Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past
The morning sun barely reached Aryan’s apartment. Thick gray clouds hung low outside the window, casting a dull light over the cramped room. Papers were scattered across the table—old photographs, wrinkled notebook pages, copies of sketches, and printouts of the strange red symbol Neel had hidden in his final painting. But no matter how much Aryan stared at the symbol, it refused to reveal its meaning.
He ran a hand through his messy hair and leaned back in his chair. Sleep had been impossible. That image—the swirling black chaos and the glowing red symbol at its center—kept flashing in his mind. It wasn’t just a part of a painting. It was something else. A warning? A map? A confession?
A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts.
He opened the door to find Ananya standing there, wrapped in a long coat, a worn leather folder tucked under her arm. Her face was tired, but her eyes were sharp.
“I’ve been digging,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You’ll want to see this.”
Aryan cleared a space on the table, pushing aside his scattered notes. Ananya placed the folder down carefully and opened it.
Inside were newspaper clippings—yellowed, some torn at the edges—as well as black-and-white photographs, copies of police records, and handwritten notes.
“Where did you get all this?” Aryan asked, eyebrows raised.
“From Neel’s old studio desk,” she said. “The drawer was locked. I found the key taped under the floorboard.”
He whistled softly. “He really didn’t want anyone finding this.”
She nodded. “Not unless they needed to.”
Aryan picked up a newspaper cutting. The headline read: "Three Children Vanish Without a Trace – Police Blame Runaway Theory." The date was from 1997.
Below it was another: "Local Journalist Found Dead After Investigating Missing Persons Case."
And another: "Shadow Group Linked to Classified Projects – Government Refuses to Comment."
Ananya pointed to the last article. “Look at the name here.”
Aryan scanned the paragraph until he saw it.
Karan Malhotra.
His stomach sank. “Of course. The perfect businessman. Philanthropist of the year. Owns half the city’s industries. And always seems to be at the edge of shady rumors... but nothing ever sticks.”
Ananya placed another photo on the table. It was old, grainy, taken in black and white. It showed a group of men in suits, standing outside what looked like a research building. One of them, in the center, had a faint smile and sharp eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.
“That’s him,” she said. “Karan Malhotra. This photo is from 1985. The building behind them was a science facility in Kerala. It burned down two years later. Official report claimed an electrical accident. But Neel’s notes say otherwise.”
Aryan picked up one of Neel’s scribbled journal pages. The handwriting was rushed but clear.
> “Malhotra’s experiments are real. Not just psychological tests—something deeper. I think he’s trying to manipulate memory… or identity. People aren’t just disappearing. They’re being rewritten.”
Aryan’s hands trembled slightly as he put the paper down. “What the hell was Neel into?”
Ananya sat beside him, flipping through more pages. “He wasn’t just painting the darkness. He was researching it. Following trails no one else dared to touch. I think the symbol in the painting—it’s connected to a group.”
“A group?”
She nodded. “A private organization that existed in the shadows. No name. No records. Only whispers. Government contracts. Medical experiments. Disappearances that never made it to the front page. Neel had started to collect all of it.”
Aryan leaned back, overwhelmed. “And this Malhotra… he’s tied to all of it?”
“Not just tied. He’s in the center.”
They sat in silence for a moment, letting it all sink in.
The symbol on the painting. The lost children. The burned building. The research. Neel's disappearance. And behind it all, a man with a clean smile and a dirty past.
Aryan finally broke the silence. “Neel must have gotten too close. He found something he wasn’t supposed to. And they made him disappear.”
Ananya looked at him, her voice steady. “He knew it was dangerous. That’s why he left a trail. The painting, the notes, the locked drawer… it’s all a puzzle.”
Aryan nodded slowly. “Then we solve it.”
He stood and walked to his shelf, pulling down an old corkboard. Within minutes, they were pinning articles, photographs, and symbols onto it, creating a web of connections. Names. Locations. Timelines. Faces.
One picture sat at the center—Neel, smiling beside his half-finished mural, paintbrush in hand, unaware of the storm that was coming for him.
Ananya added the red symbol next to it, underlining it with a marker.
“We need to follow his path,” she said. “Go back to the places he investigated. Find out what he knew—and what they’re trying to hide.”
Aryan looked at her. There was fire in her eyes now. No hesitation.
“You’re not afraid?” he asked.
“I am,” she said honestly. “But Neel was more than just our friend. He was trying to expose something. If we don’t continue, who will?”
Aryan took a deep breath. The shadows of the past were growing darker. But he knew, in that moment, that they were done running. It was time to step into those shadows—and pull the truth into the light.
“Then we find him,” he said, voice firm. “No matter what it takes.”
Outside, the clouds finally broke, and rain began to fall softly against the glass.
But inside that room, two people had just chosen to chase the storm.
Continues......
