⚠️ Warning! This chapter contains descriptions of physical violence. Please read with caution. ⚠️

The maid sent by the hotel manager slowly turned the key in the lock, her hand trembling ever so slightly.

Madhu: “Please… come in.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

As the door creaked open, I immediately noticed her unease. Her eyes flicked around nervously, as if something—or someone—might leap out from the shadows. She kept her gaze down, clutched her hands together, and took a small step back the moment we crossed the threshold.

But I couldn’t focus on her discomfort—not yet. I was here for answers.

The moment I stepped inside the room, a wave of heat wrapped around me like a thick woolen blanket.

Me: “Ugh… it’s boiling in here.”

Beads of sweat were already forming on my forehead. The air was thick, heavy, dead.

Mr. Rose: “Good grief, it’s stuffy enough to pass out. Open the windows, please.”

Madhu (quickly): “Right away, sir.”

She hurried across the room, skirts brushing the floor, and began unlocking the old wooden windows one by one. As each pane creaked open, rays of golden sunlight burst into the room, casting long shadows across the carpet. But the air remained dense, unmoving. Still suffocating.

Killian (frowning): “The maid wasn’t exaggerating. Hayes didn’t air out the room at all. It’s like walking into a sauna built in hell.”

Lima: “I can’t imagine sleeping here. His paranoia must have eaten him alive. Who chooses this over opening a window?”

I slowly took in the surroundings. The room looked like it had been frozen in time—nothing moved, nothing touched. The bed remained unmade, sheets clumsily bunched to one side. A single chair sat crooked at the writing desk. A pile of papers lay scattered, as if someone had rummaged through them in a hurry… or a panic.

A lone lamp stood on the bedside table. Its bulb flickered faintly, like it, too, had endured the weight of whatever haunted this place.

Me (softly): “We haven’t found anything strange… yet.”

Lima (grim): “The day’s still young. Let’s split up and search. Every detail counts.”

Me (thinking): “We need to examine his personal belongings. Something in this room has to make sense of his disappearance.”

I turned slowly, scanning the room again until my eyes landed on a modest writing desk by the wall—its wooden surface bare except for a lonely desk lamp, its brass frame dulled with age.

Me: “I want to take a look at his desk. Maybe he left something behind.”

Mr. Rose (nodding): “That’s a good idea, Miss Khan.”

The rest of the team scattered like chess pieces, each drawn toward a different corner of the room. The tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a blade.

I walked over, knelt beside the desk, and slid open the top drawer.

Me (internally, eyebrows lifting): “Well, well…”

Inside was a neatly stacked pile of papers—worn at the edges, a little bent, but clearly important. I pulled them out one by one: a passport, an embassy identification card, and a few other official documents, including what looked like a health insurance booklet.

A shadow loomed over my shoulder.

Killian (softly): “His documents.”

I turned slightly, startled to find him standing behind me, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the drawer like it might hold a ticking bomb.

Me: “His passport, embassy ID, even his health insurance… Why would he leave without these?”

I held the documents up, as if expecting them to offer an explanation.

Me: “He wouldn’t just… flee. Not without these.”

Killian (shaking his head): “No, he wouldn’t.”

We both stood in silence for a beat, the dusty air around us suddenly feeling even heavier. The sunlight filtering in through the now-open windows cast long, golden streaks across the floor—but it couldn’t cut through the sense of dread thickening between us.

Me: “Then it doesn’t make sense. Where could he have gone? And why be gone this long, without these essentials?”

Killian’s jaw tightened. He looked off into the distance, his brow furrowing in thought, eyes shadowed by something unspoken.

Me (cautiously): “Do you have any ideas?”

Killian (quietly): “I do, Miss Khan. But I’m not sure you want to hear them.”

I felt a chill crawl across my arms.

Me: “You don’t think…”

He didn’t let me finish. Instead, he turned to me, voice lower now—like we were being watched.

Killian: “Nothing certain. But let’s just say… I wouldn’t count on a happy ending to this story.”

