Rain slashed the night like knives. Thunder rumbled low, like a warning growl from the heavens.
A lone figure trudged down the slick street, his silhouette blurred under the downpour. His face hidden beneath a drenched hood, boots splashing through puddles as he approached River View Colony.
He stopped before the main gate, eyes scanning the label on a broken shard of glass he'd found days earlier:
G… 12… 1203.
He looked up.
G Wing. 12th Floor. Flat No. 1203.
Lightning illuminated the building for a heartbeat. Rohan's breath caught in his throat.
> "It was a message," he whispered to himself.
"12:03… Flat 1203. Someone's been guiding me."
Next to the wall, an overgrown potted plant. He knelt. Moved aside the leaves. A stone key-holder revealed itself, slick with rain.
He unlocked the door slowly. The flat groaned as if exhaling after long silence.
Inside, he shut the door quietly behind him. Removed his raincoat and mask. The stale air clung to his skin. With only the flashlight from his phone, he began to search.
On a dusty side table, half-buried under old newspapers, he found it—a photograph.
Shruti.
She was laughing, beside an old man—the same man he saw dead in the hospital. Shruti looked around 23. Innocent. Alive. Something about her eyes made time stop for Rohan.
A crack of thunder shattered the moment. Reality crashed back in.
He pocketed the photograph and moved deeper inside. Another room—empty. Just a bed frame, a fan with broken blades.
As he turned back, his hand knocked a table clock, sending it crashing to the floor. The plastic casing cracked.
Inside—a memory card, tucked deliberately.
He grabbed it. This was no ordinary flat.
---
Later, at a desolate bus stop, Rohan slotted the card into his phone. Rain still poured. A tin roof rattled above.
He opened the files.
Videos. Dozens.
Shruti and a group—four boys, three girls—laughing, hiking, dancing. Locations tagged: Andharban Forest, Pune outskirts.
He watched Shruti closely. Beautiful. Full of life. Yet… something lingered under her smile. A shadow.
Nothing incriminating in the footage. Just memories. Happy ones.
> "Why am I doing this?" Rohan asked aloud, frustrated.
A cold whisper tickled his ear:
"She needs help."
He froze.
> "Where is she?" he asked the night.
The whisper returned:
"They took her."
> "Who?"
Silence.
Then—across the street—a flicker.
A translucent figure. Fading in and out of existence.
Rohan followed.
She led him through alleys and trees to a quiet hilltop clearing.
There, through the mist, a vision:
Shruti and her father, laughing in the rain, under a plastic sheet. A picnic basket lay nearby.
> "What is this?" he whispered.
The voice answered, low and hollow:
"Her last memory."
Rohan's eyes scanned the scene. Behind them, two shadowy figures stood watching. Unmoving. Faceless.
He turned to the flicker.
> "It all starts from here?"
And then—gone.
Rain returned. The vision vanished. Rohan stood alone.
---
"What're you doing in the rain?"
A strong voice. Flashing headlights.
Inspector Suryavanshi, in uniform, leaned out of his police jeep.
Rohan stiffened.
> "Just heading home," he lied.
> "River View Colony?" the cop asked.
> "No. Modern Colony," Rohan replied quickly.
Suryavanshi offered him a ride.
They drove in silence for a moment.
> "So… found Shruti yet?" the inspector asked, casually.
Rohan flinched.
"No. I mean—she left me. I'm not looking for her."
Suryavanshi smiled faintly. Didn't buy it.
"Interesting. You asked about the old man who died at the hospital. We found his daughter's phone."
"Shruti's?" Rohan asked, trying not to sound too eager.
"Yes. Three months ago, one of her friends was murdered. Mulshi Lake. We think she had proof. That's why the killers came after her… and killed her father instead."
"Why are you telling me this?" Rohan asked.
Suryavanshi pulled over. Turned, eyes hard.
"Because you're acting like someone with secrets. You entered Flat 1203. I followed you. Technically, that's breaking and entering. I could arrest you for it. But I think you know more than you're saying."
Rohan stayed silent.
He spun a half-truth.
> "I… heard whispers. In the hospital. They said '1203.' I thought I was losing my mind. But then it was written on the mirror. So I went."
> "You're not friends with her?" Suryavanshi pressed.
> "No," Rohan said, firmly.
Suryavanshi didn't respond immediately.
They arrived at Rohan's building. The inspector followed him upstairs, curious. Entered his flat. Looked at the mirror.
Nothing.
The writing was gone.
Suryavanshi left with narrowed eyes. Suspicion brewing.
