The rusted padlock screeched as Bhumika twisted it open. She winced, glancing over her shoulder. The hostel corridors behind her were silent; most of the girls had gone to sleep, their study lamps switched off one by one. Midnight always gave her the cover she needed. She pushed the heavy door to the terrace open, the hinges groaning like they resented her secrecy.
The night air hit her face, warm, dust-laden, carrying the faint smell of smoke from Delhi's late-night street vendors. She pulled her dupatta tighter around her, more out of habit than protection, and walked quickly to the far corner of the terrace where an old storeroom crouched under a slanting tin roof.
She unlocked that too, and there it was: the thing she couldn't stop herself from building.
The "machine", if it could even be called that yet, was a crooked skeleton of scavenged metal, old rotors, copper coils, and thick wiring. Circuit boards lay scattered like fallen leaves, some soldered in, some barely hanging. Wires snaked across the floor and up the walls, bundled together with tape. At the center stood a circular frame, only large enough for a person to walk through if it ever worked.
Bhumika's hand shook as she reached for the switch she had rigged out of a rusted breaker box. Her chest ached faintly, a familiar reminder of the sickness eating her from the inside. She pressed her palm against her ribs until the throbbing steadied.
Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
She crouched, checked the connections one last time. The blueprint from her visions was open on the floor beside her, a messy notebook filled with equations she half-understood, symbols that didn't exist in any physics textbook, and looping sketches of this very frame. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the machine completed, humming with an otherworldly glow. She had tried ignoring it. Tried focusing on lectures, on friends, on normalcy. But the dreams always dragged her back here.
She flicked the switch.
At first, nothing. Then the coils buzzed faintly, vibrating under her fingertips. The frame glowed with a weak shimmer, lines of blue light tracing themselves along the edges like veins of fire. Her breath caught.
"Come on," she whispered, almost pleading.
The glow thickened, flickered, and for a split second the air inside the frame warped, like heat waves rising off asphalt. She thought she heard a hum, deep and bone-shaking.
And then,
CRACK!
The lights in the storeroom burst with a violent pop. A flash tore across the wires, searing her hand as she flinched back. Outside, a loud snap echoed through the neighborhood. She staggered to the terrace edge just in time to see the power pole across the street spark wildly, showering orange embers before plunging the lane below into darkness.
The hostel building groaned as the generator clicked, then failed. All around her, windows creaked open and sleepy voices grumbled into the night. Dogs barked in chorus.
Bhumika's breath came in shallow gasps. Her palms were blackened with soot, her kurta streaked from where she had tried to shield herself. She coughed hard, bending at the waist until the spasm passed, then wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve.
For a long moment she just stood there, staring at the dead machine. Its coils still smoked faintly, the frame blackened at the joints. The dream had shown her brilliance, but reality only mocked her with short circuits and failure.
How much longer can I keep doing this? she thought bitterly. Her body was already failing her, little by little. Every burst of energy she spent there felt like stealing from her own time. And yet… every night the machine called to her, louder than the pain.
She dragged a heavy tarp from the corner and threw it over the frame, hiding the glow marks before anyone could come looking. With trembling hands, she wound the wires back into a loose coil and shoved the scattered boards into a box. It wasn't neat, not even close, but at least it wouldn't scream mad scientist to anyone wandering in.
Locking the storeroom again, she leaned her back against the door and slid down to the ground for a moment. Her lungs ached with every inhale. She pressed her forehead to her knees, letting the night press in.
"Am I building answers," she whispered to herself, "or just burning myself away faster?"
No reply came, of course. Only the distant shouts of the hostel warden complaining about the power cut, and the buzzing of a streetlight half a block away, struggling to come back alive.
Bhumika pushed herself up slowly, dusted her hands against her soot-stained kurta, and pulled the padlock shut once more. She smoothed her hair, tugged her dupatta straight, trying to erase the evidence.
To everyone else, she was just another student, quiet, polite, a little sickly. But on this rooftop, under the choking Delhi night, she was something else entirely: a girl chained to visions she didn't understand, building a future that terrified her as much as it compelled her.
