Mridula sat on the park bench, staring down at her phone, the rejection email still open on the screen. Her heart felt heavy, her chest tight. The job interview she had worked so hard to prepare for—her dream job—had slipped through her fingers.

She barely noticed Kalyan approaching, his footsteps light on the gravel path. He sat down beside her, sensing her mood without needing to ask.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm and steady. "How'd it go?"

Mridula sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I didn't get it, Kalyan. They chose someone else."

Kalyan didn't respond right away. He watched her for a moment, letting her words hang in the air. Then, gently, he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone full of sincerity. "I know how much this meant to you."

She blinked back tears, staring out at the trees. "I thought I was good enough. I thought this was my chance..."

"You are good enough," Kalyan said firmly, turning to face her. "This is just one setback, Mridula. It doesn't define you. You're going to find something even better. I know it."

Her eyes met his, searching for the belief she couldn't quite feel herself. "But what if I don't?"

Kalyan smiled softly, squeezing her hand. "Then we'll figure it out together. But I have no doubt that you will. You're capable of so much more than you think."

His words, and the unwavering confidence in his voice, wrapped around her like a warm blanket. He had always been her warm blanket.

30 September 2024

2.30 a.m.

It was 2:30 a.m. when Gautham finally called for the investigation to halt inside the apartment, giving Kalyan and Mridula the space they desperately needed. The past few hours had been a whirlwind of questions, tension, and mounting dread, but the exhaustion was now setting in, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Officers lingered outside following up on the few leads they had gathered, while Gautham spoke quietly with his team, giving final instructions for the night. As the officers dispersed, he remained near the apartment doorway, his sharp eyes still scanning the scene.

Inside the apartment, Mridula had retreated to the bedroom with their daughter, her body barely holding up against the grief and fatigue. She needed rest, or at least some semblance of it. Kalyan, however, remained in the living room, his face drawn with worry, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Aarushi had stayed behind. Though Gautham had given the parents space, she refused to leave, insisting on being there for moral support. At first, it seemed like a natural thing for a close friend to do, but now, Gautham noticed something that made him pause. Her presence, her interactions—they were mostly with Kalyan, not Mridula.

He watched as Aarushi approached Kalyan, her voice low and soothing as she tried to calm him. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, speaking softly, reassuring him with a familiarity that struck Gautham as... off. Too intimate.

Kalyan, for his part, didn't seem to notice. He was too consumed by the situation, too lost in the search for answers. But Aarushi leaned in closer, her hand lingering a moment longer than it should have, her eyes locked on him, as if only he mattered.

Gautham narrowed his eyes, his instincts buzzing. There was something about the way she moved through their home, as though it wasn't just a place she visited often, but a place she belonged. Too comfortable. Too close.

His thoughts were interrupted by the quiet rustle of footsteps beside him. He turned to see Poornima, his wife, standing silently in the doorway next to him, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. Her expression was calm, but her eyes—sharp, calculating—were locked on Aarushi, observing every subtle interaction between her and Kalyan.

Gautham raised an eyebrow at her presence. He hadn't even noticed her arrive. "You're still awake?"

Poornima nodded, her gaze not shifting. "I couldn't sleep. Not with all this happening," she said softly. She paused for a moment, then added, "Mridu is like a sister to me. You know that."

"I do," Gautham replied, glancing back at the scene inside the apartment, where Aarushi now stood even closer to Kalyan, murmuring something quietly. His suspicion flared again. "What's on your mind?"

Poornima finally tore her gaze away from the pair, turning to meet Gautham's eyes. There was something dark, something troubled in her expression.

"It's Aarushi," Poornima said slowly, her voice measured. "There's something about the way she's... inserted herself into this. I've known her for a while through Mridula, and I've always thought they were close. But tonight..." She glanced back into the apartment, her lips tightening. "She's not behaving like a concerned friend. Not entirely, at least."

Gautham frowned, crossing his arms. He respected Poornima's intuition—she had a knack for reading people, especially those close to her. "Go on."

Poornima shifted, her voice dropping lower. "She's here for Kalyan. She keeps hovering around him, trying to comfort him more than she does Mridula. And I know grief affects everyone differently, but it feels... wrong. Her focus is off. It's as if she's more worried about how Kalyan's handling things than about Mridula or even the missing baby."

Gautham felt a chill run through him. His wife's words echoed his own thoughts—thoughts he hadn't fully articulated yet. He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Aarushi again, the way she leaned just a little too close to Kalyan, her hand brushing his arm in a way that seemed more intimate than platonic. "I noticed it too. Something about her presence here feels... unnatural."

Poornima exhaled softly, her eyes darkening. "I've spent a lot of time with Mridula recently, especially since the twins were born. She's confided in me, more than she probably tells Kalyan. She mentioned how hard it's been, how distant Kalyan has been with her. She said she felt like he was slipping away. And I wonder..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I wonder if Aarushi has something to do with that distance."

Gautham's eyes widened slightly, a heavy weight settling in his chest. "You think something's going on between them?"

Poornima bit her lip. "I don't know for sure. But Aarushi, I've seen how Aarushi looks at him. How comfortable she is in their home, with him. There's an unspoken familiarity between them that doesn't feel right. Not for just a friend."