I pursed my lips and slowly set the papers back in the drawer, careful not to leave any trace of panic. But inside, my thoughts were spiraling.

Me (thinking): “I need to look at something else. Something—anything—that makes sense.”

As I scanned the room once more, something caught my eye—a small, leather-bound book resting on the nightstand. Its edges were frayed, the cover faded like a forgotten whisper. 📖✨

Me: “I think that’s his diary… Let’s take a look. Might give us a glimpse into what Hayes was really thinking.”

Lima perked up beside me, her eyes glinting with interest.

Lima: “That’s a great idea. Let’s do it.”

We moved toward the nightstand in sync—two sleuths on the scent of something hidden. I reached out, fingers brushing the smooth leather cover, when a voice rang out behind me.

Ratan: “You should read it. I saw him use that diary often.”

I turned to him, heart beating faster. 💓

Me: “You did?”

Ratan (nodding): “Yes. As I mentioned, Mr. Hayes insisted on being alone. I briefed him about the city—places to avoid, local rules… He wrote it all down in that very book. Treated it like his survival guide.”

I exchanged a glance with Lima, then opened the diary gently, like I was unlocking a memory. 🗝️

The first few pages were mundane—records of meetings in London, embassy memos, standard protocol. I flipped through quickly.

Me (reading): “‘Don’t walk the streets at night… avoid the Calcutta slums… don’t enter a temple with your shoes on…’”

Me (shrugging): “Pretty standard stuff. Nothing strange yet. Wait… what’s this?”

Lima leaned in just as we both noticed it—jagged scraps of paper, clinging stubbornly to the binding.

Lima (frowning): “He tore out a page? That’s… strange.”

Me (examining it): “Furiously tore it out. And again here… and here…”

We flipped through more. My stomach twisted. 📄🩸

Me: “Every third page is gone. Ripped right out.”

Lima (quietly): “Did he do that? Why would someone erase their own words?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, a prickle of unease creeping down my spine like icy fingers. 🧊

Me (whispering): “This doesn’t just look bad… this feels bad.”

Lima: “Let’s take it. Read it later. Somewhere quiet.”

I nodded, gently tucking the diary into my purse like it was made of glass. 👜

Me (thinking): “Later. When I’m alone. Maybe these torn pages weren’t the only things someone tried to hide…”

The air in the room felt thicker now, charged with something unsaid. I snapped the purse shut and stood tall—knowing full well the deeper we dug, the darker it might get. 🌘

Me (in my mind): ‘The bathroom. We need to examine the bathroom… it might hold something the others missed.’ 🕵️‍♀️🚪

Me: “Do you think it’s worth checking the bathroom?”

Mr. Rose: “Yes, that’s a good idea. Take a look.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Killian and Lima were deep in conversation near the window, their voices hushed. Mr. Rose had turned his back, flipping through the diplomat’s appointment book.

Ratan: “I’ll come with you.”
He gave me a polite nod.

Me: “Sure. Let’s go.”

We stepped into the compact adjoining bathroom. The tile floor was cold beneath our shoes, the space sterile and oddly silent. The air smelled faintly of soap and… something musty. 🧼🚿

The room was nearly bare. No towels. No cologne. No grooming kit. Just the basics.

Me (looking around): “There’s not much to see.”

Ratan: “Yes. Just a toothbrush and a brush.”

His words echoed in my mind like a riddle I hadn’t solved yet. 🧠

Me (thinking): “A toothbrush and a brush…”

I turned to face the sink again, frowning slightly. Then it hit me like a jolt of electricity. ⚡

Me: “Wait. A toothbrush… and a brush? Those are toiletries.”

Ratan (puzzled): “That’s right.”

Me: “And they’re still here. Think about it, Mr. Vaish. Where would a diplomat go without his toothbrush? His hairbrush?”

Ratan (pausing): “Well… he could have just bought new ones.”

Me (firmly): “Yes, that’s possible. But why? Why would someone so paranoid—someone who didn’t even let people open his windows—leave the only things that kept his routine normal?”

