Suddenly, it struck Mihir—*I can get the man's address from the hospital... or maybe it's printed in the newspapers around the time the bank crime happened.*
Without wasting another second, Mihir rushed out of his house and headed straight to the bookstore where he worked. As soon as he entered, the shop owner looked up in surprise.
"Mihir! You recovered so soon?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, madam, I'm feeling better now," Mihir replied with a polite smile. "Actually, I need a small favor."
"Of course," she said warmly. "Tell me, what do you need?"
"I need all the newspapers that have come out this week," he said.
The lady nodded and pointed towards a corner of the shop. "There are plenty of torn and old newspapers stacked over there. Go ahead, it's your shop too. Take whatever you want."
Mihir thanked her sincerely and got to work. He began sorting through the pile, searching for anything related to the crime at the bank. After going through stacks and stacks of paper, he gathered nearly 200 newspapers and packed them into his bag. He nodded a goodbye to the owner and stepped out, determined to dig deeper into the case.
He flagged down a rickshaw and gave the driver directions. As they began moving, Mihir noticed the driver kept glancing at his bag again and again. The man's eyes were filled with suspicion, as if trying to guess what Mihir was carrying.
*Is there a weapon in that bag?* the rickshaw driver wondered silently.
Unable to hold back his curiosity, the driver finally asked, "What's in the bag, son?"
Mihir gave a casual smile. "Nothing, uncle—just some old newspapers I'm taking home to read."
Hearing that, the driver's doubts melted away. They continued the ride in silence, and soon, Mihir reached his stop.
Back home, he rushed to his secret room. He overturned the bag, letting all the newspapers spill onto his desk in a chaotic heap. For hours, Mihir sat there, carefully separating the bank crime reports from the rest. He pushed aside unrelated articles, personal ads, and politics—his focus razor-sharp.
When he was done, only 50 newspapers were left that contained anything about the bank incident. They were from different publishers, with varying angles and details.
One particular newspaper caught his eye—it reported over a thousand city crimes, all unsolved due to lack of evidence or witnesses. *Interesting,* Mihir thought, and set it aside for later.
He stacked the bank crime papers neatly and began reading each one line by line. Every time he found something useful, he marked it, cut it out, and pinned it to his notice board.
Soon, the board was full. Evidence, clues, and suspects filled every inch of space. Mihir didn't stop. He began pasting the rest on the walls. He was obsessed—driven. Somewhere among these scraps was the truth.
Then, finally, he found it.
A small note in one corner of a page—a name and an address. It was the murdered man's residence.
Mihir stared at it, heart pounding. *Now that I have his address, should I go and meet his family? Or should I sneak in like a thief?*
Dozens of questions swirled in his mind.
But one thing was clear—this was a lead. A real one. The case was finally moving forward.
He was so deep into his thoughts that he didn't even realize he was late for work. Shaking off the daze, Mihir grabbed his coat and set out immediately for the address.
As he arrived at the location, a two-story house came into view. It stood quiet, the air around it heavy with silence. He stepped closer.
His eyes locked onto the door. The latch hung loose.
*Strange... just a few days ago, this house was full of people. Where could they all have gone so suddenly?*
As he stood there, puzzled, an old man happened to walk by. He noticed Mihir staring at the house.
"What happened, son? Why are you standing here?" he asked kindly.
Mihir quickly answered, "Nothing, uncle. I was just admiring the house. It's built so well."
The man gave a melancholic nod. "Yes, it is. Happiness did come to that house… but it didn't stay for long. No one knows when joy turned into sorrow."
Mihir hesitated, then asked, "Uncle, why is no one here now? Where have they all gone?"
The man sighed. "I don't know, son. Two days ago, everyone vanished. Since then, no one has seen them."
With that, the man walked away, leaving Mihir alone in front of the silent, abandoned house.
His mind buzzed with questions. Every time he thought he had found a way to uncover the truth, new mysteries blocked his path. Still, Mihir knew—this was not the end. It was just the beginning.