Mumbai never truly slept. Even at 11 PM, the streets hummed with life—cars honking in the distance, occasional footsteps echoing, a stray dog barking at the shadows. Beneath the dim flicker of a worn-out streetlamp, a young woman walked alone, her phone pressed against her ear.

"I don’t know what to do," she sighed, her voice heavy with frustration. "My manager keeps piling on work. Can you believe she assigned me tasks for the weekend too?"

On the other end of the line, her friend chuckled softly. "That’s how IT jobs work. Everyone deals with it. Just hold on a little longer. You have a bright future ahead."

She let out a bitter laugh, kicking a stray pebble on the sidewalk. "Lately, there have been so many kidnapping cases in the city. Why doesn’t someone just kidnap my manager instead?"

Far away, in a small apartment, her friend balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear while flipping a dosa on the pan. "Oh, come on! She’s still a human being. Have a little sympathy. Besides, what if someone kidnapped you instead? How would that feel?"

Silence.

The soft crackling of oil in the pan filled the empty space where her response should have been.

"Hello?" The friend frowned, shifting the phone. "Are you there?"
Nothing.
A cold sense of unease crept up her spine.

She checked the call—still connected. But all she could hear was silence. "Hey, stop messing around. Say something."

Still, nothing.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. The call was active, but there was no sound on the other end. Her heart pounded.

"Are you okay?" she tried one last time.

Then, a faint noise. A distant thud.

Her stomach twisted.

The uneasy silence was worse than a scream.

She grabbed her keys and rushed out.

The police station was unusually crowded for such a late hour. The dim, flickering tube lights cast long shadows on the cracked walls, and the air was thick with worry and exhaustion. Some people sat on the worn-out benches, their eyes filled with restless hope. Others stood at the counter, pleading with the officers, asking for updates on their missing daughters, sisters, and friends.

Among them, she entered—her breath heavy, her hands trembling as she approached the desk. "My friend—she's missing. I was talking to her on the phone, and then... she was just gone."

The officer behind the counter barely looked up. He had heard too many similar stories.

Before he could respond, the station's head officer, an aging man with weary eyes, raised his voice to address the growing crowd.

"I’ve already warned you all!" he said, his frustration evident. "I told everyone through the media—don't wander the streets alone at night! But did anyone listen? No! Now, you come running to us. We’ll do our best, but if you don’t care about your own safety, what else can we do?"

His words hung in the air, met with silence and quiet sobs.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of the station’s landline cut through the tension.

A constable picked up, and within seconds, his expression changed. His face went pale as he turned to the inspector.

"Sir, you need to hear this," he said, his voice almost shaking.

The inspector grabbed the receiver, listening intently. Then, without a word, he signaled to his officers. "Take their complaints," he ordered another officer, before rushing out with a team of men.

The tension in the room thickened. The people waiting in the station exchanged nervous glances. Something was happening.

And whatever it was… it wasn’t good.