Mihir's plan was working. Step by step, he was tightening the net around Manohar. It was clear from Manohar's face—anger and irritation were taking over. Mihir could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and feel it in the air between them.
Then, just as Mihir had hoped, Manohar lost control. He walked over and called him aside, his voice laced with frustration.
"Listen, kid, come here," Manohar snapped. Mihir followed him quietly, his mind already knowing the plan had hit its mark.
Manohar's voice quivered with emotion. "Do you even know the man you were mocking? You don't know anything, yet you're saying all kinds of rubbish."
Mihir replied coolly, "Why do you care so much? You're nothing to him, right?"
That one comment broke the wall. Manohar couldn't hold back anymore. He began to talk.
---
**Conversation between Manohar and Mihir**
**Manohar:** "He was my friend—the one you were disrespecting. There were four of us. We were more like brothers than friends."
**Mihir:** "But everyone's talking about him like he was involved in shady things. Even the news said he died due to an illness."
**Manohar:** "That's exactly what's confusing. We all knew he wasn't sick. Nothing had ever happened to him. The four of us studied together and then went off to work in different cities."
**Manohar:** "Still, we kept in touch. Every month, we'd pick a weekend and meet somewhere. We'd laugh, talk, share our joys and problems. Last time we met, he said he was building a new house and wanted to throw a party for us."
**Mihir:** "Then what happened? Why would he suddenly die like this? Or did someone want him dead?"
**Manohar:** "No. If anything had been wrong, he would've told us. We always shared everything—no matter how big or small. There was no sign of trouble… and now this? After that, we never got the chance to meet again. And then we heard he was gone."
---
Mihir listened carefully. He had hoped for something revealing, something solid. But all he got was a story of friendship and confusion.
*There's nothing useful here,* Mihir thought as he turned and walked out of the shop.
He got back on his bike and rode home. By the time he reached, it was already 9 p.m. He freshened up, made himself some food, and sat down to eat quietly.
As he ate, another thought crossed his mind. *I haven't gone to the shop in days. The owner might start getting suspicious. I should check in tomorrow, see how things are.*
After dinner, Mihir sat quietly, thinking through the case, then went to sleep.
---
The next morning, Mihir woke up early, got ready, and rode his bike to the shop. As soon as he entered, the owner's daughter, Mayra, lit up with joy.
"Mihir bhai! You're back!" she said, smiling brightly.
Mihir smiled too. "Good to see you, Mayra."
The shop's owner—a woman who had supported Mihir through his tough times—walked over with a relieved look.
"I thought you weren't well, that's why you weren't coming," she said.
"You're right," Mihir replied. "I wasn't feeling great. Today felt a little better, so I came in."
But as Mihir watched her closely, something changed in her expression. Her smile faded, her eyes distant.
"Mistress, is everything alright?" Mihir asked gently.
She smiled again, but it was forced. "Yes, Mihir. Everything is fine."
Still, Mihir could sense that something was off. She moved to her counter and sat silently, lost in thought, occasionally stealing glances at Mihir when she thought he wasn't looking. But he noticed.
*She's hiding something,* Mihir thought.
He approached her once again. "Please tell me if something's wrong. Maybe I can help, even if just a little. You've helped me before… don't hide it from me."
But instead of answering, she moved away and busied herself with some other task. Just then, her phone rang, and as she took the call, Mihir noticed the sudden shift on her face—a flicker of despair, something heavy she was trying to carry alone.
Mihir turned to Mayra. "Hey, Mayra, do you know what's bothering your mom?"
She shook her head. "No, bhaiya. I don't know."
That left Mihir with one option—to find out for himself.
He tiptoed into the owner's private room and searched quietly. Every corner, every drawer. But he found nothing suspicious.
*If I could just get access to her phone,* he thought. *There might be something there.*
But it was always in her hand. He couldn't just ask for it—she wouldn't give it.
Then an idea struck him.
"Mayra," he said, kneeling down. "Want a chocolate?"
She smiled. "Yes, bhaiya!"
"Then do something for me. Go get your mumma's phone."
Mayra nodded and ran off. But a few minutes later, she returned empty-handed.
"Mumma's not there," she said. "I looked everywhere. Maybe she went outside. If she comes back, I'll get it for you."
Mihir sighed and went back to work.
Two hours later, the mistress returned with several bags in her hands. Mihir quickly walked over.
"Let me carry those for you," he offered.
She handed them over, her face still clouded with something unspoken. Then her phone rang again. And once more, Mihir saw the sadness in her eyes.
*What's going on with her?* he wondered.
What trouble was she hiding?
Was she in danger?
And most importantly—would Mihir find out the truth?
---
**What lies behind the mistress's sorrow?**
**Will Mihir uncover the hidden truth?**
**Or will this mystery sink deeper into silence?**