Gautham felt his pulse quicken, but he kept his face neutral. This was more than just a complicated emotional dynamic now—it was something that could be relevant to the investigation. If Aarushi had a deeper connection with Kalyan than she let on, it could change everything.

He glanced back at Poornima, his voice low and measured. "If anything, else strike you, let me know."

Poornima nodded, her eyes still trained on Aarushi and Kalyan. "I will. But Gautham... just be careful. Mridula's fragile right now. If something more is going on with Aarushi and Kalyan, it could break her."

Gautham sighed, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. "I know."

*-*-*-*-*-*

30 September 2024

3.00 a.m.

Aarushi had insisted—adamantly—that she stay with Mridula for the night, but Kalyan, though grateful for her support, couldn't allow it. He knew his wife needed him now more than ever. The strain in their relationship had been deepening, but this was their son, their family. He had to be there for her.

"Aarushi, thank you for being here," Kalyan said, his voice polite but firm as he walked her to the spare room. He opened the door gently, motioning for her to step inside. "But Mridula needs me. It's best if you take the spare room."

Aarushi hesitated, her eyes searching his face, perhaps looking for some hidden meaning, some indication that he wanted her to stay closer. But Kalyan's expression remained resolute. He offered her a faint smile, but his eyes were distant, focused elsewhere. On his wife. On the son they had yet to find.

"I understand," Aarushi replied quietly, though there was a trace of reluctance in her tone. "If you need anything, I'll be here."

"Thank you," Kalyan said again, his voice soft but final. With a gentle nod, he closed the door, leaving Aarushi behind.

The hallway was still, the weight of the night pressing down on him. As he walked quietly towards the bedroom, his heart heavy with the events of the past hours, he paused at the door. He could hear the soft breathing of his daughter, the faint rustling of blankets as Mridula shifted slightly in bed.

Taking a deep breath, Kalyan pushed the door open, the dim light from the street casting faint shadows on the walls. He walked softly, each step deliberate as though he were afraid any sudden noise would shatter the fragile silence of the room.

Mridula lay on the bed, their daughter nestled between them, her tiny fingers curled into the blanket. Mridula's eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. She didn't move when Kalyan entered, but he knew she was aware of him. Her body was tense, her mind still gripped by the nightmare that had become their reality.

Quietly, Kalyan slipped into bed beside her. He lay on his back for a moment, his hand resting gently on their daughter's small chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. The room was steeped in silence, but the tension between them was palpable—months of distance, unspoken words, and now, the heartache of their missing child.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room was heavy with the kind of quiet that only comes after hours of pain. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mridula's voice broke the silence, soft and fragile.

"He should be here," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He should be sleeping right here... next to his sister."

Kalyan's chest tightened at her words. He had been holding everything together for so long—keeping the pieces of his composure in place—but now, in the stillness of the night, the weight of their loss pressed down on him, nearly suffocating.

"I know," he replied, his voice barely audible. "I know."

Mridula turned her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the dim light as she looked at him. "Do you think he's okay?" Her voice cracked, raw with fear. "Where is he, Kalyan? Who would take him?"

Kalyan closed his eyes, fighting back the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, that they would find their son soon, but he couldn't make those promises. Not now. Not when the truth was so uncertain.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly, his voice strained. "But I promise you... I won't stop until we find him. I'll do everything I can, Mridula."

A tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded, though her face remained etched with grief. "I just... I can't stop thinking about him. Is he scared? Is he crying for us?"

Kalyan's throat tightened, his heart aching at the thought of their son out there—somewhere—without them. He couldn't bear the idea that their little boy might be frightened or alone. He reached across the bed, gently placing his hand over Mridula's, feeling the coldness of her skin beneath his fingers.

"We're going to bring him home," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I swear to you, we'll bring him back."

Mridula turned fully toward him now, her face streaked with tears. "I've been so angry at you," she confessed, her voice trembling. "I felt like we were drifting apart, like I was losing you. And now... now I feel like I'm losing everything."

Kalyan's heart clenched at her words. He had felt the rift between them growing wider, had sensed her distance, but he had been too consumed by work, by everything else, to truly address it. Now, with their son gone, it felt like the cracks between them were threatening to shatter everything.

"I'm still here," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I haven't been... the husband you needed, but I'm still here, Mridula. I'm not going anywhere."

She closed her eyes, her tears spilling onto the pillow. "I need you, Kalyan. I need you to be here. With me. For our children."

Kalyan swallowed hard, his own tears threatening to fall. He shifted closer, reaching over their sleeping daughter to take Mridula's hand in his. "I'm here. I'm with you. We're going to get through this, I promise."

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Mridula allowed herself to relax, her hand squeezing his tightly, as though afraid he might slip away again. They lay there in silence, the sound of their daughter's soft breathing the only noise in the room, both of them lost in the overwhelming fear and heartache of their missing son.

And for the first time in a long time, they felt connected—united in their grief, in their desperate hope that somehow, some way, they would find their son and bring him home.

~ In the moment of grief, he never let her down ~