Life is not gentle with everyone. For some, childhood means dreams, laughter, and warm evenings spent in the safety of a family. For me, childhood ended when I was twelve.

23 March 2013 carved a wound so deep that even time refuses to heal it.

My mother Poorvi Kapoor vanished into Hotel Elysian that night. They said she died. They said the hotel was cursed. They said the darkness there devours a life every year. But there was no body... only silence.

The world believed a ghost took her.

My heart says men did.

Her death fractured our small and loving family. My father, once a man of calm strength, collapsed into grief that never learned how to rest. He loved her so deeply that her absence became a shadow that follows him even when he tries to smile for us. He tries every day. He tries for me and for my little sister, Nisha Kapoor, who was nine when our mother disappeared. He cooks breakfast on Sundays the way she used to. He waters the plants she loved. But the fragrance in the villa has never been the same.

There is a void here. A silence that remembers her name.

The world moved on.

The case was closed in 2014, dismissed as an unsolved mystery. Different unbelievable reasons filled the pages of government. No suspects. No investigation. No justice.

But I remember the date.

My heart never forgot.

Now I sit in my room, the window glass reflecting my silhouette in the glow of the city lights. The walls are painted black, not out of darkness, but to silence the noise of the outside world. The front wall is covered in photographs, red threads, newspaper cuttings, and names written in chalk and marker. A map of a mystery no one else wants to solve.

Hotel Elysian's staff.

Former managers.

Guests who vanished.

Witnesses who stayed silent.

A pattern of deaths from 1988 till now.

Every year.

The same date.

This has become my life. My breath. My purpose.

I worked relentlessly to become a journalist. Not for fame. Not for glory. But because truth is the only language I have left to speak to my mother. My career became the bridge between the girl who was left behind and the woman I had to become.

This is not ambition, this is survival.

I was sitting at my desk, surrounded by paper, ink, and unsaid grief, when my phone lights up. A message. A reply I had been waiting for.

ACP Aayan Malhotra.

Kolkata Crime Branch.

The man whose silence is feared in every courtroom.

Sharp mind man who is mystery for everyone.

He has accepted my request for a meeting.

Tomorrow. 10:30 AM.

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

For the first time in years, I feel movement.

As if fate, long frozen, has shifted slightly in its sleep.

I rise slowly from my chair, the faint creak of wood mingling with the noise of heater in this silence. The room around me is soaked in early light filtered through the black drapes like diluted smoke. My body feels heavy from hours of research, but my mind is sharp, restless, and unwilling to surrender to sleep.

I stretch my arms, feeling the pull in my shoulders, and reach for the phone.

I scroll through my contacts and press Noor's name. She is my confidante, my shadow, and one of the few people who knows the depth of my obsession. The phone rings once, twice, three times before a groggy voice answers.

"Hello... is everything fine?"

Her voice is thick with sleep. I glance at the clock 6:07 a.m. and a faint smile touches my lips.

"Yeah," I answer simply.

She sighs, irritation dripping through the speaker. "Then why the hell did you ruin my sleep at this ungodly hour, Disha?"

I take a slow bite of the apple, the crisp sound echoing in the silence of my room. My tone remains calm, deliberate the kind of calm that hides storms.

"Look it's already late in the morning," I reply, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "And I want you to accompany me tomorrow. I've got a meeting with ACP Ayan Malhotra."

There's a sharp intake of breath from the other side. "Wait what? Are you serious? He agreed to meet you?" Her voice now holds both disbelief and excitement. "Listen his appointments are too expensive, people waits month for his appointment !"

I let out a low, dry chuckle and toss the apple into the silver dustbin beside my study table. The dull thud sound echoe in the room.

"You know nothing in this world is too expensive for Disha Kapoor."

There's a pause Noor groans softly, surrendering to my certainty.

"Oh right," she mutters. "I keep forgetting you're unstoppable. But Disha I can't accompany you tomorrow. I'm in London, covering that high-profile couple's murder case."

