Chapter 6: Echoes and Losses

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6

I contacted a classmate who specialises in document analysis and couriered the diary to him.

With certain optical techniques, the writing soaked in ink might be revealed.

But it would take time to process.

Before the results came out, I decided to visit Professor Mehra, mentioned in the diary, in person.

He must know what the blotted-out organ name was.

Following clues in the diary, I managed to find Professor Mehra’s contact information.

At first, he wanted to refuse me, but when I told him about Professor Rohan Singh, he finally agreed to meet.

Professor Mehra’s eyes were bloodshot, his tone weary.

"I really didn’t expect that after that incident, Professor Rohan would lose his mind.

If I’d known, I never would have given him that report."

I leaned forward, pressing him urgently.

"Professor Mehra, I want to know the truth about that incident.

What exactly is the organ whose name was blotted out?"

Professor Mehra glanced at me, his expression conflicted.

"Beta, you’re not like that academic madman Rohan Singh.

After his wife and daughter died in a car accident, he became a loner.

From then on, he devoted his entire life to research.

That report was his lifeblood, but it means nothing to you.

Knowing too much won’t do you any good."

He paused, fingers drumming anxiously on the edge of the table. He glanced at the small brass Ganesh on his shelf, as if seeking courage. For a moment, his weary eyes softened, as if he remembered some long-lost memory—perhaps of his own family, or old colleagues at the IIT canteen, debating over chai and samosas about mysteries the world was not meant to solve.

I looked Professor Mehra in the eye, my voice firm.

"Professor, let me tell you my story.

Three years ago, my girlfriend Ananya and I were caught in a fire.

She gave me the only breathing device, saving my life.

I finally escaped, but my girlfriend perished.

But when the firefighters put out the flames, they found something strange:

There were no remains in the house.

No one was inside at all.

But I remember clearly—Ananya was there.

She vanished into thin air, just like Professor Rohan Singh."

As I spoke, the memory of that night—sirens blaring in the smoky darkness, neighbours banging on our door, the choking heat—rushed back. The scent of burnt masala lingered in the air for weeks after, a cruel reminder that something vital had vanished forever. Even now, every time a passing fire engine blared its horn outside my window, my heart skipped a beat. Was I, too, losing my mind like Professor Rohan Singh? Or was there truly a secret stitched into the very flesh of this world, waiting for someone to peel it open?

Just then, my phone vibrated—a missed call from Maa, and a WhatsApp message blinking: "Beta, dinner ka photo bhejo, please." Even in the depths of all this strangeness, her voice was an anchor, holding me to the world I thought I knew.