I stepped back, scanning the small room again.

Me (thinking): “He left all his documents, and even his basic hygiene items. Either he left in a rush… or he never left on his own.”

Me (softly): “Something doesn’t add up. The pieces are there, but the picture is still incomplete.”

Ratan (quietly): “Let’s go back. Maybe the others found something.”

He stepped aside and let me exit first. The door creaked slightly as I stepped out into the brighter light of the bedroom. 🌕🚪

Ratan followed closely behind, silent and watchful.

Me (thinking): “Who are you really, Mr. Vaish? And what do you already know?” 👁️‍🗨️

Me (thinking): ‘There’s nothing more to examine… or is there?’ 🔍

Me: “What else should we look at? Seems like we’ve covered everything.”

Killian: “I agree. Let’s regroup and think about the case.”

Mr. Rose: “So, what have we got here…”

Killian: “His IDs and documents are here. All untouched.”

Lima: “Several pages have been violently torn from his diary.”

Ratan: “And his toiletries are still in the bathroom.”

Me: “It’s almost like he just stepped out for a moment… and planned to come back.”

Killian: “But he didn’t. And he’s been missing for over a week.” ⏳

Me: “The diary’s really bothering me. The pages were ripped out like someone wanted to erase something. Something important.”

Lima: “Sounds plausible.” 😟

Killian: “Which means… the diplomat’s disappearance was not an accident.” 🕳️

The room fell into a heavy silence. A single word hovered in the air like smoke:

Me (thinking): ‘Not an accident?’

Me (cautiously): “Are you saying something… happened to him?”

Killian: “I have a few ideas. Maybe he got swept up in a spiritual crisis, tore out his notes, ditched his belongings, and joined a monastery.”
He gave me a pointed look. “Which one of those scenarios seems more likely to you?”

I narrowed my eyes. His sarcasm stung like a slap.

Me: “Your sarcasm is out of place.”

Killian: “Then don’t ask foolish questions, Amala. We’ve all seen the same evidence. We all know where it points.”

Lima (cutting in): “Alright, Captain Lightwood—calm down. None of us are thrilled by the possibility that Hayes has been kidnapped... or worse.” 😶‍🌫️

Killian sighed, his expression softening as his eyes found mine again.

Killian: “I apologise, Miss Khan. I’m frustrated. I hate not having answers.”

Me (gently): “It’s all good.”

I looked away, my fingers brushing through my hair as if trying to tame the chaos in my head. This case... felt rotten. 🕯️

I paced away from the group, needing a moment to think. Questions swarmed in my mind like buzzing flies.

Me (thinking): “Has he really been taken? Or worse? How long are we going to stay in Calcutta? And what is this all leading to?”

My gaze dropped idly to the carpet—until something caught my eye. Something tiny. Out of place. Right by the closet.

I squinted, knelt down, heart quickening.

Me (thinking): “Is that… is that a… fingernail?” 😨

A cracked, bloodstained nail lay there like a forgotten relic of pain.

I swallowed the scream clawing up my throat.

Me (voice trembling): “There’s… there’s something here.”

Everyone went still. I heard the rustle of footsteps behind me. Killian and Lima rushed over.

I stood slowly, numb. My body moved, but I felt like I was underwater.

I reached out, hands trembling, and opened the closet doors. The hinges groaned.

Inside—

There were scratch marks. Deep, desperate gouges all over the inner surface. Bloody fingerprints smeared across the wood. 💔

Me (barely whispering): “What… what is this…?”

Killian’s face turned pale as he crouched beside the nail.

Killian: “Someone clawed at the doors... until they ripped off a nail. That’s not panic. That’s terror.”

Lima (voice low): “My god… what a nightmare.” 😨

Ratan remained a few steps back, gaze dark and unreadable. He said nothing—but his eyes scanned every inch of the scene with quiet calculation.

Me: “What if it wasn’t Hayes? What if someone else was trapped in there?”