As she descended the stairs, the darkened hostel felt heavier, every step echoing the question she couldn't shake:
How much longer can I hide this before it consumes me?
The hostel rooftop was still littered with the aftermath of the night. Wires lay scattered across the floor, the tarp covering the half-built frame sagged under its own weight, and in the corner, curled up on an old jute mat, Bhumika had fallen asleep in her soot-streaked clothes.
Her notebook was still open beside her, filled with messy sketches and equations that had slipped from her hand during the night.
The morning sun crept across her face, its warmth waking her before she was ready. Her body groaned in protest as she sat up. The coughing came almost immediately, dry, harsh, tearing at her throat.
She pressed a handkerchief against her lips, riding it out until the spasm passed. The faintest red stain bloomed into the cloth. She stared at it for a long moment, then folded it quickly, shoving it deep into her pocket.
She didn't have time to dwell on it. From downstairs came the sound of hostel gates clanging open and voices drifting in, the day had begun.
By the time she scrambled to her feet, dusting off her kurta, she heard another sound she didn't expect: a familiar voice at the gate, firm yet polite.
"Could you do me a favor? Tell me where Bhumika's room is, on the top floor." To security guard. It was Shivam.
She hurried to lock the terrace storeroom, hands fumbling with the padlock. Her heart thudded against her ribs as if it wanted to betray her. She adjusted her dupatta quickly, trying to rub away the soot smears on her cheek.
By the time she reached the staircase, he was already climbing up, his sharp eyes scanning the floor as though looking for clues. He stopped when he saw her.
"Bhumika."
His tone was even, but there was a weight in it, concern, edged with suspicion.
She forced a smile, though her throat felt tight. "Shivam? You here this early?"
"I've been calling you the whole week." He folded his arms, studying her face. "Your number's been dead. Guard says you weren't around."
"I went home… to my hometown," she lied quickly, the words tasting bitter.
Shivam's brow furrowed. "Strange. Because I saw you just now, coming from the terrace. And you don't look like someone who just got off a train."
Her hands automatically tugged at her sleeves, trying to hide the soot stains. "I…. I was just… walking. Needed some fresh air."
"Fresh air?" His eyes flicked up toward the locked terrace door, then back at her soot-smeared face. "Looks more like you were fighting a chimney."
Her laugh was brittle, unconvincing. "Very funny."
He didn't laugh. Instead, he stepped past her, toward her room. "Mind if I come in?"
She hesitated at the threshold, panic curling in her stomach. Inside her room, the walls were plastered with drawings, her visions sketched out in obsessive detail, every line of the machine etched over and over. She'd spent nights mapping the impossible onto paper, and now there was no time to hide it.
"Shivam, wait," she started, but he had already pushed the door open.
His gaze swept the walls, lingering on the looping designs, the formulas, the circular frames drawn in half a dozen variations. His expression hardened.
"What is all this, Bhumika?" His voice was low, controlled, but sharp. "These are the same things you've been dreaming about, aren't they?"
She swallowed hard, stepping inside behind him. "I… I had to. The visions, they don't stop. Every night, every time I close my eyes, I see this machine. If I don't draw it, if I don't build it, it feels like I'll go insane."
"And what were you doing on the terrace?"
Her silence was answer enough.
He turned, his jaw clenched. "Show me."
She froze. "Shivam, no,"
But he was already moving, heading back upstairs. She chased after him, her footsteps quick and desperate on the concrete stairs.
By the time she caught up, he was at the terrace storeroom, staring at the wires snaking out from under the door. He yanked the lock free and pushed it open.
The tarp sagged over the machine like a defeated beast. Shivam pulled it away in one motion. His eyes widened at the sight, the circular frame, the coils, the wiring leading to makeshift breakers.
"Bhumika…" His voice cracked between disbelief and anger. "What the hell is this?"
She bit her lip, then met his gaze with trembling defiance. "The same thing I see in my dreams. The same machine everyday but much bigger than this. And I built it because I need to know what it does, why I'm seeing this every day."