After breakfast, Abhi stepped out casually.
Not toward the front gate.
But around the side.
To the back.
Because criminals love blind spots.
And investigators love them more.
The backyard was quieter. Less disturbed. The rainwater still clung to the soft ground.
Abhi's expression shifted instantly.
No smile.
No sarcasm.
Just focus.
He crouched slowly, scanning the mud.
And within seconds—
He saw it.
A footprint.
Partial.
Faint.
But real.
Abhi leaned closer, activating his phone flashlight even in daylight to sharpen contrast.
Sports shoe.
Rubber sole.
Not cheap quality.
He didn't touch it.
Just observed.
Then shifted slightly.
Another mark.
Then another.
Pattern.
His eyes sharpened.
"Not random…"
He compared depth carefully.
Left foot.
Right foot.
Again.
Again.
His brain aligned it.
Right heel—lighter pressure.
Left toe—less imprint.
Meaning—
Weight distribution uneven.
But consistent.
Controlled.
Abhi's lips moved slowly:
"Not injured…"
Pause.
"…trained movement."
His gaze lifted toward the boundary wall.
Then beyond it.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Then quietly—
"Left dominant… most likely left-handed."
Something else caught his attention.
Near the wall.
A small burnt object.
He moved closer.
Crouched again.
A cigarette butt.
Half-smoked.
Crushed roughly.
Filter slightly chewed.
Abhi didn't touch it directly.
Instead, he pulled out a small plastic wrapper from his pocket—used it like a glove—and carefully picked it up.
Held it close.
Examined it.
"Fresh…" he murmured.
Not washed away by rain.
Meaning—
It was dropped after the heavy downpour slowed.
Which meant—
The person was here recently. Very recently.
Abhi's jaw tightened slightly.
"Chain smoker…"
Not casual.
Habitual.
Possibly while waiting.
Watching him last night.
He slipped it carefully into his pocket.
Evidence.
For testing.
The Realization Abhi stood up slowly.
Turned.
Looked directly at his bedroom window.
From here—
The angle was perfect. Clear view. No obstruction.
Which meant—
The person didn't just enter.
He stood here. Watched him. Studied him.
A cold silence settled in Abhi's chest.
"He was observing him without his knowledge and here he called him a detective"
"ABHIII!" Dida shouted again from inside "Tea is getting cold!"
Abhi exhaled once.
Face relaxed again.
Mask back on.
He walked inside like nothing happened.
Picked up the tea.
Took a sip.
Dida stared. "Why are you smiling like that?"
He shrugged. "Because life is interesting."
She squinted suspiciously. "You're hiding something."
"Always," he replied.
She threw a napkin at him.
Back in his room, Abhi pulled out:
The cigarette butt
A small clean pouch
The memory of the footprints
He sealed the cigarette carefully.
No contamination.
No mistakes.
Then picked up his phone.
Scrolled.
Stopped.
One name.
Ayan.
Forensic expert.
Trusted.
Sharp.
Reliable.
Abhi muttered quietly:
"Let's see what you were thinking while smoking…"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"…and who you really are."
He pulled the small evidence out onto his table:
The burnt cigarette butt
The smooth metal ball
Both placed carefully, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to speak yet.
The call connected in three rings.
A tired, slightly irritated voice answered:
"Do you know what time it is?"
Abhi didn't smile this time.
"I need your lab."
Silence.
Then a sigh.
"…How bad?"
Abhi replied calmly, "Someone entered my house last night. Left a message. And evidence."
Pause.
Then instantly—
"Come."
The call disconnected.
Kolkata was alive again.
Autos honking.
Vendors shouting.
People rushing like nothing had changed.
Abhi rode through it all on his bike, expression calm, eyes alert.
But his mind wasn't here.
It was replaying the backyard.
The footprint pressure.
Left toe lighter.
Right heel lighter.
Controlled movement.
"Left dominant…" he muttered inside his helmet.
Then the cigarette.
Chewed filter.
Half-burnt.
Dropped in a blind spot.
Not careless.
Intentional.
Everything about this person screamed one thing:
He wanted to be studied.
And that made him dangerous.
Because people who want attention—
Control the narrative.
Forensic Lab
The lab smelled like chemicals, metal, and sleepless nights.
Abhi walked in without knocking.
Inside, a man in his late 30s stood near a workstation, holding a cup of coffee that looked older than him.
Messy hair. Sharp eyes. Unshaven.
Dr. Ayan Sen.
He glanced up.
"Of course it's you," he said. "My peaceful morning is officially dead."
