Zara was... dead?
I felt a wave of nausea. I needed fresh air. I stood, threw the window open, and looked down. Under the moonlight, I saw Saurabh shifting his weight nervously. He caught my eye and waved, asking what was happening. Then he motioned for me to come down. I couldn't respond. I tried to throw up—nothing came out. Saurabh's arms flailed in frustration.
I turned back into the room. No, this had to be a nightmare. I stood motionless, staring at her body, praying she would wake up.
My phone buzzed. It was Saurabh calling. His voice was playful:
"Bro, what's up? Did you go back in? Getting lucky? Should I stay or leave?"
"Saurabh," I whispered, voice trembling.
"Yes?" he replied.
"Please—come up here."
"What? Why are you calling me to your girlfriend's—or ex-girlfriend's—room?"
"Please, Saurabh, just come."
He sensed something was wrong.
"Will Zara be okay if I come up?"
"Come," I repeated, then hung up.
I pointed my phone's flashlight at the tree trunk below the window.
He looked around, scared, and started climbing. The tree creaked—it was meant for monkeys, not a dripping-wet ninety-kilo tutor.
"Be careful. Left foot on the next branch," I whispered as he climbed closer. Nobody heard the rustling in the tree.
He reached the window. I pulled him in.
"What's happening, bro?" he asked, voice low.
I shut and bolted the window behind us.
He looked at Zara lying still.
"She's just asleep?" he whispered.
"You didn't try waking her?"
"She's dead," I said.
Saurabh stepped back.
"What?" he screamed.
"Keep it down. This is a girls' hostel," I hissed.
He was shaking.
"You're scaring me. Quiet, okay?" I said, releasing him.
He coughed, quieter now:
"Are you sure?"
"She's gone. Cold, no breathing. Look at her."
He saw the red marks on her neck.
"How did she die?" he whispered.
"How would I know? I just found her."
"But she messaged you," he said, pacing.
"Yeah," I replied, pulling out my phone—proof she had been alive and waiting.
I took a seat on her desk chair, staring at her calm, pale face. My mind shivered, but my heart felt numb.
"What do we do?" Saurabh asked.
"I don't know. Sit down—your pacing is making me anxious."
He lowered himself onto the chair.
"I'm so scared," he said. I felt the same but forced myself to stay calm.
"I've never seen a dead body," he whispered.
He started ranting about how we should have stayed at that party. I wanted to slap him, but held back and let him talk for five minutes before exhaustion made him finally sit.
"We have to tell someone," I said.
"We have no choice," he replied.
"How? What do we say? That we came to a girls' hostel room with a dead student at this hour?"
"Should we run?" he asked.
"Maybe. Sneak out and pretend this never happened."
Part of me wanted to, but another part knew that felt wrong.
"How did she die?" I asked again.
"What's the point?" he replied.
"She wasn't sick."
"Yeah, so?"
"Someone killed her," I said.
Saurabh flinched.
"We're at a murder scene? Let's get out," he shouted.
He headed for the window.
"We can't just leave!" I said. "If we run, they'll think we did it."
"How would they know we came?" he asked, sweating.
"At this hour, they'll notice our bike, fingerprints…"
"Fingerprints?" he echoed, terrified.
"They'll find yours on the window, the bed, even her face. And on that chair."
He stared at the chair, his face drained.
"Bro, this is some Crime Patrol stuff!" he said, panic rising.
"Can't we just erase the prints and go?"
"If we try, they'll see. We're finished."
"So what do we do?"
"We stay and tell the truth."
"That we snuck in drunk, deceived cops, broke institute rules, and ended up in a girls' hostel with a dead girl? Are you insane?"
"These are bad things, yes. But they don't make us murderers."
"Murderers?" he choked.
"Yes. That's why we need to stay. Who do we call first?"
I took out my phone.
"Parents? Her boyfriend? The police?" I asked.
"Should we tell the watchman and let him handle it?" he suggested.
"Smart," I said, "but if others find out we were here before we do, they won't stop suspecting us. So we call first, then the watchman."
"I've never called the police," he said.
"Me neither. Let's call her father first."
I dialed Raghu—one of Sara's contacts. No answer. Repeated it. Still no response.
"Call her dad," Saurabh urged.
I dialed Safdar Lone.
"Hello?" he sounded groggy and irritated.
"Uncle, it's Keshav."
"I know. Have you seen the time? It's 3:38 a.m. What do you want?"
"Uncle, Zara…" I choked.
"Zara? Forget about her. Are you drunk again?"
"I… please—come to her hostel now."
He was speechless. I hung up, tears welling. Reality had crashed onto me. Zara was gone. But business remained.
"Police number?" I muttered.
"100?" Saurabh replied.
"General—let's call the local station," I said.
"The same cops who chased us?" he snapped.
"Shut up," I said, looking up the Hauz Khas police station number and called.
"Station here."
"We're reporting a crime—murder in Himadri Hostel, Room 105, IIT Delhi."
There was a pause.
"Who's speaking?" the voice asked, suddenly attentive.
"Keshav Rajpurohit. I'll wait at the Hostel entrance."
"Victim and your relation?"
"Zara Lone. I'm a friend and ex-student."
"Stay put. We're sending a team."
Saurabh and I looked at each other.
"Let's wait downstairs?" he said, wanting to escape the room and the body.
"Yeah," I agreed. I opened the door to the empty corridor. Saurabh stepped out.
I stayed a moment longer, going to Zara's bed. I pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. A single tear landed on her freezing skin.
"Happy birthday, Zara. I love you."
She remained motionless.
"Bro," Saurabh knocked, "let's go."
"Coming," I said, turned toward her one last time, and walked away.