For a moment, I stay silent, watching the city beyond my glass window the faint outline of dawn crawling across the skyline. I think of how easily life moves forward for others, while mine is still trapped in a loop of crimson memories.

"Of course," I murmur finally, voice softer now. "Best of luck, Noor. Be careful."

"I should be telling you that," she says, but her tone has already turned serious.

I end the call without replying. The screen goes black a mirror to my reflection.

For a while, I just stand there, feeling the quiet pulse of my own heartbeat. The room smells faintly of ink and old paper, of coffee left untouched. My wall of photographs stares back a collage of faces, timelines, and secrets threaded with red string.

Tomorrow, I would walk into the beginning of the end.

And as the morning sun crept into my black-walled room, I whispered to the empty air -

"It's time, Mom. The game begins again."

Steam curls around me as I step out of the hot shower, the warmth still clinging to my skin. I tighten the white bathrobe around my waist and walk toward my dressing table dark walnut, polished, elegant, holding more of my life than any diary ever could. I pick up my phone, tap the screen, and soft music fills the room a low, atmospheric tune that suits my mood.

In the mirror, I look composed. Controlled. A woman who knows exactly what she's doing. But in reality, I don't know where to start? Where to find answers?

I apply sunscreen with practiced strokes, swipe mascara over my lashes, and finish with my favorite rosewood nude gloss. I stop the music and walk into my closet, scrolling through my wardrobe.

I tap on Tanuja's name. My best friend, my vault of secrets, and the only person who can irritate me and comfort me in the same breath. She picks up in barely two rings.

"Hey, Witch!" she sings, overly dramatic as usual.

A faint smile pulls at my lips. "Hi, Vamp."

We earned those nicknames in childhood, buried in fantasy novels, pretending we were creatures of the night. Back then, reality was boring. Now, I sometimes wish it stayed that way.

As I pull on a white tank top, she gasps dramatically.

"Disha Kapoor actually CALLING ME? Should I note this down as miracle?"

I roll my eyes, slipping into my long black coat."Listen Tanuja Mishra, Where are you right now?"

"Why?" she asks, confused. "I'm in court..where else would I be?"

Of course she is the country's star lawyer with a flair for theatrics.

"Meet me at Abyss Café in fifteen minutes."

Before she can launch into an interview questioning my sudden appearance in her life, I end the call. I don't have the patience for unnecessary chatter right now.

I walk out and sit on the edge of my bed, scanning my emails.

XYLON my mother's dream, now my responsibility. She built the company from nothing to something the world bows to. After her death, my father took over, expecting me to follow in their footsteps.

But I chose journalism.

Because truth real, raw, dangerous truth is the only thing I seek.

Nisha will handle the company eventually. Until then, I manage what I have to.

I dial my PA, Ankit Sehgal.

He picks up instantly, voice stiff, professional. "Good morning, ma'am."

"Cancel all my meetings for today," I say, scanning through another pointless email. "Prepare the team for tomorrow afternoon's meeting with A&V Jewellery."

There's a tiny pause. Then a tired sigh.

"Yes, ma'am... but we're cancelling a lot of meetings lately and it wil-"

"Ankit," I cut him off sharply, "I don't need you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Just follow the instruction."

He exhales resigned, fed up, and yet helpless.

"Yes, ma'am."

I hang up without another word.

One thing I hate? People trying to direct my life when I clearly know the path.

With a controlled breath, I stand, adjust my coat, and head downstairs.

The moment I step into the grand hall of the villa, the quiet elegance of the space settles around me. Soft cream walls, gold-trimmed paneling, and a crystal chandelier dripping warm light give the room its familiar.

My father sits on the velvet ash-grey couch, tea in one hand, newspaper in the other. He looks almost ageless sharp jaw, iron-straight posture, and those pale grey eyes that command a room without a single word. The moment his gaze flickers to my forest-green eyes, something softens in his expression.

"Good morning, Dad," I greet.

He offers me a faint but genuine smile. "Hey! Good morning, princess. Where are you going this early?"

Before I can answer, a staff member approaches with her usual professionalism.

"Ma'am, would you prefer green tea or coffee?"

