The calling bell pierced the stifling Hyderabad afternoon, its shrill ring cutting through the hum of distant traffic.
Rishi and Praveen stood outside a weathered two-story house in a narrow lane of Dilsukhnagar, the peeling paint and rusted gate hinting at years of neglect.
The sun scorched the cracked pavement, and Rishi's leather jacket clung to his sweat-soaked back.
His eyes, sharp as ever, scanned the surroundings—a stray dog rooting through garbage, a flickering streetlight, the faint scent of frying onions from a nearby stall. Something's off here.
This place feels like it's holding its breath.
The door creaked open, revealing a woman in her sixties, her frail frame draped in a faded cotton sari. Jamuna's face was a map of grief—eyes red and swollen, cheeks hollow, her trembling hands clutching the doorframe.
She hadn't slept in days; the dark circles under her eyes screamed it. Tears streamed down her face, and before Rishi could speak, she let out a choked sob, her voice raw with panic.
"Who… who are you?"
Jamuna stammered, her gaze darting between Rishi and Praveen.
"What do you want?"
Praveen stepped forward, his usual smirk replaced by a cautious frown.
"Ma'am, is this Charan's home?"
Jamuna's eyes widened, her breath hitching as if the name alone was a blade.
"Y-yes, this is Charan's home!"
she cried, her voice cracking.
"Please, we won't put any cases!
We'll do whatever you say!
Just… just leave my granddaughter alone!
I can't lose another!"
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed against the doorframe, sobbing uncontrollably.
Rishi's gut twisted.
She's terrified. Someone's got her in a chokehold.
He exchanged a glance with Praveen, whose jaw tightened, the playful glint in his eyes gone.
Without a word, they moved in unison, Rishi gently catching Jamuna's arm while Praveen steadied her other side.
"Easy, ma'am,"
Rishi said, his voice low and steady, the tone he used to calm clients on the edge.
"Let's get you inside."
They guided her into the dimly lit house, the air thick with the scent of stale incense and despair.
The living room was sparse—a cracked wooden table, a sagging sofa, a flickering tube light casting eerie shadows.
Jamuna sank onto the sofa, her hands trembling as she wiped her face with the edge of her sari.
Rishi crouched in front of her, his leather jacket creaking, his eyes locked on hers.
She's not just scared. She's been threatened. This is bigger than expected.
"Ma'am,"
Praveen said, pulling a chair close, his notepad already in hand.
"We're not here to hurt your family.
We're private detectives. I'm Praveen, this is Rishi. We're working a case—a missing girl, Meera.
We think Charan might know something."
Jamuna's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face twisting with fresh panic.
"Meera?"
she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"No… no, please!
Whoever you are, don't drag our family into this!
I've lost my son, his wife… I can't lose my grandchildren too!"
She clutched her chest, her breaths shallow, as if the weight of her words was suffocating her.
Rishi leaned closer, his voice calm but firm, cutting through her fear.
"Jamuna ma'am, listen to me.
We're not here to cause trouble.
We're here to help.
Meera's been gone three days, and the police are sitting on their hands, spinning lies about elopement.
We don't buy it, and we don't think Charan's the villain either.
But we need answers.
Help us, and we'll keep your family out of this. You have my word."
Jamuna's eyes searched his, desperate for a lifeline.
She knows something.
But she's trapped.
Her lips trembled, and she shook her head.
"You don't understand… if I talk, they'll come for her. For my granddaughter.
They said so. I… I can't."
Praveen leaned forward, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
"Who's 'they,' ma'am?
Who's got you so scared?
We can protect you, but you've gotta give us something to work with."
Jamuna's gaze darted to the windows, as if expecting eyes in the shadows.
She's not just afraid—she's paralyzed.
Rishi stood, his boots scuffing the chipped floor, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Ma'am, I get it.
You're protecting what's left of your family.
But if you stay silent, Meera's gone for good, and Charan… you know the odds aren't good.
Let me check his room. Just a quick look, then we're gone.
No one will know we were here. You'll be safe."
His words hung in the air, heavy with promise.
