The afternoon sun slanted through the narrow lanes of the chawl, bathing everything in a soft, golden haze. Gauri moved quickly through the crowd, her heart heavy with worry. When she reached the small door, Charvi opened it at once.
"Didi, thank God you came," Charvi said, her voice trembling. "Please talk to Mum. She hasn't taken her medicine again."
Gauri nodded and hurried inside. Gayatri sat weakly on the cot, her eyes distant, her frail fingers clutching the edge of her dupatta.
"Maa…" Gauri knelt beside her, voice soft with concern. "Why aren't you taking your medicine? You promised me you'd try to get better."
Gayatri looked at her with tearful eyes. "I don't want to live anymore, Gauri."
"Maa, what are you saying?" Gauri asked, shaken.
Gayatri's tears fell freely now. "What's left for me to live for? I had three daughters, and I failed all of them. I never truly loved you or Charvi because I thought… you weren't mine. And maybe that's why God punished me — He took Adrija away. It's been two months, and she's still missing. Not a single call or message."
Gauri took her mother's hands in hers, her voice steady though her eyes glistened. "Maa, please don't talk like that. Blaming yourself won't bring Adrija back. You still have us — me and Charvi. Please take your medicine. I promise you, I'll do everything I can to find her."
Gayatri hesitated, then finally nodded. She swallowed the pills with trembling hands. Gauri exhaled softly, brushing her mother's forehead with affection.
"That's better. I'll make you something to eat," she said, rising and heading to the small kitchen.
As she stirred the pot on the stove, she pulled out her phone and dialed Vihaan.
"Vihaan, I've reached home," she began, her tone weary. "Maa finally took her medicine, but she's still weak… she keeps talking about Adrija. She misses her terribly."
There was silence on the line for a moment before Vihaan spoke, his voice quiet but heavy.
"Adrija…" he repeated. "Gauri, you know she and I were supposed to get married. Till today, I don't know why she ran away. Maybe I was so focused on saving my mother that I ignored the signs."
Gauri leaned against the kitchen counter, the sound of the simmering food blending with the ache in her chest.
"Vihaan," she said softly, "I can't see Maa like this. Please… if you can, help me find Adrija."
Vihaan's tone firmed. "You don't have to ask. I'll talk to my department today. We'll reopen her case. Wherever she is, we'll find her."
Gauri looked out of the kitchen window at the afternoon sky — golden, vast, and distant — and whispered, "Thank you, Vihaan. Maybe this time… everything will really be alright."
The car screeched to a halt in front of a modest, mud-plastered house at the edge of the village. The soft orange hue of the afternoon sun bathed everything in a quiet glow.
Inside, Kesar slowly opened her eyes. The pain that had scorched through her arm earlier had dulled to a throb. She blinked, recognizing the familiar outline of her home through the car window.
Sarvansh turned his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. "We've reached," he said flatly.
Kesar exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her heart. "Thank you… for bringing me here." Her voice trembled with exhaustion and sincerity.
He shrugged, not looking at her. "You wouldn't stop crying until I agreed. So technically, you brought yourself."
Kesar frowned faintly, but a small, tired smile tugged at her lips. "Still… thank you." She pushed the car door open and stumbled out, her feet dragging across the dusty ground. Before entering the gate, she turned once more, as if to say something — but Sarvansh was already lighting a cigarette, his face half-shadowed, half-lit by the afternoon glow.
Her expression softened for a heartbeat before she disappeared inside the house.
Sarvansh leaned against the car, watching the doorway for a moment, smoke curling lazily from his lips. "So this is where the firebird hides," he murmured under his breath. A dark smirk curved his lips as he flicked the cigarette away.
He got into the car, eyes glinting crimson for a brief second.
"Now," he said in a low, sinister tone, "it's time to pay someone a visit."
The engine growled as the car sped off, leaving a trail of dust — and a whisper of danger — behind.
Meanwhile, at the Kothari Mansion, Vihaan stood by the window of his room, phone pressed to his ear. The sunlight streaming in through the curtains fell on his thoughtful face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.
He took a slow breath, then said firmly, "Inspector Harsh, I need you to start a search immediately."
There was a brief pause on the line.
"For whom, sir?" came the inspector's steady voice.
"Adrija Sharma," Vihaan replied, his tone softening slightly at the name. "She's been missing for two months. No contact, no trace. I want every record checked — railway stations, bus stops, hospitals, everywhere."
"Yes, ACP sir," Harsh said. "I'll circulate her photo and alert nearby districts."
"Good," Vihaan murmured, his gaze drifting toward the afternoon sky. "And Harsh… keep this discreet. I don't want unnecessary attention on the Kothari family. Just bring her home."
He hung up and stood quietly for a moment, lost in thought.