Lima: “We need a forensics team. The nail. The blood. Fingerprints. Everything. We need to test it all.” 🧬

Mr. Rose (shakily): “Y-yes, Miss Berg. That’s… right.”

He looked like he was about to faint. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his glistening forehead. 😓

Mr. Rose (quickly turning to Ratan): “Mr. Vaish, call your police station and get forensics here—immediately. They’re to collect everything and send samples to London. I’ll give you the address myself. I don’t trust local labs.”

Ratan: “Understood. I’ll take care of it.”
Without another word, he left the room, silent as a shadow.

Lima (pressing a hand to her chest): “I don’t feel well… it’s so stuffy. I’m going to get some air.” 😵

Killian noticed the colour drain from my face.

Killian (gently): “Come on. We’re done here. Let’s get out.”

Mr. Rose: “Agreed. Everyone, let’s leave.”

We filed out of the room one by one, the door creaking shut behind us like the closing of a tomb.

Me (thinking): “We came here looking for answers. But instead, we found a silent scream carved into wood.” 🩸🚪

Mr. Rose staggered out of the room first, followed by Lima and Killian, their faces pale and drawn. The door creaked as it slowly closed behind them, leaving me standing there—alone.

Me (thinking): “What happened here...? What kind of nightmare did Mr. Hayes live through? Was he attacked? Or did he slowly lose his mind and scratch at those closet doors in a fit of madness?” 😰

A chill ran down my spine.

Then it hit me—I was completely alone with that closet. The air in the room felt thick, almost alive, curling around me like an invisible serpent. I turned to leave, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. But as I took a step—

Me: “Oh…” 😵

The walls tilted. The floor seemed to rise to meet me. A wave of dizziness crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Me (thinking): “No, no, no… don’t faint. Not here…”

I reached out blindly, my hand meeting the wall as I leaned against it. My breath came in short, panicked gasps. Blackness edged my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
I opened them again—and everything was different.

A red haze had descended upon the room. 🔴 The light twisted, warped. Shadows curled at my feet like smoke. The heat returned with a vengeance, pressing down on me like a vice. My knees gave out—I slid down the wall, too stunned to move, too terrified to scream.

Suddenly—BANG!
The closet doors slammed shut with unnatural force. 💥

Me: “!!!”

I tried to cry out, but my throat burned like it was full of sand. The shadows danced. Flickering, stretching. The walls became a stage for something I could not explain. My pulse roared in my ears.

Then came the voice.

Shadow 1 (desperate, male): “No! No! Oh God, no!” 😱

THUD.
The closet shook violently.

Shadow 1: “AAAAH!!”

A black shape darted along the wall—impossible, wrong. I was alone. But around me echoed a storm of phantom footsteps, blows, and screams. It was like watching the past bleed into the present.

Shadow 2 (calm, dark voice): “You’re making a lot of noise… for nothing. Some things are inevitable. You can run, you can hide… but you’ll still end up here.” 🕯️

Another shadow emerged—larger, imposing, moving like it owned time. It didn’t chase. It waited.

Shadow 1 (pleading): “Please! I won’t tell anyone! I’ll lie! I swear—on my life!”

Shadow 2 (mocking): “Your life?”
The room echoed with deep, reverberating laughter. 🎭

Shadow 2: “You can’t save your life… or your soul. Everything belongs to her.”
That word cut through the air like ice.

I began to tremble. Something about the way he said her… 🩸

Me (thinking): “Who… who is she?”

Shadow 1 panicked, running along the wall like a ghost fleeing its own death. But the second shadow followed—slowly, steadily. It raised something—

A sickle. 🗡️

Me (whispering): “Oh my God… oh my God…”

I clutched at my sides. I couldn’t feel my hands anymore.

Shadow 2 (taunting): “Where are you running to? All paths lead to her. She is here—and she’s not leaving. She’s tired of waiting.”

Shadow 1 (choked): “H-here?! S-she is here?”

