Anusha and I arrived home to find Manasa completely engrossed in her laptop, so focused that she didn’t even notice us walk in. I took a seat on the sofa opposite her, while Anusha sat down beside her.

“Hey,” I called out, breaking the silence.

Startled, Manasa glanced up from her laptop, adjusting her glasses with a smile. "Oh, I didn’t realize you both were home already."

Anusha and I exchanged a quick smile before Manasa continued, her tone shifting. “Okay, so, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”

“Bad news,” Anusha and I said simultaneously, almost as if we had rehearsed it.

Manasa chuckled softly, clearly expecting our choice. "I thought you’d say that." Alright, the bad news is... I didn’t find any information about the well-wisher. Whoever they are, they’ve covered their tracks really well.”

I glanced at Anusha, who looked just as disappointed as I felt, though we had expected as much.

“And the good news?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, hoping for something more uplifting.

Manasa’s face brightened. “The good news is, I found something interesting in the process. It might not directly tell us who the well-wisher is, but it could lead us in the right direction.”

Both Anusha and I perked up, eager to hear more.

“I hate to admit it, but that well-wisher is a maverick,” Manasa said with a tone of reluctant admiration.

Anusha and I exchanged incredulous looks, “Is that supposed to be the good news?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Manasa held up a hand, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, let me explain. All we have so far on the well-wisher is the phone number and a recorded audio message. Now, here’s where it gets interesting. The phone number only has six digits.”

“Six digits?” Anusha cut in, puzzled. “That’s impossible. Numbers aren’t that short, unless...”

“Exactly what I thought!” Manasa said, nodding. “At first, I assumed the rest of the digits were hidden because it might be a private number. But after running it through multiple systems, it turns out the well-wisher’s phone number really does consist of just six digits. No more, no less.”

I furrowed my brow, intrigued but still confused. “And you couldn’t find anything on it?”

Manasa shook her head. “Not in any of the regular databases. So, I took the next step and checked the dark web.”

Anusha and I leaned in slightly, sensing that this was where the real revelation was coming.

“This is where it gets fascinating,” Manasa continued. “The phone the well-wisher is using employs a completely new and highly advanced technology. You can call anyone in the world from that phone, but here’s the kicker—no one can call you back unless they have the same type of phone. And to make matters worse, the phone is designed so that it can’t be traced. It blocks any attempt to locate its signal or record the conversation

Anusha let out a low whistle, impressed but also troubled by the implications. “So, it’s completely untraceable?”

“Pretty much,” Manasa confirmed. “I tried to play the audio file for Rehaan, but it wouldn’t work. It seems like the recording was designed to self-corrupt after being played once.”

I let out a long sigh. “So we can’t trace the well-wisher with that number. That means we’re back to square one.”

Manasa gave a helpless shrug. "For now, yes. But at least we know what we’re up against. This person has access to sophisticated technology, and they don’t want to be found easily. That’s a clue in itself."

I exchanged a glance with Anusha, feeling a mixture of frustration and determination. The well-wisher had thrown us off the trail for now, but it wasn’t over yet.

Suddenly, Manasa perked up. “Wait, I found something interesting,” she said, holding out a photo.Anusha took the photo from her and examined it closely.

“What are you trying to show us, Manasa?” Anusha asked.

Manasa face-palmed and said, “Look behind the photo, guys.”

Anusha flipped the photo. There was something written on it. We looked closely, trying to figure out what ‘16624’ meant.

“It’s a date!” I exclaimed. “Look, 24 is the year, 6 is the month, and 16 is the day. That means it’s tomorrow!”

“Where did you find this photo?” I asked Manasa.

“Actually, I found it in Uncle’s journal. I promise I didn’t read, though.”

“So, Uncle was supposed to meet someone. But where?” Anusha asked.

“I think the photo will tell us the location,” I said. But before I could say more, someone rang the bell.

“I’ll get it,” Manasa said as she made her way to the door. Rehaan stood just outside, engaged in conversation with a man carrying a backpack slung over his shoulder. Both entered, and Rehaan gestured toward the man beside him.

“This is Aalim,” Rehaan introduced. “Aalim, meet everyone.”

“Hey, Aalim, nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand with a welcoming smile.

Aalim shook my hand with a firm yet gentle grip, though I noticed his other hand drift up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. "Nice to meet you too," he replied, his voice soft but polite.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” I said, gesturing toward the seats nearby. Aalim and Rehaan both sat down in adjacent chairs next to me, their postures relaxed but attentive.

Anusha stepped forward with two glasses of water, offering one to each of them. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, her hospitality evident.

