Find My Daughter

The sizzle of mustard seeds in hot oil filled the kitchen, a sound as familiar to Neha as her own breath. She stirred the pan gently, coaxing out the aroma of garlic and curry leaves, the scent rising warm and sharp into the early morning air. Sunday mornings were like this—quiet and slow, the tension of the week loosening from her shoulders and her back. The boys were already playing in their room, their voices muffled but energetic. Rahul was still asleep. As usual.

Neha adjusted the heat beneath the pan and reached for the chopped onions, her bangles clinking softly against her wrist. She moved on instinct—spices, timing, balance. Years of practice folded into her fingertips.

Then—

A sound.

Soft, hurried. A door opening, just slightly too loud to be careful.

She turned, spatula still in hand, just in time to catch a flash of her daughter's back—Indira, hair brushed out, swinging lightly as she slipped out the apartment door. Her feet moved quickly, shoes tapping once on the tile before disappearing into the hallway.

Gone.

"Indira?" she called, but the door had already closed. No answer.

Neha stared at it, blinking. It was still morning. Sundays she and Indira usually had breakfast together, the boys and Rahul leaving them alone, a chance to be women together. But leaving without saying anything?

And in that outfit?

It was something she'd never seen her daughter wear before. Something daring. Mature. The image of it had burned into her eyes in the split second she'd caught it.

Short white skirt, pleated like a schoolgirl's, but shorter. Much shorter. A lavender top—shiny, tight, sleeveless—cut low enough to show a glimpse of cleavage. Her daughter. Dressed like that. No sweater. No jacket.

On display.

Neha turned off the stove.

For a moment, she just stood there. The room was suddenly too quiet. She placed the spatula on the spoon rest, carefully, as if the noise might shatter something fragile.

Her daughter had never left the house like that before.

Not even close.

She wiped her hands on her apron and moved to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily. Her mind spun. She had heard Indira come home the night before—late, but she hadn't said anything. One night out, fine. A little fun before graduation. Her daughter deserved that. She was eighteen, responsible, smart. She'd earned a little leeway.

But now?

Sneaking out, dressed like... like that?

Something was wrong.

Neha swallowed the thick taste rising in her throat. This wasn't just about a skirt. Or a top. This was about change. Big change. And Neha didn't know where it was coming from.

Those girls. The ones who had taken her out on Friday. The ones who had bought her all those clothes. Who were these people? What did they want with her daughter? What were their intentions?

It hadn't sat right with her. Still didn't. Rahul had told her she was overreacting. Indira was a good girl, with a good head on her shoulders. She knew how to take care of herself.

But gifts like that weren't free. Not in this world.

And now Indira was vanishing on Sunday morning without so much as a note or text? No. That wasn't her. That wasn't Neha's daughter.

She couldn't just sit here.

Her eyes drifted to her phone, lying face down on the table beside her. She picked it up slowly, thumb brushing over the screen.

"Find My Phone."

Indira had shown her how to use it once, back when she was traveling for a school trip. "Just in case you get worried," she'd said with a grin, as if Neha ever wasn't worried.

She opened the app.

A small blue dot appeared. Still in the neighbourhood, moving away from the apartment.

Neha's stomach turned.

She closed the app.

No. Not yet. She would finish cooking first. Let the boys eat. Make sure everything was in order at home. Then she would go.

She would find her daughter.

And they would talk.

Because if Indira was in trouble, Neha would not sit back and let it happen. She had worked too hard. Sacrificed too much. Loved too deeply. Indira was a good girl. And Neha wasn't about to lose her to some shiny strangers and fast glamour.

Not without a fight.