"Not now," I say firmly.

She nods and disappears.

Dad waits. I lower myself onto the couch opposite him, crossing one leg over the other.

"I'm going to meet Tanuja," I say.

He raises a brow. "You don't meet people unless there's something important. So... what's going on?"

Of course he notices. I inhale slowly.

"I... I'm reopening Mom's case."

His smile collapses instantly, as if someone pulled the ground from beneath him. The color drains from his face. He sets his cup slowly on the table between us.

"Why do you want to open that again?" His voice is low, tight. "You know this isn't safe."

"I can't just let it go, Dad." My voice is steady even though my chest tightens. "Every year on 23rd March, people die in that hotel. Murdered. And Mom deserves justice. That mystery deserves to be uncovered."

He stands and comes toward me with deliberate steps. Sitting beside me, he cups my face gently his touch warm but trembling.

"Princess... after her, only you and Nisha are left to me. I cannot risk losing you. How can I let you walk into danger knowingly?"

I place my hand over his, firm but reassuring.

"Dad, I promise I'll be safe. And she deserves justice. As her daughter, I can't ignore that."

Before he can reply, a sharp voice cuts through the room.

"She doesn't deserve anything."

Nisha's heels click against the marble floor as she approaches. Her arms are crossed, her expression cold too cold for someone her age. She stands there, tall and composed in her casual attire, grey eyes burning with unspoken emotions.

"She destroyed everything," Nisha continues. "She left us that night, and you're walking the same path."

I inhale slowly, turning toward her.

"Mind your language, Nisha. You're talking about our mother."

She lets out a dry, bitter chuckle and steps closer until we're almost face-to-face.

"Oh right that mother. The one who went to that hotel on 13th March to uncover some 'truth,' without thinking what would happen to Dad without her. Without thinking about you. About me, Dii."

Her voice cracks on the last words despite her best attempt to sound unaffected.

I reach out and gently hold her shoulders, grounding her. Her grey eyes glitter with tears she refuses to shed.

"Nisha," I say softly, "it was her duty as a secret agent. Something critical must've pulled her there. We don't know what truly happened. We didn't even get her body back. How can I not search for the truth that stole our mother from us?"

She stares at me for a long moment, jaw tight, emotions swirling behind her guarded expression.

"Fine," she finally says, blinking away the tears. "Do whatever you want. But... be safe."

She turns around, and walks away quickly.

I watch her retreating silhouette, a faint smile tugging at my lips. She's so much like me terrible with words, fierce with actions. She never truly hated Mom. She's just heartbroken that Mom left her that night.

That pain never stopped burning.

I turn my gaze back to Dad. He's still sitting exactly where I left him.

I walk back to the couch and lower myself gently into place.

"Dad," I say quietly, "why don't you say something to Nisha? I know you hate it when anyone speaks against your wife."

He lifts his eyes to mine grey, unreadable, layered with hurt and pride.

"That's because," he says slowly, "she isn't questioning my wife. She is questioning her mother." His voice has that rare vulnerability he rarely shows. "This... is between a daughter and the woman who gave her life. I can't interfere."

He sighs, a slow exhale that seems to carry years of grief. Then a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You both carry her fire inside you. The same stubbornness. The same sharp tongue. The same intensity." His smile softens. "And the same heart. She was fierce... and lovely. Just like you two."

Warmth pools in my chest despite the heaviness of the conversation.

"Dad..." I whisper, surprised by how much his words mean to me.

He straightens, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Go now, princess. And take care of yourself." His tone shifts back to that commanding gentleness only he possesses. "Promise me."

"I promise," I say, and this time, my smile is genuine not practiced this time.

I stand and adjust my long black coat. As I step toward the wide exit archway, the scent of sandalwood from the hall lingers behind me, mixing with my own perfume. I pause for a second, glancing up the stairs where Nisha disappeared. I want to check on her but she needs space.

"I'll call her on the way," I murmur to myself.

Then I step out, heels tapping softly against the marble.

___________________________

Author's note:- Next chapter will be updated on Thursday.