Shadow 2 (darkly): “Can’t you see?”

Something in the air shifted.
I felt a presence. Watching me. 🧿
I froze as I met an invisible gaze—powerful, ancient, feminine.

She was smiling.

And that smile was for me. 😶‍🌫️

A female silhouette shimmered into existence for a fleeting second—then disappeared like mist. The second shadow lunged. The first tried to run. There was a slash—crimson sprayed across the floor. Across… me. 🩸

Shadow 1 (screaming): “My… my hand!”

Shadow 2 (coldly): “Here. She is here.”

Me (paralyzed): “?!” 😨

And then—the door BURST open.

Killian: “Amala?!” 😧

I gasped. The room snapped back into reality. The shadows were gone. The haze had lifted. But my skin was drenched in sweat, and I was still curled against the wall.

Killian rushed to me, his eyes wide with panic.

Killian: “Amala, what happened?! I heard you scream!”

Me (shaking): “I… I’m not feeling well…”

He dropped to one knee beside me.

Killian: “You’re trembling.”

I lifted my hand. It shook uncontrollably, the skin damp and clammy.

Me: “Please… let’s get out of here…”

Killian didn’t argue. He helped me to my feet with firm hands, holding me by the elbow.

I gently pulled away. I needed to walk on my own. I had to.

Me: “I’m fine. I can walk.”

Killian: “You look dreadful. Let me help you.”

Me: “I just need air…”

Killian: “Amala, I understand your independence—but right now, you’re scaring me.”

I didn’t answer. My arms instinctively wrapped around myself. Every inch of me still remembered that smile. That voice. That blood. I turned toward the door and walked out, forcing one step after another.

Killian followed in silence, resigned to my stubborn pride.

Before I stepped out, I turned. One last glance.

The closet.
Still open. Innocent.
But the doors… were scratched.
And I knew what I saw.
What I heard.

Outside, Lima and Mr. Rose stood near the balcony, eyes fixed on the door. They’d heard the scream. Their faces were grim, concerned.

Ratan joined us just as Killian and I emerged.

Ratan: “Everything’s taken care of, Mr. Rose.”

Mr. Rose: “Thank you.”
(He turned to me)
“Miss Khan… are you…?”

My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear him.

And now, everyone was staring at me—
Waiting.
Needing answers.

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and turned toward my colleagues. My hands were trembling, but I quickly hid them behind my back and forced a smile.

Me: “Everything’s fine.” 🙂

An outright lie.

But I couldn’t afford to fall apart—not now. Emotions and hysteria wouldn’t serve me in a room full of sharp-eyed professionals. I had to keep my cool.

Me: “The door slammed shut. I couldn’t open it and… I panicked. It was stuffy in there.” 🫤

Mr. Rose narrowed his eyes, his brow still furrowed.

Mr. Rose: “We thought something happened to you.”

Killian raised a skeptical eyebrow. Less than a minute ago, I was shaking like a leaf on the floor—and now I was all smiles?

Lima: “Amala… you came out looking as pale as a ghost. Are you really okay?” 😟

Me: “Yes. Thank you for your concern, Lima. I screamed just so you’d hear me. I didn’t want to end up locked in there alone.”

Lima didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. None of them did. If anything, I noticed a flicker of respect in their eyes—for holding myself together.

Ratan: “Are you sure, Miss Khan?”

Me: “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Vaish.”

Mr. Rose: “All right, everyone… Listen up.”

He quickly shifted focus away from me, launching into a summary of everything we had discovered that day. After the debrief, Mr. Rose dismissed the team. There wasn’t much left to do until the forensics came through.

Killian offered to take me back to the Chauhans’ house, but I managed to convince him to rest. I needed the silence. Mr. Vaish arranged a taxi for me.

The house smelled warm and fragrant—spices, coriander, and the faint sweetness of ghee in the air. Sana was setting the table while the cook served dinner. The plates were filled to the brim. I couldn’t tell if this was a typical Chauhan meal… or an attempt to comfort me. Either way, I couldn’t eat. My appetite had vanished somewhere between the bloodstains and the shadows.

