or a prayer, but he clung to it as the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

~ In silent embrace, he promised to find their missing son ~