Chapter 1: The Snatch
The Chennai night was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to skin and made every breath feel heavy. Streetlights along Besant Nagar’s Ellai Amman Koil Street flickered weakly, casting long shadows over the pavement cafes and the clusters of college students lingering after dark. Arjun Reddy stepped out of his favorite spot, a small open-air coffee joint called Brew & Beats, guitar case slung over one shoulder, earphones dangling around his neck. He had just spent three hours jamming with a couple of friends—working on a new track inspired by the sea’s rhythm against the shore. At 22, these late-night sessions were his escape, the one place where the weight of his father’s expectations didn’t press down quite so hard.
He walked toward the quieter stretch near the beach road, planning to catch an auto back to Poes Garden. The air smelled of salt, frying bajjis from a nearby cart, and the faint diesel tang of passing vehicles. He didn’t notice the black Innova that had been idling two blocks back for the last twenty minutes.
Inside the van, Veera sat in the passenger seat, eyes locked on Arjun through the tinted windshield. Karikalan was behind the wheel, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, Bluetooth earpiece in place as he monitored a cheap police scanner app on his phone. They had scouted the spot for two evenings—knew Arjun’s routine, knew he often walked this stretch alone, knew there were no CCTV cameras covering the narrow lane he would turn into.
“Ready, anna?” Kari asked, voice calm.
Veera gave a single nod. “Clean. Quick. No noise.”
The van eased forward, headlights off. As Arjun turned into the dimly lit service lane that cut between two apartment blocks—a shortcut locals used all the time—Kari accelerated just enough. Veera was already moving.
He slid the side door open silently, stepped out in one fluid motion, and closed the distance in four long strides. Arjun barely had time to register the sudden shadow before Veera’s thick arm clamped around his chest from behind, the other hand pressing a chloroform-soaked rag firmly over his mouth and nose.
Arjun’s body jerked instinctively. His guitar case slipped from his shoulder and hit the ground with a muffled thud. He thrashed, legs kicking, muffled cries swallowed by the cloth. The sweet, chemical smell flooded his lungs. Panic surged—heart hammering, vision blurring at the edges. He clawed at the arm pinning him, nails digging into skin, but Veera didn’t flinch. The rowdy’s grip was iron.
Within seconds, Arjun’s struggles weakened. His knees buckled. Veera lifted him effortlessly, like a sack of rice, and carried him to the open van door. Kari was already leaning over from the driver’s seat, helping pull the limp body inside. The guitar case was snatched up last—tossed in the back like an afterthought.
The door slammed shut. Kari floored the accelerator. The Innova merged smoothly into the flow of traffic on East Coast Road, headlights now on, just another vehicle heading north toward Ennore.
Arjun came to slowly, head pounding, mouth dry and bitter. Darkness pressed against his eyes—he was blindfolded, something rough and scratchy tied tightly over them. His wrists were bound behind his back with zip ties, cutting into skin every time he shifted. His ankles were tied too, forcing his legs into an awkward bend. He was lying on his side on what felt like a thin mattress or old blanket, the floor beneath vibrating faintly with the motion of a vehicle.
Terror hit him in waves.
Where am I?
What happened?
He tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak came out. His tongue felt swollen.
“Easy, boy,” a deep, gravelly voice said from somewhere close. “Don’t waste your breath screaming. No one’s around to hear you.”
Arjun’s heart lurched. He twisted, trying to sit up, but the bindings made it impossible. Panic clawed up his throat.
“Who—who are you? What do you want? Money? My father has money—he’ll pay anything—”
A low, humorless chuckle. “Money we already have. This isn’t about ransom.”
Another voice—sharper, lighter, almost amused—cut in. “Your old man hired us, kutty. Said you need to learn some respect. Learn what happens when you forget who keeps the roof over your head.”
Arjun froze. The words landed like a slap.
Dad?
No. No, that couldn’t be right.
“You’re lying,” he whispered, voice cracking. “My father would never—”
“Wouldn’t he?” the deep voice—Veera—growled. “He sat across from me two nights ago. Handed over cash. Told us exactly where you’d be tonight. Told us to make it convincing.”
Arjun’s stomach twisted into knots. Betrayal burned hotter than fear. He thought of the last argument—the way Raghav’s face had gone stone-cold when Arjun said he wasn’t marrying that girl, that he wanted to chase music instead. The way his father had looked at him like he was a stranger. Like a disappointment.
Tears stung behind the blindfold. He shook his head violently. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t do this. He’s strict, but he’s not… he’s not a monster.”
Silence stretched for a long moment. Then Veera spoke again, quieter this time, almost thoughtful.
“Monsters come in different shapes, boy. Some wear suits and sit in big offices. Some wear scars and ride bikes. Doesn’t change what they do when they think it’s for your own good.”
The van slowed, turned onto a rougher road. Gravel crunched under tires. After another ten minutes, it stopped. Doors opened. Cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant sound of waves and the faint metallic tang of industrial zones.
Rough hands hauled Arjun upright, then lifted him out like cargo. He was carried a short distance—boots on concrete, then wooden steps—before being set down on a hard floor. The blindfold stayed on. The zip ties on his ankles were cut, but his wrists remained bound.
“Welcome to your new home for the next few days,” Kari said cheerfully. “No five-star service, sorry. But you’ll live.”
Arjun sank to his knees, breathing hard. The reality crashed over him in full force: his own father had paid strangers to abduct him. To scare him. To break him.
He felt small, exposed, utterly alone.
A single tear escaped the blindfold and rolled down his cheek.
He didn’t speak again that night.
He just sat in the darkness, listening to the creak of the old farmhouse settling around him, wondering how the man who raised him could hate him this much—and wondering, even more painfully, whether he deserved it.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
