She stayed on the call longer, listening carefully as the man shared every bit of information he had gathered so far. 

Slowly, piece by piece, the picture became clearer. 

She came to know that the man himself had been hired as one of the truck drivers and had been working there for about a week now. 

In that short time, he had managed to observe many things—more than most people would notice. 

He knew their regular route, their timing, and the pattern they followed every day. 

The trucks never changed their path, never delayed unnecessarily, and never crossed certain points on their own.

But there was one thing that stood out clearly.

It was impossible to go there without that one powerful man's permission. 

The area was heavily restricted, declared private property, and guarded in a way that made it almost impossible for any outsider to even step inside. 

No normal authority could enter, no investigation team could approach openly. 

And that was exactly why the delivery was handled the way it was—why the drivers were stopped midway and the trucks were taken over by other men.

Tanishka listened silently, her expression calm but intense. 

Somewhere in her mind, a plan was already forming. 

If direct access was impossible, then indirect access was the only way left. And maybe—just maybe—using the man's job as a driver, they could get closer. 

Close enough to see what was really happening.

She nodded slowly, even though the man couldn't see her.

She then learned that tomorrow, around 4 p.m., he and the other drivers were supposed to take the same jungle path again.

 The same restricted route. 

The same delivery. 

That timing mattered. That route mattered. If she wanted to do something, it had to be then.

She realized she couldn't carry the whole army with her. 

That would only alert everyone involved, and the entire plan would fail before it even began. 

This had to be quiet. Careful. Controlled.

After confirming everything one last time, she cut the call.

Without wasting another second, she opened her laptop and booked her ticket from Mumbai to Kolkata. 

The confirmation mail appeared on the screen, but she barely looked at it. Her mind was already ahead, calculating her next moves.

She immediately tried calling Mohit.

No answer.

She tried again. His phone was switched off.

She called him again. And again. 

And again—nearly twenty to thirty times—but there was nothing. 

Frustration crept in as she sighed heavily. 

She then tried calling others, hoping at least one person from the team would pick up so she could inform them about the situation. One call after another went unanswered.

Just as she was about to send a voice note, her phone screen went black.

Dead.

"Fuck... all this had to happen now only," she muttered under her breath.

Irritation and urgency mixed together as she quickly searched for her charger. 

She looked on the table, near the bed, checked drawers, even the floor—but she couldn't find it anywhere. 

Her breathing grew heavier with each passing second.

She then thought of her iPad and turned around to look for it, only to remember it wasn't there. It was at Mohit's house.

And worse—he had lost the key earlier that evening.

That was the exact reason Mohit was supposed to stay at her house after the party.

Standing alone in the room, with a dead phone, no charger, and half her resources out of reach, Tanishka closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. 

Things were going wrong, one after another—but stopping was not an option now.

She knew Mohit too well.

She knew that no matter how tired he was, no matter how drunk, once he came back and realized she wasn't around, he would look for answers.

 And she also knew one simple thing—Mohit always read her stuff. Always.

Especially when he was worried. Especially when she disappeared without explanation.

With a slow breath, she pulled out her diary from the drawer.

Her fingers lingered on the cover for a moment before she opened it. 

She didn't even bother finding a specific page. 

She flipped it open to a random one, the paper slightly rough beneath her fingertips, and picked up her pen. 

The house was silent, the kind of silence that made the scratching sound of the pen feel louder than it should have.

She began to write.

"Mohit, don't worry, okay?"

The words came out steady, even though her heart wasn't.

"I am going to find that bastard. I have tracked and marked the area in my book, and it's like three hours deep inside the Sundarban, in the private property of the Prime Minister. It's almost near the Bangladesh border."

She paused for just a second, then continued.

"I tried to call you, but your phone was off, so that's why I'm writing this and leaving everything. Call me once you find this, okay? And I am leaving for Kolkata right now."

Her handwriting remained neat, familiar—something Mohit would recognize instantly.

"Don't worry about me and take care of yourself. And don't forget to drink lemonade. The powder is in the top left upper drawer."

She didn't hesitate for a moment before adding the last line.

"Love you."

She closed the diary slowly, as if sealing her thoughts inside it. 

Then she placed it carefully on top of the table in her study room.

 She arranged everything deliberately—the diary, the open file, a few papers—exactly how she knew Mohit would notice. 

She knew this was the first place he would come to if he didn't find her in the bedroom. The study room was always her truth.

Without allowing herself another pause, she turned away.

She quickly gathered what she needed—her laptop, her phone, and a pair of clothes. Nothing extra. 

Nothing unnecessary. 

Every second mattered now. 

She booked a taxi immediately, her fingers moving fast, her mind already counting time.

As soon as the confirmation appeared, she grabbed her bag and walked out of the house, closing the door behind her. 