“Thank you, I'm good,” Rehaan replied, giving a polite smile, while Aalim shook his head to indicate the same.

There was a brief pause in the room as we all settled into the moment. Aalim glanced around, taking in the surroundings, his backpack resting by his side as he relaxed into his seat.

Rehaan gave Aalim a gentle nudge on the shoulder, a silent cue to get to the point.

“Oh, yes,” Aalim said, as if suddenly remembering. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small, weathered object—an antique Rubik’s cube, its colors faded with age. “I borrowed this from Srinivastav Uncle. I came to return it.”

Manasa leaned forward, her curiosity immediately piqued. “What did you do with this antique piece?” she asked, her tone a mix of intrigue and amusement.

Aalim smiled, running his fingers lightly over the worn surface of the cube. “I used it for my project,” he explained. “I’m a fine arts student, and I wanted to create something that combined both history and modernity. This Rubik’s cube isn’t like the modern ones—it’s a period piece, from the late 70s or early 80s. The craftsmanship, the way it feels in your hand, it’s... different. I found it fascinating.”

Manasa raised an eyebrow. “A Rubik’s cube for a fine arts project? That’s definitely unique.”

Aalim chuckled softly, his voice taking on a more enthusiastic tone. “I wanted to use something unconventional to represent the passage of time—how something simple, like a puzzle, can change so much over the decades, but still retain its essence. It’s not just about solving it; it’s about what it represents, the tactile history in each turn.”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the photo we had been looking at earlier. His expression shifted, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Do you know anything about this picture?” I asked, holding up the photo that had captured Aalim’s attention.

Aalim leaned in slightly, examining the image more closely. His eyes flickered with recognition. “Yes, actually. There’s a Shiva temple not far from here. People say it’s the place where Lord Shiva mourned the death of Goddess Sati.

”The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.“Where is this temple?” I asked, my curiosity growing.

Aalim hesitated, glancing between us before answering. “It’s abandoned. No one’s allowed to go there anymore,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, as if the subject itself carried a sense of caution.

“So, you know where it is?” I pressed, sensing that there was more to the story.He nodded slowly. “Yes, I know where it is, but it’s not easy to get to. The locals avoid it—it’s been left untouched for years.

"Have you been there?"Anusha asked, her tone inquisitive but measured.

Aalim hesitated again, then finally admitted, A few times, yes.

”What were you doing there?” Rehaan asked, leaning forward with a slight frown, his police instincts kicking in.

“I went there to take photos and to find some peace from the chaos in my life,” Aalim said with a deep sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You know how my family is—it can get overwhelming.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Do you have any photos of the temple?”

Aalim’s expression brightened slightly. “Yes, I do.”

“Could we take a look at them?” I asked, feeling a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“Sure, give me a moment,” he replied, pulling out his laptop and opening it. As the screen flickered to life, he began searching for the folder where he kept the images.

While we waited, Rehaan, who had been silently observing, looked at us with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

I turned to him and quickly explained, “My father was supposed to meet someone near this abandoned temple before he... well, before everything happened. We’re trying to find, whom he met there.”

Rehaan’s expression shifted, understanding dawning on his face. He nodded, then leaned forward with renewed interest.

Aalim finally found the photos and turned the laptop screen toward us. Manasa, Anusha, and Rehaan gathered around me, while Aalim remained seated beside me, adjusting the angle so we could all get a clear view.

We began scrolling through the images one by one. The temple, though abandoned, held a haunting beauty. The ancient stone structures, covered in moss and vines, seemed frozen in time. Some photos captured eerie shafts of sunlight cutting through the overgrowth, while others showed the intricate carvings that had withstood the passage of years.

Then, as we flipped to the next photo, Rehaan’s sharp eyes caught something. “Wait, go back,” he said, leaning in closer. I scrolled back to the previous image—a picture of the temple entrance from a distance.

“That’s uncle,” Rehaan pointed out, his voice tight with surprise.

I froze, my heart pounding. There, near the entrance, was my father, standing with another man. But we couldn’t see the other man’s face—his face was turned, obscuring his identity.

“Do you have any other photos of this moment?” I asked Aalim, my voice trembling slightly.

We quickly checked the next few images, hoping to catch a better angle, but none of the photos revealed the mysterious man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Aalim said, his tone apologetic. “I didn’t even notice them in the background when I was taking these. I wish I had gotten a clear shot.”

I shook my head, trying to steady my nerves. “No, this is already incredibly helpful. We didn’t even know my father had been at the temple, let alone with someone else.”

Rehaan studied the image again, his brow furrowed in concentration. “We need to figure out who that other man is. It could be important.”