We walked down the stairs to the main entrance of Himadri Hostel. As soon as the watchman saw us emerging from the girls' hostel, he jumped from his chair, clearly shocked.
"Stop! Who are you?" he demanded.
"Watchman sir," I said, "we need to talk to you."
"What are you doing inside the girls' hostel?" he snapped.
"Please listen to us," I said. "Someone has died."
"What?" His jaw dropped open.
Before I could explain, we heard the wail of police sirens. The Hauz Khas police had arrived faster than expected. A Delhi Police Maruti Gypsy entered the hostel compound, followed by an IIT Delhi security vehicle.
Three police officers stepped out of the Gypsy. One wore a cap and had shoulder epaulettes—clearly the senior-most. His name tag read Inspector Vikas Rana. Two constables and four IIT security officers followed him. The watchman looked like he was about to faint.
"Who is Keshav Rajpurohit?" Inspector Rana asked in a deep, gruff voice.
"I am, sir," I said, offering my hand. He ignored it.
"You made the call?"
"Yes, sir. I found my friend Zara Lone dead. Room number 105."
The security officers stared at me in disbelief.
"Who are you?" one asked. "A student?"
"Former student," I replied. "Batch of 2013, Kumaon Hostel."
"2013? What are you doing here now?"
"I came to wish her happy birthday."
"You can't just enter the girls' hostel!" he shouted.
"Let's not waste time," Inspector Rana interjected. "We need to examine the body."
A constable used a handkerchief to open Zara's door.
"Careful," the inspector warned. "There could be fingerprints."
Saurabh and I exchanged a nervous glance. If they found any, they'd be ours.
The police entered. Zara's body lay on the bed, the quilt removed and room lights on.
"No one touches anything," said the inspector.
I wanted to say, We already did. One constable took photos with his phone, mentioning the official photographer wasn't available at this hour.
Inspector Rana walked to the bed and examined Zara's neck.
"This isn't a suicide. Someone strangled her."
His words sent a chill through the room. Everyone fell silent.
"How did this happen, Laxman?" one security officer asked the watchman.
"I don't know, sir," he replied, folding his hands in fear.
"Did you see anyone enter?" the officer barked.
"No one. I was on duty the whole time."
"Did you fall asleep or leave your post?" the officer yelled.
Laxman shook his head. He seemed to shrink into himself—not from the cold, but from fear.
"Be honest. We'll check CCTV footage," the officer added.
He had to cover himself too. After all, despite his rounds and supervision, someone had entered and committed murder.
"I didn't leave my post, sir," Laxman insisted.
"Then how did two men enter?" he shouted, pointing at Saurabh and me. Laxman had no answer. The officer slapped him.
"Stop that," Inspector Rana said sharply. "That's our job."
"Sorry, sir," the officer mumbled, humiliated in front of the police. Maybe he once dreamed of being a real cop—not guarding a campus full of engineers.
"You failed to stop the crime. At least let us investigate it," the inspector snapped. The officer nodded, ashamed.
Rana moved around the room. He spotted Zara's phone, unplugged it carefully using a handkerchief, and handed it to a constable, who placed it in a plastic evidence bag.
He examined the documents on her desk but couldn't make sense of the complex equations from her PhD research. He set them down and went to the window. It was bolted shut.
"The murderer came through the door. The window is closed."
I had to speak up.
"Sir, the window was open earlier. That's how Saurabh and I got in. We closed it before going down."
Inspector Rana turned toward me.
"Who are you two really? How did you get in? Why are you here?"
"Sir, I can explain."
I told them everything—from Zara's message to asking Saurabh to climb in, and our decision to call the police.
They didn't look convinced. The security officer looked more outraged by our entry than by Zara's death.
"You climbed into the girls' hostel? You're an outsider! Who do you think you are?"
"I'm sorry, sir. It was a mistake, but—"
Inspector Rana stepped closer, his face just inches from mine. Then he turned to Saurabh.
"Is your friend telling the truth?"
Saurabh stuttered like Ranbir Kapoor in Jagga Jasoos. "Ye… yes, sir."
"Then why is your voice shaking?" Rana pressed.
"Ju… just nervous, sir."
"Are you sure you didn't kill her?"
That hit like a punch to the gut. Were we suspects now?
"No, sir. I swear on my mother."
"Every killer swears on his mother," Rana growled. "Shut up. Take them to the police station."
"Sir—"
"Also take the watchman's statement. Get the CCTV footage. Has anyone informed her parents?"
"I did, sir. Her father is on his way."
Saurabh tugged my sleeve. Stop talking, he was signaling.
The constables sealed the room, took more pictures, and the patrol officer stepped out to call the IIT Director.
Just then, a loud voice filled the air.
"What's happening here? Where's Zara?"
It was Safdar Lone, her father.