The police jeep came to a stop in front of a small yellow house. A nameplate outside read: Mr. and Mrs. Bhattacharya. A modest garden bloomed with flowers swaying gently in the morning breeze.
"This is Sanchari Bhattacharya's house," Inspector Ratan said, stepping out.
The Masked Detective followed, her hands tucked inside her long blue coat, boots tapping softly against the pavement.
A tired woman opened the door. Her eyes were red and swollen, face pale with worry.
"She is Suchismita Bhattacharya," Ratan whispered. "Sanchari's mother. Her husband passed away from cardiac arrest last year."
"Namaste, ভেতরের আসুন (Please come in)," Suchismita said softly.
Inside, the house was silent. A photo of Sanchari smiled brightly from the living room wall. A school bag rested untouched on the table, like it was still waiting for her return.
"Can I ask a few questions?" the Masked Detective asked.
Suchismita nodded quietly.
"When did you last see Sanchari?"
"Yesterday morning. She left for school like always... and didn't come back."
"Did she seem anxious? Had she met anyone new?"
"No, she was cheerful. Like usual."
The Detective paused. "Did she ever mention anyone bothering her? A boyfriend, maybe? Or trouble at school?"
Suchismita shook her head, then hesitated. "She never told me anything. But… I noticed her hair was messy some days. A few bruises on her arms too. I didn't understand."
The Detective's eyes scanned the room. Her gaze fixed on a notebook.
"May I?"
Suchismita nodded again.
Inside were poems, sketches, scribbles. Then—a strange drawing. A flower with five petals. A small triangle beside it.
"Did she draw this often?"
"Yes. She said it came from a dream."
The Detective closed the book slowly.
"Thank you. That's all for now."
As she stood up, Suchismita gently gripped her hand. "Please... find my daughter."
"I'll try," she whispered and walked out.
---
The next stop was a modest home with cracked walls and a small gate. The nameplate read: Mukherjee Nivas.
"This is Sagarika Mukherjee's house," Ratan said.
Her grandparents answered the door. Mr. Prabir Mukherjee, a thin, elderly man with glasses and a cane, and Mrs. Gauri Mukherjee, dressed in a faded green saree.
"Her parents work abroad," said Gauri. "We raised her like our own."
They shared the same story. Sagarika had left for school, but never returned. They handed over her parents' contact number.
---
Finally, they reached the home of Sagnika Dey.
Her parents, Mr. Subhankar Dey and Mrs. Lipika Dey, were middle-class professionals.
"She was normal," Lipika said. "No complaints, no signs of worry."
"No suspicious messages? Any changes in her behavior?" the Detective asked.
"Nothing," Subhankar said, adjusting his tie. "She was our happy little girl."