The SILENT CRY

                 Devan presents

A SILENT CRY.                    

 Written by Devan north studio*

Chapter 1: The Disappearance

The city of Mumbai breathed heavily under the oppressive heat of a late summer morning. The streets buzzed with relentless chaos — honking rickshaws, shouting vendors, the occasional clatter of metal on metal. The sun cast long, unforgiving shadows over the narrow lanes of Andheri, where the concrete and grime mingled with dreams and despair.

In a modest apartment tucked between the cluttered bylanes, eight-year-old Riya Jain woke with the gentle insistence of a distant alarm clock. Her small hands clutched a worn-out doll with one missing eye, the fabric threadbare from years of comforting tears and whispered secrets.

“Riya! Breakfast is ready!” her mother called softly from the kitchen. The aroma of boiling chai and fried pakoras drifted faintly, a warm reminder of home.

Riya’s footsteps were light as she ran barefoot across the cold tiles, the doll swinging loosely from her fingers. She didn’t know, in that innocent moment, that the day would shatter the fragile sanctuary she’d always known.

Outside, the garden awaited. A rare patch of green in the sprawling grey of the city — a haven where children played and laughter momentarily drowned out the city’s cries.

Riya’s eyes sparkled as she entered the garden, chasing after the flutter of a butterfly. Other children surrounded her — faces lit with childhood’s unguarded joy.

But beneath the bright sky, shadows lurked.

A man stood near the rusted iron gate, his smile too practiced, his eyes too cold. In his hand, a small box of brightly wrapped chocolates gleamed like a cruel promise.

“Chocolate Uncle,” the children whispered nervously.

Riya approached, curiosity overriding caution.

He knelt down, extending a candy wrapped in shiny foil. “For you, little one.”

Riya hesitated, then reached out. Her fingers brushed his.

The garden fell silent.

And then, a scream.

The scream tore through the garden like a blade, slicing through the lazy hum of the afternoon. Children froze, their faces draining of color, eyes wide in terror. The man’s smile vanished, replaced by a cruel smirk as he grabbed Riya’s small wrist with a grip that was too strong, too urgent.

“Let me go!” she cried, struggling, but the crowd was stunned into silence, their legs rooted like the ancient banyan tree towering over the garden’s edge.

Her mother, Anjali, who had been chatting with neighbors nearby, heard the scream and ran toward the gate, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Riya!” she screamed, desperation spilling from her mouth like wildfire.

But it was too late.

The man shoved Riya toward the gate, and with a swift movement, disappeared into the labyrinth of narrow alleys beyond.

Neighbors scrambled, shouting for help, dialing numbers, eyes darting helplessly at the empty space where the girl had vanished. The garden gate creaked, swaying slightly in the breeze — the only witness to the crime.

Anjali collapsed onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, her hands clawing at the earth as if she could pull her daughter back from the void.

---

Meanwhile, not far from the garden, Officer Aarav Rathore sat in his police jeep, idly scrolling through messages on his phone. The city’s endless noise seeped through the cracked windows, a low hum of life that masked the dark currents running beneath.

His radio crackled suddenly, piercing the monotony.

“Unit 7, urgent — possible child abduction reported at Garden Lane, Andheri. Dispatch says an eight-year-old girl named Riya Jain missing. Request immediate assistance.”

Aarav’s jaw clenched. He grabbed the radio mic. “Unit 7 responding. En route now.”

He started the jeep with a roar, tires spinning against the asphalt as he sped toward the scene.

His mind raced — every second mattered.

---

At the police station, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Officers hurried through the halls, phones ringing in shrill waves.

Sub-Inspector Jhon Deshmukh, a man of sharp intellect and grim resolve, had just returned to duty after a long hiatus. When he heard about the abduction, he pushed through the crowd and took charge.

“This isn’t just another missing child case,” he muttered to Aarav when they met at the station. “This city has a sickness — and it’s coming for our children.”

Jhon’s eyes burned with determination. He was a man haunted by his past failures, and this case was his chance to make things right.

“We start with the garden,” Jhon said, voice low but fierce. “And we find every shadow that hides the truth.”

---

The sun began to dip beneath the skyline as the search intensified. Families gathered, their faces etched with fear. The city’s dark heart beat faster, as if it too feared what was coming.

Riya was gone.

But her silent cry echoed through the streets, a haunting call that no one could ignore.

The garden was sealed off, police tape fluttering in the humid evening air like a threadbare shroud over the crime scene. Flashlights carved swaths of light through the gathering darkness, revealing disturbed soil, broken branches, and the faintest trace of something crimson on a jagged stone.

Jhon knelt beside the bloodstain, his fingers brushing it carefully, as if touching the fragile thread of a life torn away. “This isn’t just a struggle,” he murmured. “This was a fight for survival.”

Aarav scanned the crowd for witnesses. A small boy stood shivering near the edge, eyes wide, clutching his mother’s hand like a lifeline.

“Tell me everything you saw,” Aarav urged gently.

The boy swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. “Chocolate Uncle… he came with sweets. Riya took one. Then he grabbed her. I tried to stop him, but… he was too strong.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a grotesque echo of innocence betrayed.

Back at the station, a flurry of activity surrounded the case. Missing person reports filed, calls to nearby stations dispatched, CCTV footage requested from surrounding streets. But the city’s chaos swallowed the clues, leaving only fragments — a man’s shadow, a van speeding away, a whisper of evil.

Jhon lit a cigarette in the dimly lit office, the smoke curling like a ghost around his head. His eyes, sharp and tired, scanned the files on his desk. Cases like this left stains that never faded — innocent lives broken, silence screamed in the night.

“Riya,” he whispered, voice cracked. “We will find you.”

Outside, rain began to fall, washing the streets but failing to cleanse the darkness lurking beneath.

The night deepened, swallowing the city in darkness that felt heavier than usual.

Inside the police station, Anjali sat slumped against the cold wall, her eyes red-rimmed and vacant. She clutched Riya’s doll tightly, whispering prayers to a god she no longer believed in.

Jhon and Aarav sat across from each other, voices low and urgent.

“We have to trace that white van,” Aarav said, showing the blurry CCTV capture. “Last seen near the garden gate.”

Jhon nodded. “And interview every child who was there. Someone knows something — they just don’t want to say.”

But as the night stretched on, the silence grew louder, and the city seemed to close its eyes on its lost child.

A simple story by 

Devan,         devan north studios*

To be continued......

Created using :

Devan interactive software 

In association with gpt4o

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©Devan studios

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