Rohan exhaled. The door clicked shut behind him.
He sat down, pulled out the memory card again, and replayed the footage.
This time, his eyes focused not on Shruti…
But on the four boys.
There was something off. The way they looked at her. The way they lingered behind when the others moved.
His eyes narrowed.
> "One girl's dead. Shruti vanished. Her father murdered. These four…"
Rohan sat in his dark room, the only light coming from his phone screen. On social media, he tracked down Shruti's profile. Her friend list revealed familiar faces: three boys, two girls. But one boy was missing entirely—no account, no trace. That absence bothered him.
He scanned through recent posts, cross-referencing timelines, photos, and tags. His investigation grew deeper until sleep overtook him.
8:00 AM.
Rohan jolted awake. After a quick shower and breakfast, he visited the ATM. His balance: ₹3.5 lakhs. He withdrew enough to cover rent and carry cash—his mind now shifting to future survival. "I need a new job," his inner voice murmured.
By noon, Rohan stood outside Hirachand College, watching from a distance. Two of Shruti's friends, Sudhanshu and Hari, chatted over coffee. Rohan observed them from another table, carefully reading their body language—uncertainty in their eyes, veiled anxiety in their laughter.
A cup of tea landed beside him.
"You've come this far?" a familiar voice asked.
Rohan turned. Suryavanshi.
"What do you mean?" Rohan asked.
"I mean… you found her friends. How?" Suryavanshi leaned in, intrigued.
This time, Rohan didn't hide. "Social media. Gave me college names, mutuals."
The inspector nodded, impressed. "Ever thought of joining a detective agency?"
"I thought you were investigating them?" Rohan asked, shifting focus.
"Three of them, yes," Suryavanshi clarified.
"Four," Rohan insisted.
Suryavanshi's expression tightened. "How do you know there were four?"
Rohan showed him the memory card footage from Shruti's flat—the trip to Andharban. Suryavanshi paused on one frame. "This girl—Geeta. Found dead three months ago. This video's from six months back. Where'd you get it?"
Rohan explained the broken clock, the hidden card.
Suryavanshi captured a screenshot of the unidentified fourth boy and summoned his team.
---
By 8:00 PM, a breakthrough.
The fourth boy's name: Yash. Last seen at River View Colony, A-Wing, Flat 501. The flat had been empty for 10 days.
"Why didn't the others mention Yash?" Rohan asked.
No answer. Only silence.
That night, the police began detaining the other boys for questioning. But Rohan felt something was off.
"In that vision… two figures followed Shruti and her father. But we only have one suspect."
Another puzzle piece clicked. Three girls. Geeta, Shruti… and a third: Jiya, now missing.
He returned to Suryavanshi's office, discreetly accessing police records to locate Jiya. That same night, Rohan spotted her on a street and followed from a distance.
She entered her flat. Rohan waited.
Then—two knocks at her door. A familiar figure: Yash.
She handed him a bag. He left. Rohan trailed him silently through the streets, into a dense forest bordering the city.
After 4-5 km, Yash reached a crumbling, abandoned house in the jungle. Rohan's phone had no signal. Still, he typed out a message to Suryavanshi with everything he'd seen. The time: 11:39 PM.
---
He crept closer. Yash was digging. Then, he opened the bag—just food.
Suddenly, Rohan's phone rang.
Yash snapped alert, drawing a knife. A chase ensued in the dark.
Rohan tried to dodge, but a sharp jab slashed his shoulder. Pain tore through him.
He staggered. Another blow. Rohan hit the ground.
> In his haze, he remembered the White Witch's whisper: "You have a second chance."
It was 12:03 AM.
Something inside him cracked open—like a door he never knew existed. The cold wasn't external anymore—it swam through his veins, ancient and electric. The air felt thicker, slower, as if time had paused to watch. His skin prickled. His breath caught.
Then the whisper, close to his soul: "Order me."
Rohan didn't question it. He raised his hand and commanded: "Attack."
The air exploded forward, hurling Yash backward like a leaf in a storm.
Yash scrambled up, confused. Rohan waved his hand Yash was thrown sideways by invisible force.
Terrified now, Yash hurled a stone. Rohan caught it mid-air without touching it.
A final moment. Yash, bloodied, charged.
Rohan pointed. "Let's send him to the hospital."
A punch—delivered by something unseen—smashed into Yash's face. He dropped, unconscious.
Breathing heavily, Rohan turned. Near the trees, a flickering shadow appeared. As he focused, the image sharpened—a faceless spirit, featureless but smiling.
Rohan smiled back. And collapsed.