Priyanka: “Amala, honey! You didn’t even touch your plate! You don’t like it?” 😧

Me: “Of course I do, Mrs. Chauhan. I’m just not hungry.”

Priyanka: “Nonsense! Come on, eat something. No food, no glow! And this curry—ah!—I’ll roll it in a roti for you. It’ll taste even better.” 🍛

She lovingly heaped spoonfuls into a roti until it nearly burst from the filling. I smiled despite myself.

Aryan: “Mera dil, what are you doing to our guest? She can eat later. Sana, take this to her room.”

(Mera dil = “my heart” — a tender Indian endearment)

Priyanka shook her head at Aryan’s interference. He simply smiled.

I couldn’t help chuckling softly.

Me: “I’ll eat everything before bed, I promise.”

Priyanka: “Dear Gods! She’s going to eat right before bed!” 😱

Aryan laughed out loud.

Later, I collapsed on the bed, utterly drained. As soon as I closed my eyes, the day’s memories flooded in.

Me (thinking): “I’m so confused. What did I see? What was that? Shadows? Voices? Why did the closet doors slam shut on their own?” 😵‍💫

The questions spiraled endlessly in my mind.

“What’s happening to me? I can’t tell anyone—no one will believe me. They’ll think I’m mad…”

I sat up and rubbed my temples, my breath shaky. I could still feel her eyes on me.

“Who was that? And why… why did she look at me like that?”

A sudden knock at the door made me jump.

Sana stood in the doorway.

Sana: “Excuse me, Miss. There’s a call for you.”

Me: “Who is it?”

Sana: “I didn’t ask.”

I slipped out of bed and followed her into the hallway. I reached for the landline when I caught her frowning at me.

Me: “What is it?”

Sana (bluntly): “Miss shouldn’t wear nightwear outside her room.” 🙄

She turned and walked away. I blinked.

Me (thinking): “Apparently, even my pajamas are offending people in this house…”

I picked up the receiver.

Me: “Hello, Amala Khan speaking.”

Lima: “Hi, it’s Lima. Lima Berg.”

Me: “Lima?”

Lima: “I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re feeling.”

Me: “I’m much better now, thank you.”

Lima: “Still not ready to talk about what happened in that room? You looked terrified, Amala.” 😟

There was real concern in her voice. I softened.

Me: “To be honest… I’m still trying to make sense of it myself. But don’t worry—I’m perfectly fine.”

Lima: “You and I agreed to look out for each other. Remember?”

Me: “I remember. And I promise—I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Lima: sigh “Okay. Tomorrow, then?”

Me: “Yes. Of course.”

Lima: “Good night.”

Me: “Good night, Lima.”

I hung up the phone. A swirl of emotion lingered behind the dial tone—relief, guilt, maybe even… comfort. 💔

Me (thinking): “It’s nice to know someone cares.”

Just then, I saw Sana coming up the stairs with a food tray.

Sana: “Miss Khan, I’ve brought your dinner. I was under strict orders to make sure you ate.” 😤

Me (smiling faintly): “I can guess who ordered it. Bring it here, please.”

Sana: “Has your appetite returned?”

Me: “A little.”

She handed me a tray—warm roti wrapped around curry and a tall glass of spiced milk. As I took the tray, her voice stopped me.

Sana: “Did something happen to you today?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes—dark and steady—never left mine.

Sana: “You were unusually pale when you came back. And you didn’t touch your food.”

Me: “Just trouble at work, that’s all.”

Sana: “I warned you to be careful. You should’ve stayed close to your attaché.”

Me (dryly): “Captain Lightwood couldn’t have helped me today.”

She went quiet. Then:

Sana: “…So it’s worse than I thought.” 😶‍🌫️

Her words struck a nerve. I gripped the tray tighter.

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Sana: “I told you—bad things are coming. And the deeper you go, the darker it gets.”

