Policemen were bustling on the ground below my apartment. I was whisked to my unit on the fifteenth floor. My grandmom was there, sobbing.
‘’Your mom has gone to Bangalore,’’ she told me.
My dad stood on the balcony, staring down.
The next day, I saw a red spot on the ground where the police stood.
It has been two years now. The spot is still there. And my mom has not yet returned from Bangalore.