Chapter 1: The Weight of Shadows

The sun hung low over the horizon, a bruised purple and orange smear against the sky. On the rooftop of the Women’s College building, a figure stood so close to the edge that the wind seemed to tug at his clothes, inviting him to fall. But he felt no vertigo, no pulse of fear. He watched the light die with the patience of a predator.

As the final sliver of gold vanished, he turned away from the ledge. He didn't jump; he simply stepped back into the shadows and descended the stairs.

The silence of the college corridors was broken only by the wet, rhythmic click-clack of his shoes. With every step, a dark, viscous liquid smeared across the linoleum. Blood. It clung to his soles, trailing from the bodies of girls who had once filled these halls with laughter.

He stopped in front of Room 12B.

The door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, the whimpering began—a chorus of stifled sobs and jagged breaths. The girls huddled in the corner, their eyes wide with the realization that their prayers had gone unheard.

"Please," one gasped, her voice breaking. "Please, don't..."

He didn't hesitate. He didn't feel a flicker of pity. As the first scream pierced the heavy air, the story of how they arrived at this nightmare began to unfold—starting five days earlier.

Five Days Earlier: The House of Thin Walls

The neighborhood was a labyrinth of three-story houses squeezed so tightly together they seemed to be whispering to one another. In this middle-class enclave, privacy was a myth, and every family's business was public property.

Inside one of these aging homes, Raji moved through the kitchen like a whirlwind of suppressed frustration. "Everything falls on me," she grumbled, slamming a pot onto the stove. "Not a soul in this house lifts a finger."

Her younger daughter, Malini, sat at the wooden table, watching her mother with a practiced, calm detachment. "We see you working, Ma. It’s very impressive. But while you’re busy being a martyr, who’s going to stop the curry from burning?"

Raji gasped, lunging for the stove.

In the hallway, Suri adjusted his shirt collar, checking his reflection. "Tell Priya to hurry up," he called out. "The auto is ready. I don't want her being late."

Raji wiped her hands on her apron and marched toward the bathroom. "Priya! Priya! How much water are you going to waste? Out now!"

Inside the bathroom, the world was different.

The sound of the shower was a dull roar. Priya stood under the stream, but she wasn't washing. Her head was bowed, her eyes fixed on the drain. A thin, crimson thread spiraled down from her nose, mixing with the soapy water. A few strands of her long, dark hair had gathered around the drain, trapping the blood in a swirling pool.

She felt hollow. The physical pain of the nosebleed was nothing compared to the fog in her mind.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The door rattled under her mother’s fist. Priya jolted, the sudden noise snapping her back to reality.

"Are you planning to live in there?" Raji shouted. "Your father is waiting! Answer me!"

"I’m not coming, Ma!" Priya yelled back, her voice trembling. "Tell Nanna to go. I’ll make my own way."

"Absolutely not," Raji’s voice turned stern. "It’s safer with your father. Why do you fight this every single morning?"

Priya wrenched the door open. Her hair was damp, and dark spots of water soaked the shoulders of her uniform. "Stop blackmailing me, Ma. I’m not a child. I can take care of myself. You don't need to be afraid for me every second of the day."

From the kitchen, Malini rolled her eyes. "And here we go. The daily drama. Season five, episode one hundred."

Raji turned on her. "Watch and learn, Malini. Or one day you’ll be just as stubborn as your sister."

Ding.

Priya’s phone, sitting on the dresser, lit up. She snatched it, her eyes scanning the screen. Instantly, the fire in her eyes died, replaced by a flicker of anxiety.

"Fine," Priya sighed, her voice suddenly small. "I’ll go with Nanna. Just... stop shouting."

Raji’s expression softened instantly. She reached for a small stainless steel container. "I made halwa. Your favorite. I put it in this small box for your lunch."

Priya looked at the box, then at her mother’s hopeful face. The guilt she always carried felt a little heavier. "Thanks, Ma."

Raji leaned in and kissed Priya’s forehead. "Don’t eat outside food. I’ll make whatever you want for dinner. Just stay safe."

Priya managed a weak smile. "You yell at me, then you act like this. You’re confusing, Ma."

"That’s a mother’s job," Raji whispered. "Go on now. Be careful."

As Priya sat on the porch to lace up her shoes, she felt a prickle on the back of her neck—the sensation of being watched.

Across the narrow street, behind a rusted gate and a darkened window, a pair of eyes was pressed against a keyhole. To Priya, it was just a house. To the man inside, it was a vantage point. He watched the way her fingers tied the laces. He watched the way she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

Priya stood up, realized she’d forgotten her water bottle, and hurried back inside. When she emerged a minute later, the front door of the opposite house opened.

A man stepped out. He wore a heavy mask that obscured most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Priya jumped, a small gasp escaping her.

"Oh! Katthi-garu! You scared me," she said, clutching her chest. She knew him—or thought she did. Katthi was the quiet neighbor, the one people whispered about but never spoke to. But Priya was different; she was kind to everyone, often to a fault.

"Are you going to work?" she asked, trying to shake off the unease. "Why do you always wear that mask? Is it allergies?"

The man didn't speak. He just stared.

"Anyway," Priya continued, her words tumbling out fast to cover the silence. "I just remembered—next time you go to the market, could you bring us a kilo of mutton? We haven't had it in ages. Tell me when you have it! Bye!"

She didn't wait for an answer. She ran down the stairs to where her father’s auto-rickshaw waited.

Katthi stood on his porch, frozen. He watched the auto pull away until it vanished around the corner. He didn't move for a long time.