The café noise hadn't change students arguing. Same espresso machine hissing. Same clatter of plates and spoons.
But the air at their table felt heavier now.
Sneha stared at her chai. Still hadn't finished it. The steam was gone. Just cold liquid sitting there.
She spoke quietly. Slowly. Like she was testing each word before letting it out.
"Ananya wasn't loud," she said. "Not the kind of person who filled a room, you know? She'd sit in the corner during parties. Listen more than talk."
Mohan nodded. Didn't interrupt.
Sneha continued. "She didn't overshare. Never talked about family much. Never complained about exams or professors like the rest of us." A pause. "She was… careful. With people."
"Careful how?" Mohan asked gently.
Sneha frowned. Thinking. "Like… she trusted slowly. Took her time before opening up. Even with me—we lived together for months before she told me basic things. Where she was from. What her parents did."
She looked up. Met Mohan's eyes briefly. Then Rahul's.
"She kept things to herself," Sneha added. Then corrected herself. "Not in a cold way. Just… private."
Rahul nodded once. Said nothing.
Sneha's fingers traced the rim of her cup. "Sometimes I thought she was lonely. But then other times I thought maybe she just preferred it that way."
She stopped.
Contradicted herself without realizing.
Human.
Mohan leaned back slightly. Pulled out his phone. Glanced at it. Not checking anything important. Just… giving space.
He took a sip of his chai.
Sneha's eyes drifted to Rahul.
Not to Mohan.
Something about the quiet guy who barely spoke felt safer.
Rahul noticed. Didn't react. Just kept listening.
He spoke after a long silence.
Calm. Almost casual.
"You didn't finish your degree."
Sneha blinked. "What?"
"Your degree. You left before—"
"I did finish," she said quickly. Defensive. Then stopped.
Her face changed.
Rahul's tone stayed soft. "You topped most semesters. People like that don't leave things unfinished."
Sneha stared at him.
Not angry. Just… caught.
Like someone had seen something she'd worked hard to hide.
Her hands tightened around the cup.
"I finished," she repeated. Quieter now. "Barely. But I did."
"Then you left."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Just looked down. At the table. At her chai. At nothing.
Her body reacted before her words did.
Hands stiffened. Shoulders pulled in.
She glanced around the café. At the students. At the door. At the windows.
Then back at them.
Her voice dropped lower. "I didn't leave because of grief."
Pause.
Rahul waited.
Mohan waited.
Sneha exhaled slowly. "I was told to."
The words sat there.
Not "threatened." Not "forced."
Told.
Rahul didn't jump on it. Didn't push. Just let the silence hold.
Sneha's jaw tightened.
She looked out the window. At people walking past. Living normal lives.
"Some men," she said finally. Slowly. Like pulling teeth. "They came twice."
Her voice was flat. Detached. The way people talk about trauma when they've practiced not feeling it.
"First time was a week after… after everything happened. Knocked on my door. Didn't shout. Didn't break anything. Just… stood there."
She paused.
"They said it would be easier if I left."
Mohan's expression darkened. "What do you mean easier—"
Sneha cut him off. "I don't know. They didn't explain. They didn't have to."
Her hands were shaking now. She set the cup down. Pressed her palms flat on the table.
"Second time was three days later. Same men. Same tone. Polite. Almost… friendly." She laughed bitterly. "That's what made it scary. They weren't angry. They were just… certain."
Rahul's jaw clenched.
But he didn't speak.
Mohan leaned forward. "Did they say who sent them?"
"No."
"Did you tell the police?"
Sneha looked at him like he'd said something absurd. "The police?" She shook her head. "The police were part of the problem. They came asking questions too. Different questions. But the same feeling—like I was supposed to disappear."
She looked away again. "So I did."
Rahul spoke. Quietly.
"You don't owe us details."
Sneha looked at him. Surprised.
That wasn't what she expected.
No pressure. No demand for more.
Just… permission to stop.
She exhaled.
Long. Shaky.
And that's when people talk.
Sneha circled back on her own.
"That night," she said. Voice quieter now. "The night she… the last night I saw her."
She paused. Collected herself.
