Chapter 2: The Mother Who Waited

The sea breeze from Thiruvanmiyur carried a strange melancholy as the team arrived at Sundaram Enclave. It was a quiet, gated community tucked between the coastline and the bustling city. Towering apartment blocks stood like mute witnesses to time — and, perhaps, to death.

Pranav stood in the center of the courtyard, scanning the buildings with slow, deliberate eyes.

“She lived in Block C, sixth floor,” Mitra said, glancing at the file.

“And her mother?” Pranav asked.

Mitra pointed toward a quieter building to the right. “Block A. Flat 103. She moved there after the incident.”

Pranav turned to his team. “Alright, here’s what we’ll do. Thameem, talk to the building supervisor, the security guards — both from her block and the mother's. Crosscheck all entries, exits, any odd sightings that night.”

Thameem nodded and walked briskly toward the watchman’s cabin.

“Murali,” Pranav continued, “I want you to go building to building. Check the perimeter, talk to nearby residents, and see if you can retrieve any residual CCTV footage — apartments sometimes keep their footage for longer than commercial places.”

“Understood, sir.” Murali was already halfway toward Block C.

“And you, Mitra,” Pranav said softly, “you’re coming with me.”

They walked in silence to Block A, where an old neem tree leaned heavily over the building's entrance. Mitra looked up — the balconies were modest, lined with drying clothes, plants, and the slow passage of daily life.

Ananya’s mother opened the door even before they knocked, as if she'd been waiting. A thin, pale woman in her early fifties, her eyes sunken with grief, yet oddly alert.

“Mrs. Iyer?” Pranav asked gently.

She nodded and stepped aside. “I know

why you’re here. Please come in.”

The house was modest but meticulously clean. The walls were mostly bare, save for a single large framed photo of Ananya on a side table — her college graduation picture. Her smile was warm, confident, full of promise.

“I’m Inspector Pranav. This is Mitra, a criminologist working with us. We’ve reopened your daughter’s case.”

Mrs. Iyer’s hands trembled as she clutched the edge of a chair. “I’ve waited so long for someone to say that.”

They sat down in the drawing room. Pranav let the silence linger, giving her time to adjust to the moment.

“Tell me about your family, ma’am. Ananya’s childhood. Her dreams.”

“She lost her father when she was six,” she said, her voice thin but composed. “I raised her alone. She was my only child. Brilliant. Disciplined. She had just cleared her interview. She wanted to be a lecturer.”

Mitra listened closely, noting every detail.

Pranav asked, “Did she have any close relationships? Friends… a boyfriend?”

Mrs. Iyer shook her head. “Nothing serious, sir. She was private. Spent most of her time with books, or teaching part-time. No one ever came home. I asked her once… she just smiled and said, ‘Amma, not yet.’”

Pranav leaned forward slightly. “May I see her room? Her things?”

Mrs. Iyer stood and led them to a small bedroom. It had been untouched — neatly arranged books, folded clothes, a study table, and a locked trunk at the foot of the bed. On the desk was her phone, plugged in as though she’d return any minute to pick it up.

“She left it here that night. I charged it every day for the first month… hoping it would ring.”

Pranav picked up the phone and unlocked it using the pin she provided. He browsed it casually — messages, notes, pictures — all routine.

Then something caught his eye.

A folder named “Private” sat within the file manager app. Tapping it brought up a biometric lock icon.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“No,” Mrs. Iyer said, surprised. “She never mentioned anything like that.”

Pranav set the phone down, his expression sharpening. “We’ll need this for investigation. It may hold personal files. Possibly information she never shared.”

Mrs. Iyer nodded slowly, tears gathering in her eyes. “Take whatever you need. But please… please find out what happened to her. Everyone told me it was suicide. But I know my daughter. She wouldn’t leave without telling me. She didn’t even leave a note.”

She paused, her voice cracking. “She had plans. A teaching job offer in Bangalore. She was packing the same day…”

Pranav placed a hand on her shoulder. “We will find out the truth, ma’am. I promise.”

As they stepped out of the house, Mitra glanced at Pranav. “That folder… you think it’s important?”

Pranav didn’t answer immediately. He was staring ahead, lost in thought. Then he said, quietly, “People hide their secrets where they feel safest. In plain sight. Or behind a fingerprint.”

He held up the phone, staring at the biometric lock screen again.

“And sometimes, what they hide… can tell us exactly why they died.”