The Forgotten Truths

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The café on the busy street corner buzzed with noise —

clinking cups, muttered conversations, the low hum of Mumbai outside.

But at a small corner table, the air was heavy, serious.

Araav sat across from Inspector Salvi — a man he’d met when first arriving in Mumbai for the Phantom Case.

Salvi, a wiry man with sharp eyes, stirred his black coffee nervously.

Across from him, Araav leaned back in his chair, calm but intense — his very posture radiating power.

He wasn’t just a detective.

He was the detective — known nationwide for solving impossible cases.

His family name alone carried weight — rich, connected, respected.

But right now, even Araav looked disturbed.

He pulled out the photograph from his coat — the one found in the abandoned mansion.

He placed it on the table gently, like handling something alive.

Salvi leaned forward, squinting at it.

“Her,” Araav said, tapping Meera’s smiling face.

“She’s on the list. The missing girls connected to the Phantom abductions.”

Salvi nodded slowly. “Yes. Name: Meera Sahay. Reported missing six months ago.

Twenty-four years old. Parents filed a report — then... disappeared themselves. The case went cold.”

Araav’s voice was low.

"But this photo—"

He paused.

"This photo is not six months old."

Salvi looked up, confused.

Araav continued, voice deadly serious.

“This photograph is seventy years old — maybe more.

Paper type, chemical fading, ink degradation — I had a quick lab analysis done overnight."

The Inspector’s face drained of color.

“That’s impossible.”

Araav’s eyes burned into his.

“Exactly.”

He leaned forward, dropping his voice even lower.

“If Meera went missing a few months ago...

How does her photo exist in a mansion abandoned since 1950?"

The question hung between them, heavy and sickening.

There were no answers.

Only deeper, darker questions.

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Meanwhile, in another layer of the same nightmare...

Meera lay curled up on her wide bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.

She was smiling faintly —

remembering yesterday.

The way Andarin held her hand.

The way the streets smelled of old dust and burning sugar.

For the first time in months — maybe years — she had felt almost free.

A soft knock at the door broke her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called lazily, thinking it was Andarin.

The door creaked open.

She turned casually —

and froze.

Standing there was a man —

tall, shadowed —

his features half-hidden in the dim light.

At first glance — the sharp jawline, the tilt of the head — he looked like Andarin.

So much that Meera smiled in relief.

But something was wrong.

His hair was slightly grayer, though only at the temples.

His stance was heavier, angrier.

And his eyes —

those weren't the warm eyes she knew.

They were colder.

Sharper.

Like they had seen something terrible and never recovered.

Meera's smile faltered.

Before she could say anything, the man stepped closer.

"You've done very well," he said softly.

"But this time... there will be consequences."

His voice wasn't cruel, exactly.

It was something worse — full of regret. Full of finality.

"You'll face everything you've built," he added, almost sadly.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out the door, silent as a ghost.

Meera blinked, confused.

Her heart was beating too fast, but she forced herself to laugh.

“Stop joking, Andarin!” she called after him, playfully scolding.

The door swung closed behind the figure.

But far below, two floors down —

in the mansion's grand hall —

Andarin stood by the fireplace, going over old records and papers.

He frowned sharply when he heard Meera’s voice echoing from upstairs —

playful, teasing —

calling his name.

Without a word, he dropped everything and took the stairs two at a time.

He burst into Meera’s room, slightly out of breath.

She turned, surprised but still smiling faintly.

"You changed clothes so fast?" she teased, tilting her head.

Andarin blinked at her.

Same black pants.

Same white open-collar shirt.

Exactly what he had been wearing for hours.

"I didn't," he said simply.

Meera’s smile froze.

She looked past him, at the door.

No one was there.

Only the long, empty corridor beyond —

cold air whispering along the walls.

The floorboards creaking under a weight that was no longer there.

The warmth drained from the room, leaving only a growing, gnawing chill inside her chest.

For the first time, a thought slithered through her mind —

something had come into her room.

Something wearing a familiar face.

And maybe...

it had been waiting for a very long time.

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