**Chapter One: The Call**
"I haven't heard it anywhere before…" Mihir muttered to himself, puzzled. He had used his brain a lot—perhaps too much—but one thing was certain: no one other than him had that number. Then how did he get that call? And more importantly, who was it?
Confused and anxious, he tried calling the number back, but now it was switched off. He tried several times, but to no avail. He thought, *Could it have been a wrong number?* But then again, how did the caller know his name? He had to find out somehow.
Trying to shake off the uneasiness, Mihir left for work. But even on the way, his mind kept circling back to the same question—*Who was it?* *Whose number could it be?* There was no clue, nothing to help him piece it together.
So lost was he in thought that he didn't notice a hole in the road—a deep, uncovered gutter. Just as he was about to step into it, an unknown person appeared from behind and pulled him back in the nick of time. Mihir turned around to thank the stranger, but the man had already vanished into the crowd. Who was he? Mihir had no idea.
He reached the bookstore in a hurry, tension written all over his face. As he began arranging books and cleaning the shelves, the store's owner, Samaira, walked in.
"Son, what happened? Why are you so nervous?" she asked with concern.
Mihir looked up, troubled. "Mistress Samaira, something's not right. Yesterday I got an unknown call. It disconnected quickly, but today… I was nearly in an accident. I was about to fall into a gutter, but an unknown man saved me and then just disappeared."
Samaira raised an eyebrow. "But your clothes are perfectly clean. It doesn't look like you were about to fall."
"I'm telling the truth," Mihir insisted.
"It seems like you might be hallucinating," she replied gently. "You work a lot, and you read too many crime novels and news stories. That's probably what's affecting your mind. You should take some rest. Everything will be fine."
Mihir nodded politely, but deep down, he couldn't let it go. He resumed his work, but his thoughts kept drifting back.
Just then, his eyes caught something on the TV near the counter. A breaking news report flashed across the screen: a bank had been looted, and someone had been brutally murdered. Mihir's curiosity ignited. He quickly jotted down whatever details he could gather from the news. A gang had looted the bank and murdered a man in such a way that there were no visible injuries or fingerprints. The cameras inside the bank were destroyed, leaving only the gang's entry recorded.
The crime scene was just five kilometers from the bookstore.
That was all Mihir needed. Becoming a detective was both his passion and his dream. After a long, two-hour chat with Samaira, Mihir set out for the location.
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**Chapter Two: At the Crime Scene**
When he reached the bank, only the police were present. The place was cordoned off with yellow tape. He waited for the moment when the officers got busy and quietly slipped inside. Mihir wasn't just an enthusiast—he had prepared himself over time. With the money he earned and saved, he had built a small tool kit—a plastic box filled with essentials: a magnifying glass, gloves, small plastic bags, and a notepad.
As soon as he entered, he had a gut feeling—six people had been involved in the crime. He observed every corner, every mark, every clue. There were only ten employees at the bank. Mihir carefully noted:
*Who was saying what…*
*Who was doing what…*
*Where was everyone standing…*
He spent the entire day surveying the bank. By evening, he had gathered multiple clues the police had missed. Satisfied but still puzzled, he packed his tools and returned to the bookstore.
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**Chapter Three: Secrets Within**
It was dark by the time Mihir returned. As he walked in, Samaira and her daughter Mayra greeted him.
"Son, where did you go?"
"Brother, where were you?"
Mihir smiled faintly. "I just went to the market… felt like taking a walk."
They accepted the answer and joined him for dinner. After saying goodnight, Mihir left for home.
Once inside, he immediately laid out the evidence he'd collected from the bank. Then he pulled out old newspapers, searching for similar bank crimes. He worked late into the night, comparing reports, analyzing details, and writing notes. The deeper he dug, the clearer it became—this wasn't the gang's first time.
And whoever they were… they were extremely clever.
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