Chapter 2: The First Clue
The night had turned darker than usual. Clouds hung low over the city like heavy drapes, thick with the promise of rain. The streetlights flickered in the misty air, their glow soft and yellow against the wet asphalt. Aryan zipped his jacket up to his chin as he walked beside Ananya, their footsteps echoing softly along the empty pavement.
There was a strange silence tonight.
Usually, this part of the city would be alive with sound—horns honking, music from cafés, the distant chatter of people. But tonight, it was as if the whole city had taken a deep breath and decided not to exhale.
Even the wind was holding back.
Aryan and Ananya moved quickly but cautiously, their shoes splashing through shallow puddles left from earlier rain. Neither of them spoke. The tension between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was shared. A mutual understanding of fear, urgency, and the weight of the unknown.
They were headed to the modern art gallery on Moss Street—a place Neel had often visited, but never with a painting like this.
As they approached, Aryan looked at Ananya. She seemed calm on the surface, but her fingers were clenched tightly around the strap of her shoulder bag. Her eyes, though quiet, were sharp—alert. She hadn’t said much since sending that urgent message, only that they needed to see the painting.
The moment they stepped into the gallery, the world outside seemed to fade.
Inside, the space was cool and dimly lit. Soft spotlights illuminated pieces on the walls—mostly abstract works, splashes of color and bold shapes—but none of them held Aryan’s attention. His eyes searched for one thing only: Neel’s last painting.
A young man in a dark blazer approached them nervously. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His badge said “Ravi – Curator.”
“You must be Ananya and Aryan,” he said, voice low. “It’s in the center room. We… kept it covered. People found it… disturbing.”
“Disturbing?” Aryan asked.
Ravi nodded, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t feel like the other pieces. Neel said it was a message. His last. He painted it and walked out without a word. Three days later, he vanished.”
He led them to the center of the gallery.
The room was empty except for one large painting. It stood alone, tall and haunting, covered by a black cloth that reached to the floor. The spotlights above it were dimmed, casting long shadows across the white walls.
Ananya stepped forward, her hand reaching for the cloth.
She hesitated for a second.
Then, in one smooth and deliberate motion, she pulled it away.
The cloth fell silently to the ground.
Aryan stared.
The painting was unlike anything he had ever seen from Neel.
It was dark. Not just in color—but in feeling. Thick, swirling strokes of black, ash-gray, and deep crimson twisted across the canvas like smoke or shadows trying to escape. It wasn’t a scene or a portrait, not at first glance. It was chaos, controlled just enough to feel intentional.
But right in the center of the canvas, almost hidden by the storm of color, was a symbol.
A small, sharp figure in blood-red. It pulsed strangely under the gallery lights, almost like it was glowing—like it was alive.
Aryan stepped closer. His eyes widened.
“That symbol…” he whispered. “It matches the one in the note.”
Ananya turned to him quickly. “You’re sure?”
Aryan nodded, pulling out his phone. He opened a picture from a note they had found in Neel’s apartment drawer the week before—a torn piece of paper, folded many times over, with strange scribbles and a single symbol in red ink.
It was the same.
A circle, broken at one side, with a jagged line running through it, like lightning.
Ananya stared at the painting. “He was trying to tell us something.”
Ravi, standing a few feet behind them, spoke in a low, nervous voice. “He painted it late one night. Alone. No one saw him come in or leave. The next morning, this was here, and Neel was gone. We tried to reach him, but…”
He trailed off.
Aryan turned to Ravi. “Has anyone else seen this?”
Ravi nodded slowly. “Only a few visitors. But we kept it covered after one woman fainted. Another said she felt like she was being watched when she looked at it too long. The board considered removing it, but I insisted we wait. I had a feeling…”
“A feeling?” Ananya asked.
“That it meant something,” Ravi said. “That it wasn’t just art.”
Ananya stepped back and looked at the whole painting. “It’s not just art. It’s a message. A warning.”
Aryan felt it too. The brushstrokes were aggressive, desperate, yet precise. Neel had painted with emotion—but also with purpose. The symbol wasn’t decoration—it was the key.
“We need to decode it,” Ananya said firmly, turning to Aryan. “It might be the key to finding him.”
Aryan’s eyes met hers. He could see it now—this was bigger than a missing artist or a strange painting. There was something hidden here. Something Neel had discovered… and someone didn’t want it found.
“And whoever wants to keep this secret buried,” Aryan said quietly, “will do anything to stop us.”
Silence fell between them again.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that waits before something terrible begins.
To continues...
