The evening rain turned the streets of Hyderabad slick and shining.
Meera Rao stepped out of the airport carrying a single suitcase and a small canvas bag. Her black cotton kurta clung to her arms in the damp air.

She had travelled overnight from Kochi after one desperate phone call from her husband, Arjun, a software engineer working on a secret project for a major tech firm in Hyderabad.

“Something is wrong,” he had whispered. “If anything happens, go to the old Charminar area and ask for the Red Lantern Tea House… tell them my name. Don’t trust anyone else.”

The call had cut off. That was two weeks ago. Since then, Arjun’s phone was switched off. The company said he had taken an “unplanned leave” and vanished.

2. The Old Quarter

Meera took an auto-rickshaw to the Charminar district, the old heart of the city where narrow lanes smelled of cardamom and diesel.

The Red Lantern Tea House was a tiny shop tucked behind a row of spice stalls. Its cracked red sign flickered weakly.

Inside, a tall man with a salt-and-pepper beard served tea. His name tag read Rahim.

“I’m looking for someone,” Meera said softly. “Arjun Rao. He told me to come here.”

Rahim’s eyes sharpened. He motioned her to a corner table. “Many people come asking for missing husbands. Why you?”

“Because he called me from here,” she said. “Two weeks ago. He sounded… afraid.”

Rahim studied her, then slid a small scrap of paper across the table. On it was a single word: “SITAR”.

“What is this?” Meera asked.

“Best you leave the city,” Rahim replied. “Some sounds attract snakes.”

3. The First Threat

That night, in a budget hotel near Hussain Sagar Lake, Meera found the door to her room slightly ajar.
Her heart pounded.

Inside, everything looked untouched—except for her phone. The screen glowed with a message:
“Go home, Mrs. Rao. Stop looking.”

No number, no name.

Meera locked the door and sat awake until dawn.

4. The Police

The next morning she went to the Hyderabad City Crime Branch. Inspector Kiran Deshmukh, a weary officer with tired eyes, listened to her story.

“Your husband works at Orbis Technologies?” he asked.

“Yes,” Meera said.

Kiran’s brow tightened. “That company deals with government encryption contracts. If he’s missing, we’ll need clearance to even check their records. It can take weeks.”

“I don’t have weeks,” Meera said.

Kiran looked at her for a long moment. “Stay careful. People connected to Orbis have… disappeared before.”

5. The Music Box

Back in her hotel, Meera examined the word Rahim had given her—SITAR.
It reminded her of the old wooden music box Arjun had given her when they were dating. It played a sitar tune when wound.

She had brought it with her. On impulse, she opened the box and wound the key.

The music was normal at first, then skipped and repeated a phrase in an odd rhythm—long-short-short, long-short-short.

It was Morse code.

She wrote it down: “S-R-G-R” followed by numbers: 7-3-1.

6. Following the Code

Meera searched online. “SRGR 731 Hyderabad” led nowhere.
But “SRGR” matched the initials of Sri Rama Giri Railway—an abandoned freight station on the city’s outskirts.

That evening she hired a cab and went there. The station was empty, its ticket office covered in vines.

Inside a dusty locker she found a folded sheet of paper with her name written in Arjun’s handwriting.

“If you find this, I am alive. I uncovered something at Orbis—Project Falcon. Do not trust anyone in uniform. Meet me at the old film studio warehouse, midnight, 14th August.”

That was tonight.

7. Midnight Warehouse

The film studio was a silent maze of broken sets and rusting lights. The rain hammered the tin roofs.

Meera waited in the shadow of a collapsed archway.

At 12:15 a.m., footsteps echoed.
A man stepped out, thin, in a soaked hoodie.

“Arjun!” she whispered.

He hugged her tightly. “I can’t stay long. They’re watching everything.”

“What is Project Falcon?” she asked.

“A surveillance program,” he said. “Orbis built it for a secret government wing. It can hack every phone, every camera in the city—no warrant, no limit. I found proof they sold access to a private security group.”

“Who?”

Arjun’s answer was drowned by a sudden screech of tires.

Black SUVs tore into the yard. Armed men jumped out, faces covered.

“Run!” Arjun shouted.

They sprinted through the rain, weaving past broken props. Bullets sparked against metal.

They reached a side gate but a figure stepped into their path—Inspector Kiran Deshmukh.

Meera froze. “You?”

Kiran raised his pistol. “I warned you. Hand over the data, Arjun.”

“You work for them,” Arjun said bitterly.

“I work for the country,” Kiran replied. “This program keeps us safe. Your wife will live if you give me the drive.”

Arjun pulled a small flash drive from his pocket—and hurled it into the dark.

Kiran fired, Arjun stumbled, clutching his side.

Meera dragged Arjun toward the back gate as Kiran and her men scattered to search for the drive.

Behind the studio, a narrow alley led to the street. A motorbike engine roared Rahim, the tea house owner, waved them over.

“Come on!” he yelled.

They leapt on and sped into the rain.

Rahim took them to a hidden room above his tea shop.

“You’re lucky I keep my promises,” he said. “I worked with Arjun before he joined Orbis. I knew this day would come.”

Arjun’s wound was deep but not fatal. Meera cleaned it as Rahim spoke.

“I found the drive when it hit the street,” Rahim said, holding it up. “It’s safe with me.”

“What will you do?” Meera asked.

“Send it to journalists abroad. If they publish the truth, no one can bury it.”

Arjun nodded weakly. “Make sure it reaches someone who will listen.”

But Kiran was relentless. By morning, Rahim’s shop was surrounded by plainclothes agents.

“We need a distraction,” Rahim said.

Meera looked at the bustling Charminar market outside. “I have an idea.”

She slipped out through the back alley carrying the music box. Walking straight into the crowd, she let the music play.

Kiran’s men followed the sound, thinking she carried the drive.

Meanwhile, Rahim smuggled Arjun through an underground drainage path to a waiting ambulance driven by allies.

International news outlets exploded with headlines:
“Leaked Documents Reveal Illegal Citywide Surveillance.”

Governments denied involvement, but the public outcry forced an inquiry. Orbis executives were arrested.

Inspector Kiran was “transferred,” his career over.

In a small house near Kochi’s backwaters, Meera and Arjun sat on the porch. His wound was healing.

“Will they come after us again?” she asked.

“They have bigger problems now,” Arjun said. “Besides, you’re the real hero.”

Meera smiled faintly. “I just followed your music.”

He reached for her hand. “Sometimes music is the only code left.”

They watched the sunrise paint the water gold, the city’s dark secrets finally exposed to the light.