Creak.
A floorboard groaned somewhere down the hallway. We both froze.

All was silent again.

Sana (lowering her voice): “It’s not safe to talk here.” 👀

She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sana: “I’ll tell you more… but only if you tell me what happened today. If you’re not ready… then I’ll leave.”

Me: “I’ll tell you everything. For some reason… I feel like you’re the only one who’ll believe me.” 😓

Sana: “I don’t think so.”

I blinked.

Me: “Let’s see what you think after you hear the whole thing.”

We left the hallway and slipped quietly into my room, shutting the door behind us. I sat on the edge of the bed while Sana remained standing, arms folded, gaze steady.

And then… I told her everything.

I kept my voice neutral, trying to avoid the shakiness still clinging to my nerves. I focused on the facts—the voices, the shadows, the sudden shift in the atmosphere… and how the room looked like it had slipped back in time. But I kept one part buried—the female silhouette and that hypnotic gaze. That was mine to figure out.

When I finished, Sana was still. Her eyes searched my face.

Sana: “Miss… what you just described is… incredible.” 😯

Me: “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

Sana (gently): “No, I do believe you. But things aren’t looking good right now.”

Me: “What do you mean?” 😟

Sana: “I can’t say exactly what your vision means. But one thing I know for sure: you can see more than most people.”

I stared at her.

Me: “What does that even mean?”

Sana: “Your perception is… heightened. Most people live behind a veil—unaware of what lies beyond. But you can see through it. You’re closer to the other world than ordinary people. Some Brahmins also have this connection—through bloodline, through sacred knowledge.”

Me: “Brahmins…? You mean the priestly caste? Scholars of the Vedas?”

Sana (nodding): “Yes, Miss. They are respected. Their ancestors passed down spiritual knowledge for generations. Those from that ancient lineage can sometimes perceive what others cannot.”

Me: “But my family isn’t Brahmin. We were just regular people who left India decades ago. So… why me?” 🤔

Sana (softly): “I’m afraid I don’t know. I only shared what I’ve learned from those wiser than me.”

I exhaled, my confusion mounting.

Me: “That… wasn’t very helpful.”

Sana: “Really? At least now you know you’re not losing your mind. What you saw—there’s a reason. You just have to dig deeper. But…”
(She paused, face clouding over)
“…that could be dangerous.”

Me: “Why?” 😰

Sana began pacing the room, her hands clasped behind her back.

Sana: “Something is coming. The air already feels different. And those who are open, like you… are the first to be affected. Even Brahmins prepare months in advance. Because if you’re not ready, visions—spiritual noise—can tear the mind apart.” 🌀

Me: “Why now?”

Sana (quietly): “Because Calcutta is on the edge of something sacred… and volatile. Durga Puja and Kali Puja are near. Two mighty goddesses… two faces of divine power.” 🔥🌒

Me: “And?”

Sana: “During this time, the veil thins. The divine draws closer. Everything intensifies—positive and negative energies, karmic pull, tantric power, even death. Sacred energy flows freely… and touches people like you more than others.”

Me: “So you’re saying if I’m not prepared… I’ll go insane?” 😳

Sana: “It has happened before.”

I frowned, uneasy.

Me: “You’re talking as if all this is real.”

Sana’s brows rose.

Sana: “Don’t you believe in it? Aren’t you Hindu?”

Me: “No. Hinduism to me is more like… mythology. I grew up in London. People there follow different faiths.”

Sana: “I didn’t ask about them. I asked about you. What does your soul say?”

Me (flatly): “My soul… is silent.” 🫥

She stared at me, her gaze calm but piercing.

Sana: “And yet, you saw what you saw. Doesn’t that make you question your beliefs?”

Me: “Not enough to start believing in Shiva, or Ganesha, or Parvati.”

Sana: “Well… I think what’s coming will make you question things more than once.” 😶‍🌫️

Me: “What do you mean?”

Sana: “Exactly what I said. Time will tell. You’ll soon see that this world is far more complicated than any atheist—or skeptic—can imagine.”

