She rode calmly now.
No longer rushing — but tracing. Following.
There was something in her mind. A quiet certainty. A subtle nudge in thought, a flicker that pointed her toward the right direction. Like her focus was constantly recalibrating — redirecting her every time she strayed too far from her.
She didn't know how far the woman was. Only that she was within range. Within possibility.
So Maya pedalled forward, cautious but steady — eyes open, mind sharp.
She was close.
She passed shuttered shops and sleeping dogs, the night city humming with low, indifferent energy. A couple of taxis waited near a tea stall, steam curling into the air, and a watchman yawned behind a gate. But Maya kept moving, eyes scanning, her mind locked in on that quiet mental thread.
It felt clearer now. The direction. The proximity. It was like a mental needle hovering over a compass, always tilting ever so slightly if she veered the wrong way.
Then, as she cut through a side street, she felt it spike — not overwhelmingly, but definitely.
This was it. Somewhere near.
A few turns later, she heard faint voices and the occasional burst of laughter — not loud or chaotic, but the kind of controlled chatter that floated around expensive hotels at night. She slowed down as the road widened into a semi-circular driveway. Ahead stood a sleek-looking business hotel, its façade washed in amber lighting. A valet leaned against a parked SUV, and a few guests lingered near the entrance, dressed in subtle formalwear, sipping something from thin glasses.
She stayed across the street, half-hidden behind the shadows of a closed shop. The hotel loomed ahead — polished, quiet, and slightly intimidating. The type of place people with real money booked for parties that didn't spill onto the streets.
She unclipped the photo from her bag and studied it again, her eyes drifting to the woman on the far right. That was the one — the pulse in her mind was steady now, clearer. Not loud or overwhelming, just… present. Like a quiet buzz beneath her thoughts, telling her she was close.
Maya tucked the photo away and scanned the area. Getting inside would be reckless. She didn't have the right clothes, didn't know the guest list, and more importantly — she didn't want to draw attention.
"I can't be crazy enough to sneak in. At least not when I want to keep my secret safe."
"Gosh I feel like such a stalker. Umm... Let's just stick around here and wait."
She turned her gaze to the adjacent street. There were a few small businesses lining the road — a medical store still open, a tea stall with its shutter half-down, and a couple of handwritten signs pointing towards PG accommodations.
"I mean it isn't the worst idea. If this is where my family lives, then I too would need to be in the city for god knows how much time".
Maya parked her bicycle under a neem tree, locked it, and took a slow breath. She wasn't just chasing answers anymore. She was preparing for them.
She leaned against a tree, just far enough to stay hidden but close enough to see everything. The hotel sat ahead, tall and well-kept, glowing gently under the night sky. Staff moved about the entrance, opening doors, guiding cars. The pulse in her mind hadn't faded — if anything, it had settled into a steady presence.
Her phone buzzed in the side pocket of her bag.
Warden Mom calling…
She stared at the screen. For a moment, she just looked at the name — the one she'd typed without a second thought. It was simple, honest. Not her real mother, but something close. Safer. Stronger. The one person who had always known — even when no one else did.
She answered quietly.
"Hello?"
"Maya," Warden Mom said gently, her voice warm but edged with a thread of concern. "How are you child?. Did you find a place to stay?"
"Not yet. I've been moving around… but I'm okay."
"I've wired a little more money to your account, just in case. I've also made sure no one from the college or town knows where you've gone. Media too — no one's chasing shadows in Mussoorie."
There was a pause. Maya swallowed, throat dry.
"You didn't have to go through all that."
"It's nothing," she replied. "I want you to be safe."
Another pause. This time, quieter.
"Did you find anything?"
Maya hesitated for just a second.
"Yeah. I think I'm getting close."
"Then don't rush it. Just… be smart. If you need anything — anything at all — you call me. No second thoughts. Got it?"
"Got it."
"And eat something. Don't make me ask again tomorrow."
That earned a small laugh from Maya.
"I will. Promise."
She hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket.
She turned from the road and slipped into the shadows, keeping the hotel in sight.
"Now, one, I need a place to stay."
"Two, I need a job — something that wouldn't draw attention."
"And three, I've to be nearby. Watchful. Cuz the moment that woman leaves the party… I have to talk to her."
The sky above the hotel was quiet, cloud-thick, and watching.
The lawn of Hotel Ashridge Estate looked almost cinematic under the warm glow of fairy lights. No loud music, no over-the-top décor — just polished glasses, soft jazz, and the steady hum of Mussoorie's elite exchanging pleasantries over hors d'oeuvres.
Sumitra Oberoi stood near the open-air bar, dressed in an ivory silk saree that shimmered every time she turned. A diamond bracelet glinted on her wrist as she reached for a glass of sparkling water, nodding graciously to yet another guest.
"He looks… taller," said Mrs. Kapoor, an old family friend, following Sumitra's gaze across the lawn.
"Harvard — or was it Oxford?" asked another. "Either way, it changes a boy."
Sumitra smiled politely.
"Harvard. International Relations. And no, he hasn't changed. Not really."
She let her eyes settle on Shiv.
He stood a little away from the crowd, near the garden's edge, in a tailored black suit that fit like it had been made for his silence. His glass remained untouched. His expression unreadable. People came and went — nodding, smiling, greeting — but he stayed slightly apart, like he was present only out of courtesy.
"I still remember that photo in the magazine," Mrs. Kapoor continued, lowering her voice. "The one with your arm around him — at the foundation fundraiser. Everyone assumed he was your own."
Sumitra didn't respond with words.
She simply took another sip of her water, the corners of her mouth lifting faintly.
Not in denial.
Not in confirmation.
Just a quiet claim that needed no explanation.
The evening drifted on.
Laughter mingled with music. Glasses clinked. Waiters moved with mechanical grace, offering champagne and cheese bites, as the high-profile guests kept up their rituals of charm and conversation.
But Shiv never moved from his place near the edge of the lawn.
He watched them with the detached interest of someone who didn't belong here anymore.
Then, quietly, he left.
No goodbyes. No nod to Sumitra.
He simply set his untouched glass down on a tray, turned, and walked away — slipping past the columns of the estate and out through the back gate, his polished shoes silent on the stone path.
No one stopped him.
He didn't take a car. He didn't call his driver.
Just walked.
Down the dark, winding hill road. Past the ridgeline, where the lights of the estate faded into a hushed stretch of deodar-lined slopes and shuttered colonial villas. The night was cooler here, sharper — as if the mountains were exhaling.
Shiv didn't walk.
He moved — fast and fluid — more blur than body at times, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the slope. His breath stayed steady. His eyes, fixed. The road behind him vanished in seconds.
The family mansion sat ahead, silent beneath the trees.
A clean-lined sprawl of white stone and glass, softened by years of mist and ivy. A light burned on the second floor — faint and steady. Someone was home. Of course she was.