Jamuna's shoulders slumped, and after a long, agonizing moment, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper.
"Charan… he's a good boy. Always dreamed of being a police officer.
Meera was his friend, not… not a lover. He'd never hurt her.
He wanted his sister to be a doctor, talked about it all the time. He's not what they say."
Rishi's mind raced. Police officer dreams. A clean kid. So why's he the scapegoat?
"What happened, ma'am?"
he pressed, his voice low, urgent.
"When did things go wrong?"
Jamuna's hands twisted in her lap, her voice trembling as she spoke.
"Two days ago, I went to the police to file a missing person report for Charan.
They… they laughed in my face. Said Charan's the one who took Meera, that he's a runaway. They refused my complaint. That night…"
Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"Three men came here. Black masks, black clothes. They pushed me against the wall, held a knife to my throat.
They said, 'If you go back to the police or talk about Charan, your granddaughter will disappear too.'
I… I haven't slept since."
Praveen's pen froze, his eyes narrowing.
"Black masks?
Did they say anything else?
Any names?"
Jamuna shook her head, tears spilling again.
"No… just threats. They knew everything—where my granddaughter goes to school, where I shop.
They're watching us."
This isn't a random threat. This is organized. Rishi's jaw clenched, his mind churning.
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm going to check Charan's room now. Stay here with Praveen."
He moved swiftly to the narrow staircase, his boots thudding against the creaky steps. Charan's room was small, tidy, almost too perfect.
A single bed, a wooden desk, a faded poster of a police academy on the wall. This kid had dreams, not secrets.
But something was wrong. The closet was half-empty, clothes missing, a backpack gone.
The computer on the desk hummed softly, but when Rishi checked, the hard drive was gutted, its contents stripped.
Someone got here first. They cleaned house.
His eyes swept every corner, searching for anything overlooked. Under a pile of books, he found a framed group photo—college classmates, smiling, carefree.
Meera was there, her laugh frozen in time, standing next to Charan.
Friends, not lovers. Just like Jamuna said. But the photo felt like a clue, a thread in a tangled web.
He slipped it into his jacket, his mind racing. This isn't a runaway case. This is a cover-up, and it's big.
Back downstairs, Jamuna sat hunched, Praveen scribbling notes beside her.
Rishi gave her a nod.
"We're done here, ma'am. No one will know we came.
Stay strong.
We'll find Charan and Meera."
Jamuna's eyes glistened, but she said nothing, her silence a mix of hope and dread.
Rishi and Praveen stepped outside, the Hyderabad heat slamming into them like a fist. The jeep waited, its engine ticking in the sun.
As they climbed in, Praveen broke the silence, his voice low.
"Boss, this is bad. Black masks?
Missing hard drives?
The police stonewalling?
We're not just chasing a missing girl anymore."
Rishi gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "Yeah.
Someone's pulling strings, and they're not small-time. Meera and Charan are caught in something—something the cops are helping bury.
We need to find out who those masked bastards are and why they're so desperate to keep this quiet."
This city's rotting from the inside, and Meera's case is the crack in the facade. He started the jeep, the engine roaring as they tore through the labyrinthine streets.
Whoever's behind this, they're not ready for me.
Miles away, in a dark office room shrouded in shadows, a phone buzzed on a polished desk. A masked figure, his face obscured, answered, his voice a low growl.
"Speak."
"Sir," a voice crackled through the line, tense and urgent.
"Rishi went to Charan's house. He's digging into Meera's case.
I've been tailing him since the girl's place. He's getting close. We need to end this now."
The masked man leaned back, his chair creaking, a faint smirk curling beneath the mask.
"Rishi Netra,"
he murmured, almost savoring the name.
"Always sniffing where he shouldn't. Let him dig. If he gets too close, it's the end of his investigation—and his life."
He cut the call, the room swallowing the sound.
Outside, a motorcycle roared to life, its rider cloaked in black, weaving through Hyderabad's chaos, eyes locked on the jeep ahead. The city pulsed around them, its secrets buried deep, but Rishi was closing in—and someone was ready to bury him first.