Part 1 - The Night of the Uninvited

The night before Rudraksh's arrival was not silent—it was a slow, simmering storm in the hearts of Arawali University students. The air felt heavier than usual, as if the campus itself had drawn a long, uncertain breath and was holding it. Security lights swept across the lawns in measured arcs, and the watchmen patrolled with nervous precision, their radios crackling with half-coded instructions.

Sneha sat cross-legged on her narrow hostel bed, the warm glow of her desk lamp spilling across a cluttered battlefield of law books, half-drunk coffee mugs, and paper stacks that leaned dangerously, threatening to avalanche. Her temples throbbed—not just from the workload but from the thought of tomorrow. Her friends, sprawled around the room, had abandoned their own books hours ago, their voices dropping into bitter murmurs.

"That bastard shouldn't even be allowed on campus," muttered Neeraj, the tallest of the group, pacing like a caged animal. "Do you even know how many people died because of him?"

"Too many," said Rashi from the corner, her face half-hidden behind a pillow. Her voice was quiet but soaked in venom. "And now they're calling him Chief Guest.

It's like inviting the wolf to give a speech in the sheep pen."

Sneha didn't join the chorus. Her silence was not agreement—it was rage held in check. She had learned that anger, when used at the wrong moment, was like a match lit in the wind: wasted.

The clock ticked past 1 1 p.m. The conversations faded into tired sighs. One by one, her friends retreated to their own rooms. Rashi lingered, scrolling through her phone, the blue light flickering over her face. "You should get some rest too," she murmured.

Sneha nodded absently, eyes fixed on the half-finished report open on her desk.

She had been weaving this net for months—every paragraph a thread meant to strangle a monster. Her fingers tapped idly on the keyboard, then froze.

There it was again.

A sound.

Faint. Metallic. From far below. The kind of sound that didn't belong in a sleeping university.

Her head tilted slightly, listening. Another clink. Then a low hum, like a motor running in a place it shouldn't be.

She stood abruptly. "Rashi," she whispered.

Rashi glanced up. "What?"

"Basement lights. I saw them from the window."

Before Rashi could reply, Sneha was already at the door, her heartbeat quickening in anticipation. She grabbed the wooden bat she kept near her bed—a leftover from a half-forgotten cricket match—and tossed another to Rashi.

"This is insane," Rashi whispered as they crept into the hallway, their slippers making almost no sound on the cool marble. "What if it's security?"

"Then security has some explaining to do," Sneha shot back.

They moved like shadows themselves, down the staircase, past the common room, until the air grew colder and the light dimmer. The basement door stood ajar, a thin line of white light spilling into the corridor. Sneha exchanged a glance with Rashi—half warning, half dare—and pushed it open.

Inside, the space looked eerily normal. Cleaning supplies stacked neatly, old furniture pushed against the walls. But the light came from the far end, where two figures in head-to-toe black stood over something on the floor.

The moment the intruders noticed them, the air exploded into motion.

One figure shoved past Rashi, sending her stumbling against the wall. The other swung their arm in a vicious arc, and Sneha barely had time to register the flash of metal before pain bloomed at the side of her head. She staggered, her grip on the bat loosening.

"You—cowards—!" she spat, breathless, her vision swimming. Somewhere, Rashi's voice called her name, but the words were slipping away. The black figures vanished into the shadows, their footsteps a fading drumbeat.

Rashi dropped to her knees beside her. "Sneha! Are you okay?"

"The report..." Sneha's voice was hoarse, urgent. "Find it."

And then the darkness rushed up to meet her.

Part 2 - The Aftermath in the Infirmary

The first thing Sneha became aware of was the sound.

A steady, rhythmic plip... plip... plip... — water dripping somewhere in the distance.

The scent came next: sharp antiseptic, layered over something faintly metallic. Her eyelids felt heavy, but the weight of someone's hand on hers pulled her back from the void.

"Sneha," a voice murmured, low but insistent. It was Rashi.

She forced her eyes open. White ceiling. Harsh tube-light glow. The infirmary's thin curtains swayed in the breeze from a ceiling fan that made more noise than it provided comfort.

"You're awake," Rashi exhaled, relief flooding her features. But her eyes were red — not from lack of sleep alone.

Sneha's throat was dry. "The... basement...?" Her voice cracked.

Rashi's face shifted. "Don't talk yet. You were bleeding. Doctor said mild concussion. You scared the hell out of me."

Sneha's head throbbed as she tried to sit up. Pain stabbed behind her eyes, but she ignored it. "The report, Rashi. Tell me you have it."

Rashi glanced toward the side table."Yeah. I grabbed it before security showed up." She hesitated. "Sneha... those men weren't just wandering in. They knew exactly where to go."

From somewhere outside, muffled through the infirmary walls, came the soft patter of rain. A sparrow chirped twice, then went quiet, as if even the birds were holding their breath.

The curtain swished aside. The campus doctor, Dr. Mehra, entered with a clipboard. She was middle-aged, her hair pulled into a severe bun, eyes sharp behind rimless glasses. "You should not even be sitting up," she said briskly, placing a blood pressure cuff around Sneha's arm. "Head injuries are not to be taken lightly."

Sneha bit back her impatience. "Doctor, those men—

"—are for the police to handle," Dr. Mehra interrupted firmly. "Your job right now is to rest."

Rashi stepped in. "Doctor, with all due respect, they were inside campus at midnight. This isn't some petty theft. There's more to—

The doctor's eyes flicked to her, then away. Too quickly. Too deliberate. "I'm not at liberty to discuss campus security matters."

Sneha caught that flicker — and filed it away.

An hour later, when Dr. Mehra finally left and Rashi stepped out to fetch some tea, the rain had grown heavier. It drummed against the infirmary windows in soft sheets, blurring the world outside. Sneha's fingers brushed the edge of the report Rashi had left on the side table. She reached for it, slid it under her pillow, and pressed her head down over it as if the thin fabric could shield it from the world.

Sleep claimed her faster than she expected.

She was back in the basement, but the light was red now, bleeding across the walls. The masked figures didn't just knock her down this time — they dragged her into the center of the room. One produced a knife, the blade catching the crimson light. Somewhere beyond them, her father's voice cut through the chaos, raw and desperate:

"Believe those who deserve, Sneha. No one else. No one else!"

The knife came down.

She woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, heart hammering so violently she thought it might break her ribs.