6:16 p.m.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, casting long shadows across the road as Gautham, Kalyan, and two officers sped through the narrow streets toward Aarushi's house. The atmosphere in the car was thick with tension—words left unsaid questions unanswered. Kalyan's heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm of emotions. Could his son really be there? In Aarushi's house?

He wanted to believe it wasn't true, that Aarushi—their trusted friend—couldn't have taken his son. But the evidence, the mounting suspicions, had all pointed in one direction. He had to face the possibility, and it was tearing him apart.

As they pulled up to Aarushi's house, a large two-story building looming against the fading light, Kalyan barely waited for the car to stop before he bolted out, his heart racing, his breath quickening with each step. The officers, including Gautham, were right behind him, their focus sharp, but Kalyan's world had narrowed to one thing: finding his son.

The officers knocked on the door repeatedly, their fists hitting the wood with urgency. "Aarushi! Open up!" Gautham called, his voice echoing through the quiet street. But there was no answer. The silence was suffocating, and Kalyan's anxiety twisted tighter with each passing second.

Gautham turned to the officers and ordered them to check if Aarushi was in Kalyan's house and if found, "arrest her."

After the orders were executed. The officers split up, scouting around the exterior of the house, checking windows, peering into the ground-floor rooms, but everything seemed still—too still.

Just when Kalyan's desperation was about to reach its peak, a faint sound cut through the air. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, his heart skipping a beat.

It was distant but unmistakable—a baby crying.

Kalyan's eyes widened as he turned toward the house, his pulse thudding in his ears. "Did you hear that?" he whispered, his voice tight with hope and fear. "There's a baby in the house."

Gautham's eyes narrowed, his senses heightened as he motioned for the officers to regroup. They all stood still for a moment, listening.

The sound came again—faint, muffled—but this time, there was no mistaking it. It was coming from inside the house, from somewhere on the second floor.

Without waiting for the officers to finish, Kalyan rushed toward the door, pounding on it with both fists. "Open this door!" he shouted, his voice raw, the desperation clawing at his throat. "Open up!"

But there was no response.

"Break it down," Gautham ordered, his voice firm, and the officers wasted no time, ramming the door with all their strength.

Kalyan's hands shook as he watched, his eyes glued to the door. Each failed attempt to break it down only fed the panic rising in his chest. His son was in there, crying—he was so close—but still out of reach. Every second felt like an eternity.

Finally, with one last forceful blow, the door splintered and gave way. Kalyan surged forward, not waiting for anyone else, his feet pounding up the staircase two at a time. The sound of the baby's cry grew louder, clearer with each step, and his heart raced wildly in his chest.

He reached the second floor, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he followed the sound, his body moving on pure instinct. Down the hallway, a door stood slightly ajar. Without thinking, he pushed it open, and the cry hit him full force—piercing, desperate, and unmistakably his son.

Kalyan's breath hitched, and for a moment, his legs nearly gave way beneath him. There, lying in a small crib in the centre of the room, was his son—his beautiful, fragile boy—alive and crying.

The flood of emotion that surged through Kalyan was too powerful to name. Relief, joy, anger, disbelief—it all collided inside him in a dizzying rush. His vision blurred with tears as he stumbled forward, his heart aching with the intensity of his love, his fear, and his overwhelming gratitude that his boy was alive.

With trembling hands, he reached into the crib, gently scooping his son into his arms, cradling him close to his chest. The baby's cries quieted almost instantly, as though sensing the presence of his father, the familiar warmth and smell of safety. Kalyan held him tightly, his body shaking with sobs of relief.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The house, the officers, the accusations—all of it vanished, and there was only the small, precious weight in his arms, the heartbeat of his son, his tiny breaths against Kalyan's chest. He buried his face in the baby's soft hair, inhaling the scent of him, his tears falling freely.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

7:20 p.m.

The apartment had grown quieter, the air thick with exhaustion and unanswered questions. Mridula sat on the living room floor, absentmindedly rocking Viha in her arms as the minutes dragged by. Every second without news of her son felt like an eternity—an unbearable void that gnawed at her heart.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed beside her. The sound jolted her out of the haze she had been lost in, and for a split second, her heart stopped. Her hands shook as she reached for the phone, her eyes wide with fear and hope as she saw Kalyan's name on the screen.

She answered immediately, her voice barely a whisper. "Kalyan?"

