The elderly man wiped away a tear, his emotions palpable, and continued, "Sir, my daughter was a paragon of virtue—her life revolved around commuting between our home and her workplace."
Mohan, his heart heavy with sympathy, posed another question, his tone gentle, "When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?"
The elderly man recounted the painful memory, his voice quivering, "It was on that fateful Wednesday night, around 8 or 8:30 pm. She called to inform me that she would be home in a matter of minutes. However, when she failed to return, I tried calling her repeatedly, but her phone had been switched off."
With a sense of urgency, the elderly man retrieved a piece of paper from his bag and extended it toward Mohan.
He added, "Here is a photograph of my daughter."
Mohan accepted the paper, his eyes scanning the image while also noticing some words scrawled on the paper alongside the photograph.
....