"She was distracted. On her phone more than usual. Kept checking it. Typing something. Deleting it. Typing again."
Rahul thought for himself
"I never saw a phone in her hands , the phones are quiet costly so how did she get one." then rahul said to himself "may be neeraj have bought it for her mom"
"Do you know who she was talking to?" Mohan asked.
"No. She didn't say." Sneha frowned. "But she left later than she planned. Said something came up. Wouldn't tell me what."
Rahul's pulse quickened. He kept his face neutral.
Sneha continued. "I thought she was meeting someone. A friend maybe. Or…" She trailed off.
"Or?" Mohan prompted gently.
"I don't know. She just seemed… tense. Like she was nervous about something but trying not to show it."
Silence.
Then Sneha added, almost as an afterthought:
"She didn't take an auto."
Rahul looked up. Just once. Brief.
Sneha didn't notice. She was staring at the table again.
"A car stopped," she said. "Outside our building. Black. Big. Shiny. Not the kind you see in our area."
Her voice got quieter.
"Not local."
Mohan leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it looked… expensive. No scratches. Clean. Like it came from somewhere else." She struggled to describe it. "Had some kind of symbol at the back. On the trunk. I don't remember what it looked like. Just that it was there."
She frowned. "Not a normal car logo. Something else."
Rahul's hands curled into fists under the table.
Mohan pressed carefully. "Did you see who was inside?"
"No. Windows were dark. Tinted." Sneha shook her head. "Ananya got in. Didn't say anything to me. Just… left."
She stopped.
Her face changed. Like she'd just realized what she'd said.
Immediately, she pulled back.
"That's all I know."
Her tone shifted. Defensive. Shut down.
She checked her phone. Stood up abruptly. Grabbed her bag.
"I need to go."
Mohan stood too. "Sneha—"
"I shouldn't have said anything." Her voice was tight. "I shouldn't be here."
"We're not going to—"
"I don't care." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Don't contact me again. Please."
She didn't wait for a response.
Just turned and walked toward the door.
Fast. Not running. But close.
The café noise swallowed her.
Outside, the street was loud again.
Traffic. Horns. People shouting. Normal Bhopal chaos.
Mohan stood beside Rahul on the pavement. Watching Sneha disappear into the crowd.
"She's terrified," Mohan said quietly.
Rahul didn't respond.
His mind was locked onto three things.
Black.
Luxury.
Symbol.
Mohan kept talking. Something about next steps. About finding records. About being careful.
Rahul barely heard him.
His brain was replaying Sneha's words.
Not local.
Expensive.
Symbol at the back.
He didn't say it out loud.
But the pieces were starting to fit.
Outside, the street swallowed them whole.
Noise rushed back in—autos honking, vendors shouting, someone's scooter backfiring. Normal Bhopal chaos. The kind that made you invisible even when you weren't.
Rahul stood on the pavement. Hands in pockets. Shoulders tight.
Sneha was already gone. No goodbye. No backward glance. Just… gone.
Mohan stood beside him. Quiet. Trying to look normal. But his hands kept moving— adjusting his bag, rubbing the back of his neck.
Rahul didn't speak.
His mind was stuck on one image.
Ananya. Standing outside her building. Getting into that car.
Black. Shiny. Expensive.
Not local.
The image played on repeat. Like a video stuck on loop.
Why that car?
Who was inside?
Why didn't she take an auto like always?
No answers.
Just the image. Over and over.
Mohan finally spoke. "You okay?"
Rahul nodded. Didn't look at him.
Mohan exhaled. "That was… fuck, yaar. She was terrified , we not got even one usefull thing from her ."
"Yeah."
"Those men—whoever they were—they didn't just scare her. They erased her."
Rahul's jaw tightened. "She's still alive."
"Barely." Mohan shook his head. "She's a ghost, bhai. Walking around pretending everything's fine. But she's gone."
Rahul didn't respond.
The street noise pressed in. Too loud. Too normal.
Like nothing had happened.
Like Sneha hadn't just told them Ananya got into a car she shouldn't have trusted.
Like the world kept moving even when it shouldn't.
Mohan checked his watch. "We should go."
