Destined Strangers

Chapter 10

Without you, I'm restless.
Without me, how do you feel?

Mawlana Balkhi

🌙

The police officer, who had been Hasan's constant companion since nightfall, sits hunched over in his chair, his eyes fixed intently on the laptop screen glowing faintly in the dim room. The light from the screen casts an eerie glow on his weathered face, accentuating the deep furrows of concern etched into his forehead. The laptop itself, retrieved from Sania's house, along with the shattered remains of her mobile phone, stands as a grim token of the events that had recently turned their lives upside down.

"We have a lead," the officer finally says, breaking the tense silence that has hung over the room.

"What did you find?"

Hasan's voice is barely a whisper, as if speaking any louder would dissolve the fragile thread of hope that has begun to form.

His eyes, wide with desperate anticipation, search the officer's face for any sign of relief. The officer's eyes meet his, a flicker of something-perhaps optimism-breaking through the intensity in his gaze.

"She had written some notes, hidden away in a file," the officer explains, his voice steady and controlled.

"It seems our kidnapper has been in touch with her, taunting her, playing a twisted game of cat and mouse."

The officer's words sink deep into Hasan's mind, a fresh surge of dread twisting his gut. "What does it say?" he demands, his gaze now scanning the lines of text on the screen, his mind racing ahead, teeming with dark possibilities.

The officer speaks methodically, outlining the plan in careful detail-the steps they will take to track down the kidnapper, the trail of digital breadcrumbs that they hope will lead them to Sania. Hasan listens intently, his heart pounding against his ribs, knowing they're finally one step closer to finding her.

"When will we go?" Hasan asks, barely recognizing his own voice through the rush of thoughts and emotions.

"After a little while," the officer responds, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

___

The weather outside has intensified, the wind whipping through the streets as Hasan sits in the police car, tension building with every passing second. His hands are clenched into fists in his lap. Every moment in that car feels like an eternity.

He keeps repeating to himself, like a mantra, that they will find her soon. When the car finally stops, his heart skips a beat. Contrary to his expectations, they've arrived at a residential neighborhood-not some abandoned, isolated place, but an ordinary-looking street with houses huddled together.

The police officer gives him a nod, signaling the moment has arrived. Hasan takes a deep breath, and steps out of the car.

His feet crunch on the gravel as he follows the officers into a narrow alley between the houses.

"Our information suggests that this is the house of the man who owned the suspiciously registered car," the officer explains quietly.

"Even if we don't find him here, we'll surely get some leads."

The house looms before them, quiet and unremarkable. They approach the front door cautiously. The officers scan the surroundings, their movements sharp and professional.

They knock, once, twice, and Hasan's heart drums louder with each unanswered call.

He pushes against the door, and with a low groan, it gives way under his strength, creaking open. The darkness inside is thick and suffocating, swallowing them whole as they step over the threshold.