There was a pause on the other end, then Kalyan's voice came through, thick with emotion. "We found him, Mridula. Our son... we found him."

The words hit her like a tidal wave. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The room seemed to spin around her as the overwhelming realization sank in—her baby boy, her son, was alive. He was coming home.

Her grip on the phone loosened, and she collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with the intensity of her emotions. Tears spilled from her eyes, hot and fast, as a sob tore through her chest. Relief, joy, grief—it all poured out of her in a rush she couldn't control.

Poornima, who had been sitting nearby, rushed to her side, wrapping a protective arm around her. "Mridula, what is it?" she asked, her voice gentle but filled with concern.

Mridula couldn't speak, couldn't form the words. All she could do was cry, the phone slipping from her hand as she let out a wail that seemed to release all the tension, all the pain that had built up inside her. Her body shook as she cried, her heart breaking and mending at the same time.

Poornima quickly picked up the phone, her own heart pounding in her chest as she listened to Kalyan's voice on the other end.

"We found him," Kalyan repeated softly. "Our son is safe. I'm bringing him home."

Poornima's eyes softened with relief, but she didn't let her emotions show. Not yet. Instead, she focused on Mridula, who was still sobbing on the floor, her body curled in on itself as if trying to protect herself from the intensity of what she was feeling.

"Thank God," Poornima whispered to herself, then knelt beside Mridula, cradling her in her arms. She rocked her gently, letting her cry, knowing that sometimes, there were no words that could ease the flood of emotion a mother felt when her child was returned to her.

For several minutes, Mridula wept, her tears soaking Poornima's shirt. But Poornima didn't mind. She simply held her, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm of Mridula's grief and relief.

Finally, as the sobs began to subside, Mridula's breathing became more even, though her tears still flowed. Her fingers clutched Poornima's arm, holding on as if she might crumble if she let go.

"I thought... I thought I'd never see him again," Mridula whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "I thought... I lost him."

Poornima leaned back slightly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair away from Mridula's tear-streaked face. "But you haven't lost him, Mridula," she said gently. "He's coming back to you. You'll hold him again."

Mridula nodded weakly, but her body still trembled with the weight of everything that had happened. The relief was almost too much to bear. She felt weak, broken by the fear she had been holding onto for so long.

But Poornima wasn't finished. She placed her hands on Mridula's shoulders, her gaze firm but full of care.

"Listen to me," Poornima said, her voice taking on a tone of quiet strength. "You need to be strong now. This is not the end, Mridula. You've been resilient for your son, and now that he's coming home, get stronger; physically, mentally and emotionally. You'll need it to fight back."

Mridula blinked, her tear-filled eyes locking with Poornima's. She felt the truth in Poornima's words, but the weight of everything was still so heavy on her heart. "I don't know if I can," she whispered. "I feel so broken, Poornima. I don't know how to fight anymore."

Poornima squeezed her shoulders gently, her eyes filled with a fierce determination. "You're not broken. You're stronger than you think. Whoever did this—whoever took your child—wants you to be weak. They want you to crumble. But you can't give them that."

Mridula listened, her tears slowing as Poornima's words sank in. There was a fire in Poornima's voice, a strength that was contagious. She had always admired Poornima's courage, her steady presence, but now, in this moment, Poornima's words were like a lifeline.

"You're a mother, Mridula," Poornima continued softly. "Mothers fight. You'll fight for your son, and for your family. You'll face whoever did this and make them pay for what they've put you through. And you'll be stronger because of it."

Mridula's breath hitched as the weight of Poornima's words settled over her. Slowly, she nodded, her tears drying as a new emotion began to rise within her—determination. The fear and grief were still there, but beneath it, she could feel the stirrings of strength, the need to protect her children, to take back control of her life.

Poornima smiled softly, brushing away the last of Mridula's tears. "You can do this. I'm with you, and so is Kalyan. You're not alone."

Mridula took a deep breath, her body still shaky, but steadier now. She reached out, squeezing Poornima's hand tightly. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice full of gratitude. "Thank you for being here."

Poornima nodded her smile warm. "Always."

As the two women sat together, the weight of the last few hours still heavy but now bearable, a new resolve filled the air. Mridula knew there were still battles ahead, but with her son coming home, with Kalyan by her side, she felt ready to face whatever came next.

And she would fight—for her family, for her son, and for the justice they all deserved.

~ His unshed tears of plea were answered ~