Abhi dropped the sarcasm lightly, "Good. Means you're awake."
Ayan rolled his eyes. "What did you bring? Another 'interesting situation'?"
Abhi stepped forward and placed a small sealed pouch on the table.
Then another.
Ayan's expression shifted.
No jokes now.
He picked up the first pouch carefully.
Inside—the cigarette butt.
Then the second.
The metal ball.
His brows furrowed.
"…Okay. Now I'm interested."
Ayan put on gloves.
Professional mode.
Focused.
He lifted the cigarette butt with tweezers, bringing it under a magnifying lens.
"Chewed filter," he noted.
Abhi nodded. "Chain smoker."
Ayan glanced at him. "Or stressed. Or focused thinker. Or impatient."
Abhi added quietly, "Or someone who was watching."
Ayan didn't respond.
But he understood.
He rotated the butt slowly.
"Not fully finished. Burn pattern uneven. Smoked halfway… then crushed."
"Why stop?" Abhi asked.
Ayan shrugged. "Either interrupted… or decided he got what he needed."
That line stayed in the air.
Then Ayan moved to the metal ball.
He picked it up carefully.
Held it under light.
Rotated it.
And then—
His expression changed.
Slightly.
But enough.
"This…" he murmured.
Abhi watched closely. "What?"
Ayan placed it on a precision tray.
"This is not random."
"Ball bearing?" Abhi said.
Ayan nodded slowly. "Yes. But not cheap quality."
He tapped it lightly.
Dense.
Balanced.
Perfect.
"Industrial grade," Ayan continued. "High precision. Could be from—"
He paused, thinking.
"—advanced machinery, high-speed motor systems…"
Then looked at Abhi.
"…or weapon components."
Silence.
That word landed heavy.
Weapon.
Abhi's jaw tightened slightly.
"So I'm not dealing with an idiot."
Ayan shook his head. "No. You're dealing with someone who knows engineering… or has access to it."
Ayan placed both items carefully into separate trays.
Then turned toward his system.
"I'll run DNA extraction on the cigarette butt," he said. "Saliva trace. Epithelial cells. If we're lucky, we'll get a clean profile."
"How long?" Abhi asked.
Ayan leaned back slightly.
"For extraction and processing… few hours."
Abhi waited.
Ayan continued:
"But matching it?"
Pause.
"That's the real game."
He turned his screen slightly toward Abhi.
"Police database. Criminal records. National server cross-check."
He exhaled.
"Minimum three days."
Abhi nodded slowly.
Makes sense.
Nothing fast in real investigation.
"Three days," he repeated.
Ayan added, "And that's if he exists in the system. If he's clean…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Abhi pointed at the metal ball. "And that?"
Ayan picked it up again.
"I'll run composition analysis. Density, material structure, possible origin."
He smirked slightly.
"Maybe even manufacturer."
Abhi's eyes sharpened.
That was important.
"Time?"
Ayan replied, "Come back in the afternoon. I'll have a preliminary report."
Ayan removed his gloves slowly.
Then looked at Abhi directly.
"Tell me honestly."
"How serious is this?"
Abhi didn't hesitate.
"Someone entered my house. Watched me. Left a message. Left evidence."
Ayan's face hardened.
"…Family inside?"
"Yes."
Ayan leaned forward slightly.
"Then this is not a case anymore."
"This went personal."
Abhi's eyes didn't move only said
"I know."
Abhi turned to go.
Then stopped.
"Keep this quiet."
Ayan nodded instantly. "Obviously."
"No official logging yet," Abhi added. "Not until we know more."
Ayan smirked faintly. "You don't trust the system."
Abhi replied calmly:
"I trust patterns. Not people."
Ayan didn't argue.
Outside the Lab the sun felt harsher now.
The crowd louder.
But Abhi walked out like nothing had changed.
Because on the outside—
Nothing had.
Inside—
Everything had.
He checked his phone.
No new messages.
No calls.
No signs.
Silence.
And he knew by now—
Silence wasn't peace.
It was build-up.
Somewhere… Not Far
A man stood in the shade of a building.
Watching people move.
Watching patterns.
A cigarette burned slowly between his fingers.
He smiled faintly.
"Good…"
A pause.
"…you took the bait."
He crushed the cigarette under his shoe.
And walked away.
Back at the Lab — Unseen
Ayan stood alone, staring at the metal ball again.
Something about it felt… off.
Familiar.
But not fully clear.
He muttered under his breath:
"Where have I seen this before…"