Rahul nodded.
But he didn't move immediately.
Just stood there.
Staring at nothing.
Feeling unfinished.
Like someone had shut a door mid-sentence.
They met Manish that evening.
Same house. Same dusty smell of old books and incense.
Manish sat at his desk. Calm. Listening.
Mohan paced slightly. Nervous energy. He told Manish everything—what Sneha said, how she reacted, the men who came twice, the way she left the city like she was running from something bigger than grief.
And the car.
Black. Luxury. Symbol on the back.
Manish didn't interrupt. Just listened. Hands folded. Eyes sharp.
When Mohan finished, silence filled the room.
Manish leaned back. "She was forced."
"Yeah," Mohan said.
"Not scared. Forced." Manish's tone was clinical. Precise. "That means backing. Organization. Someone with reach."
Rahul sat in the corner. Silent. Watching.
Mohan turned to him. "You've been quiet."
"Nothing to say yet."
Mohan frowned. "You heard what she said, right? About the car? About the men?"
"I heard."
"And?"
"And we don't know enough."
Mohan's frustration leaked through. "We know Ananya got into a car she shouldn't have. We know Sneha got threatened into leaving. We know someone powerful wanted this buried."
"Yeah." Rahul's voice was flat. "But we don't know who."
Silence.
Manish adjusted his glasses. "Mohan. You believe Rahul is innocent."
It wasn't a question.
Mohan stopped pacing. Looked at Manish. Then at Rahul.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."
"Why?"
Mohan hesitated. "Because I knew him. Not well, but… enough. He wasn't violent. He wasn't capable of what they said he did." He paused. "And because the story never made sense. Too clean. Too fast. Like someone wrote it before it happened."
Manish nodded slowly. "And now?"
"Now I regret not saying that when it mattered." Mohan's voice cracked slightly. "I assumed he ran because he was guilty. But maybe he ran because staying would've killed him."
Rahul's throat tightened.
He wanted to say something.
Didn't.
Mohan continued. "If clearing this helps Rahul—wherever he is—I'll do it. If he's alive, he deserves that."
The words hung in the air.
Manish didn't respond immediately. Just watched Mohan. Then Rahul.
Finally, he spoke. "Then we continue carefully."
Mohan nodded.
Rahul said nothing.
But inside, something broke.
Gratitude and pain at the same time.
They talked for another hour.
Then Rahul spoke.
Calm. Flat.
"I'm leaving tomorrow."
Mohan looked up sharply. "What?"
"Back to Bhopal."
Manish didn't react. He'd known this was coming.
Mohan frowned. "But we just—"
"I have a job," Rahul said. "A life. People who'll notice if I'm gone too long."
"Rajesh—"
Mohan opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Manish.
Manish nodded. "He's right."
"But—"
"Mohan." Manish's voice was firm.
Mohan exhaled. . "Fine, your vacation is over."
Rahul stood. "I'll leave early. Before ."
Manish nodded. "I'll arrange transport."
Rahul moved toward the door. Stopped. Looked back.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Manish's expression softened. "Don't thank me yet."
The next morning came too fast.
Rahul left before dawn. No goodbyes. Just a quiet exit through the front door.
Mohan wasn't there. Still asleep.
Antony wasn't there either. His house door was closed.
Only Manish stood at the gate.
They didn't speak much.
Just a brief nod. A handshake.
Then Rahul walked away.
The city was still waking up. Quiet. Gray. Cold.
He caught a bus. Rode for hours. Watched the landscape change—city to highway to smaller towns to Bhopal's outskirts.
By afternoon, he was back.
Room 304 looked the same.
Same chair. Same table. Same crack in the ceiling.
Rahul dropped his bag by the door. Didn't unpack.
Just sat down.
Stared at nothing.
His mind circled back.
Why did Ananya enter that car?
Who was inside?
Why did Sneha get threatened, but Ananya didn't back out?
The questions looped.
No answers.
Just fragments.
Rahul closed his eyes.
Saw the car again.
Shiny. Clean. Expensive.
Not local.
The image burned into his skull.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But he knew it mattered.
More than anything else.
The car.
The fucking car.