The Masked Detective stood outside a modest apartment building in North Subarnagarh. The nameplate beside the gate read:
Pandit Residence.
She climbed the stairs slowly, her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. Apartment 302.
She knocked.
A middle-aged woman opened the door. Her eyes were tired, her face pale. Behind her, a young man sat silently in a chair, staring at an old photo on the wall.
The girl, Sanchayita Pandit, had lived here with her mother and elder brother.
Her brother's name was Dipankar Pandit, and her mother was Rani Pandit.
Her father lived separately due to some unresolved family issues.
"Yes?" the woman asked softly.
"I'm here about your daughter—Sanchayita Pandit," said the Detective. "May I come in?"
There was a pause. Then, with a slight nod, the woman stepped aside.
The room smelled of incense and old paper.
A photo of a teenage girl rested on the table, framed with marigold garlands. The girl had kind eyes and a hopeful smile.
Beneath the photo, a small candle had burned out.
The Detective sat quietly.
"We tried everything," Dipankar finally said. "Police searched, we put up posters… but she vanished without a trace."
"She went out for her tuition class," added Mrs. Rani Pandit. "She never came back."
"Did she act strange before she disappeared?" the Detective asked.
Mrs. Pandit hesitated, then nodded.
"She was… scared," she whispered. "Two weeks before she went missing, she kept locking her door. She started hiding her diary. We thought it was just teenage stress. But one night, I heard her crying."
The Detective leaned forward. "Did she say anything?"
Mrs. Pandit closed her eyes, remembering.
"She said… 'If something happens to me, it won't be an accident.'"
The room fell silent.
The Detective's voice was calm but firm. "Do you still have her diary?"
Dipankar stood up and returned with an old, slightly torn notebook.
The Detective opened it carefully.
On the last page, there was only one line, written in shaky handwriting:
"There is someone watching me"