I AM KIDNAPPED

 

I AM KIDNAPPED

A Mystery Thriller by Sharon Lasrado

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Chapter 1: The Message That Broke Me

In 2006, love wasn’t about instant replies and blue ticks. It was about carefully typing each letter on a Nokia keypad, waiting for balance to recharge, and treasuring every ‘Good night’ message like it was a handwritten love letter.

Ankush and I met at work. I was in the travel industry, and he was an IT professional. Our worlds were different, but we fit like two puzzle pieces. Our families, though from different backgrounds—mine an Anglo-Indian lineage with Portuguese roots, his a traditional Gujarati household—had blended effortlessly over six years of courtship. Love wasn’t just between us; it was between our families too.

But everything shattered in one single message after 7 years.

It was a long one. One I read over and over again, hoping that somehow the words would change.

Stella, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier, but I couldn’t. I can’t do this anymore. There’s someone else. She understands me better. This relationship feels suffocating. I agreed to the marriage only because of our families, but I can’t go through with it. That’s why I asked my company for a long-term project in London. I’ll be staying here for two years. Maybe longer. Please don’t contact my parents. Just move on. I wish you all the best.

I remember my hands trembling, the phone slipping from my grip. My assistant, Rashmi, looked up from her desk, alarmed.

“Stella, are you okay?”

“I need to go home,” I whispered, grabbing my bag.

I don’t remember how I got home, only that I found my mother standing near the half-painted walls, supervising the renovation we had planned for the engagement. She turned, took one look at me, and knew.

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Chapter 2: The Call I Didn’t Want to Answer

Days passed in a blur. My eyes burned from crying, my body felt hollow, and my heart—well, I wasn’t sure it was still there.

A week later, my phone rang. It was Ankush’s mother.

Tears welled up again. Stay away from my family, his words echoed. I let the phone ring.

The next day, my mother hesitated before saying, “Stella, Ankush’s mother called me.”

I snapped. “Why did you answer? He doesn’t want us to contact them!”

“She doesn’t know about the breakup,” my mother said softly. “She’s worried about him.”

That stopped me.

My parents sat me down. “Something isn’t right, Stella,” my father said. “Ankush wouldn’t just walk away like this. At least meet them.”

I didn’t want to. But deep down, I knew I had to.

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Chapter 3: The Box of Memories

Ankush’s parents looked as shattered as I felt. His mother, Sarita, had tears in her eyes as she pulled me into a hug.

“My son loved you,” she whispered. “How could he say this?”

His father, Pravin, sighed. “He left a box for you. Said he wanted you to have it.”

A plain cardboard box sat on the coffee table. It was filled with small things—our old movie tickets, keychains, letters. Then, at the bottom, was a blue file.

“He printed out all our emails?” I murmured.

Why? When he could have deleted them?

I took the box home, locked myself in my room, and cried as I sifted through the memories. Then, as I flipped to the last two pages of the file, my breath caught.

They weren’t emails. They were filled with random numbers. Like a corrupt file.

I tossed it aside and drifted into a restless sleep.

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Chapter 4: The Code

The next morning, my best friend Samruddhi barged into my room.

She had been there from the beginning—since the day Ankush and I met during the Mumbai floods of 2006. That night, when we were stranded, he had taken us to his home. His family had welcomed us, and by dawn, Ankush and I knew it was more than just friendship.

Now, she stood in my room, staring at the file with a strange expression.

“What is it?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed my old Nokia 3315 from my bookshelf.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t look up. “This isn’t a corrupt file, Stella. It’s a code.”

I frowned.

Samruddhi took a deep breath. “It’s the old Nokia SMS keypad system. The numbers match the way we used to type messages.”

I stared at her. “That’s crazy.”

She pointed at the first line of numbers.

699903,33277707777833555,55520444026055444662733,3

Then, she started decoding.

6999 - MY
3,3327777 - DEAR
833555,5552 - STELLA
444 - I
260555 - AM

She stopped. Looked at me.

“I am what?” she whispered.

I grabbed the next line. We decoded it together. And then my blood ran cold.

I AM KIDNAPPED.

My head spun. My hands went ice cold.

Ankush hadn’t broken up with me.

Ankush was in danger.

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To Be Continued…