The cool night air hit her face as she stepped outside, but she didn't slow down. 

The only thought in her head was the flight, the timing, the route.

She couldn't get late.

If she missed this flight, she would miss the chance.
And if she missed the chance, that bastard would disappear again.

She slid into the taxi, gave the driver the destination, and leaned back only for a moment, her eyes fixed ahead. 

The city lights passed by in a blur as the car moved toward the airport, carrying her closer to the jungle, the truth, and whatever was waiting for her deep inside Sundarban.

She finally reached the airport, but the moment she stepped inside, another reality hit her—harder than the exhaustion, harder than the urgency pressing on her chest.

She couldn't do this alone.

No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, the truth was clear. 

She had no experience in action like this. 

No experience dealing with restricted jungle areas, private properties guarded by powerful people, or situations where one wrong step could cost everything. 

Intelligence and planning could only take her so far. 

Beyond that, she would need someone who knew the place. 

Someone who understood the terrain, the rules, the power dynamics. 

Someone who had authority.

While waiting for the boarding announcement, she sat down, pulled out her phone, and unlocked it. 

Her fingers hesitated for a second before she opened the browser. 

Slowly, carefully, she searched for the person who held power in the area—someone in charge of the entrance of Sundarban, especially near the Bangladesh border.

The results loaded slowly.

No single name appeared.

Instead, a list came up—different in-charges of different areas, different postings, different jurisdictions. 

Her eyes scanned the screen one name at a time, her heartbeat steady but heavy. And then suddenly, her gaze froze.

She felt it before she fully processed it.

The name on the screen belonged to the last person she expected.

Her best friend.

No—her ex-best friend.

They had broken up a year ago.

 Not a loud breakup, not dramatic, but painful enough to leave scars. Since then, they hadn't spoken.

 Not once. 

Not a call. Not a message. Nothing. 

Time had passed, but the distance between them had only grown.

This mission was already hard—but now it felt heavier.

What confused her even more was the posting itself. It didn't make sense. 

Not at all. Her ex-best friend was brilliant—talented, capable, sharp. 

She was the kind of person who always got posted to powerful cities, important locations, places that mattered. 

Someone like her always ended up where authority and influence were strongest.

So how did Aarohi end up in a place like Rupmari?

The thought refused to settle in her mind.

Rupmari. A remote area in the North 24 Parganas district. 

Close to Sundarban. 

Close to the border. A place where even the network barely survived. 

A place far removed from comfort, from city life, from everything familiar. 

The same girl who couldn't live without Netflix, who complained about slow Wi-Fi, who loved cafés and lights and noise—what was she doing here?

None of it made sense.

But logic didn't matter right now.

She had no option.

Tanishka let out a slow, tired sigh and straightened up. 

Pushing aside her thoughts, she dialed the headquarters of Barasat. 

The call connected after a few rings. 

Her voice was calm, professional, and controlled as she informed them about her arrival.

She made one thing very clear.

This had to stay secret.

No unnecessary movement. 

No information leaks. 

No discussions outside trusted walls. 

She knew too well that the men of that bastard were spread everywhere, in every direction, watching, listening, waiting.

As she ended the call, the boarding announcement echoed through the airport.

Tanishka stood up, adjusted her bag on her shoulder, and took a deep breath. 

The path ahead was complicated—emotionally, professionally, dangerously—but there was no turning back now.

The flight awaited.
And so did the truth.

But there was one thing she didn't know.

In her hurry, in that rush where every second felt precious, the diary and the file she had carefully placed on top of the table weren't as secure as she believed. 

They were kept too close to the corner of the table, balanced more by hope than stability. 

The moment she turned away and left the room, the stillness of the house returned—but not for long.

The floor of the study room was smooth, almost glossy, with barely any friction. 

A faint vibration—just enough, nothing dramatic—ran through the room. 

Quickly, almost silently, the diary shifted because air trapped between it and the floor, and pressure and air resistance pushed it.

 It slid inch by inch, its weight pulling it toward the edge. 

The file followed, the papers inside loosening as gravity took over.

And then it happened.

The diary slipped off the table and slid under the table drawer, disappearing into the narrow gap between the drawer and the floor. 

The file fell after it, scattering a few papers across the floor, some landing half under the table, some resting where no one would immediately notice them.

 The message she had written with such certainty, the words meant for Mohit's eyes, were no longer where she believed they were.

The room returned to silence once again.

Nothing looked obviously wrong at first glance. 

The table still stood neat from a distance, the chair pushed in, the lamp untouched. 

But beneath the table, hidden from plain sight, lay the diary and the scattered pages—quietly waiting, unseen, as the night stretched on and Tanishka moved farther away, unaware of what she had unknowingly left behind.