I looked away, uneasy.

Me: “This conversation took a strange turn…”

Sana (quietly): “Just be careful, Miss Khan.” 🖤

Me: “I don’t need help. If I accept help too often… I’ll lose my independence. That’s why I’m dealing with this threat on my own.” 🧍‍♀️

Sana (softly): “As you wish, Miss. But… in some situations, the efforts of a single person may not be enough.”

Her words lingered in the air like smoke, but I shook them off.

Me: “Sana, how do you know so much about all this?”

Sana: “My parents once worked for a Brahmin family. I learned a lot from them. They weren’t Brahmins by practice, but they were by blood. The knowledge passed down to them… it stays with you, even in silence.”

She paused, glancing at her watch.

Sana: “Oh, it’s late. Enjoy your dinner, Miss. I’ll take the tray in the morning.”

With that, she turned and quietly left my room. I watched her go, the door clicking shut behind her.

Me (thinking):
‘I only wanted answers… and all I’ve gotten is more confusion. Sana must be wrong. I’m not from a Brahmin family, and I’ve never had any special connection to—whatever she’s talking about.’ 😤

I sighed, staring at the food tray.

‘Besides, nothing like this ever happened to me before I came to Calcutta. That vision? It must’ve been a hallucination. I was exhausted. Stressed. Sleep-deprived. There’s no need to spiral right before bed… or I’ll end up seeing something weird again.’

I forced myself to eat quickly and crawled into bed. My body crashed, the stress of the day dragging me into unconsciousness before I could even turn off the lights.

A few hours later...

Voices and laughter floated up from the first floor—cheerful and unmistakably lively. The scent of freshly baked cakes wafted through the air, sweet and buttery. 🍰

My eyes snapped open.

Wait… what time is it?!

I rolled over, blinking at the clock.

Me (panicking): “It’s late morning?!” 😱

I shot upright.

Me (thinking):
‘Damn it, if I’m late, Mr. Rose will never let me live it down. I need to get ready. Fast.’

I ran to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and returned, still drying my hair with a towel.

I threw open the closet doors, determined.

Me (thinking):
‘No fancy dress today. Just something casual and practical—I need my head in the game.’ 👚👖

I chose a unique style today — a crisp white frock paired with a navy blue blazer. To top it off, a delicate gold chain belt hugged my waist, and a small pearl pendant swayed gently at my throat.

Me (in my mind): “I look absolutely fantastic!” 💃✨

My hair was styled simply yet elegantly — loose waves cascading freely, just enough to frame my face with effortless charm.

I floated downstairs, drawn by the hum of morning voices in the living room.

Priyanka: “Good morning, Amala!” ☀️

Sana: “Good morning, Miss Khan.”

Mrs. Chauhan was nestled comfortably on the couch, a delicate teacup balanced in her hand. On the coffee table, a silver tray held a teapot and an assortment of candies gleaming like tiny jewels.

Me: “Good morning, Mrs. Chauhan, Sana. Has anyone called for me?”

Sana: “No, Miss. No calls, no visitors.”

Me (thinking): “Alright then, nothing to worry about.”

Priyanka: “Sit down, sweetheart, have some tea. Fresh cakes are waiting in the dining room.”

She looked at me with that warm, admiring smile.

Priyanka: “Amala, what a beauty you are! Even a rice sack would look stunning on you — but a sari? That’s where you truly shine.”

I laughed softly, cheeks flushing.

Me: “Thank you.”

Sana: “Miss, shall I bring some cakes to accompany your tea?”

Me: “Yes, please. Thank you, Sana.”

The maid nodded and slipped out quietly, as if yesterday’s conversation had evaporated like morning mist.

Me (internally): “Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe that talk never happened…” 🤔

Priyanka: “How long will you be in Calcutta, Amala?”

Me: “I’m not sure, but it looks like it’ll be a while.”

Mrs. Chauhan nodded, savoring her tea.

Priyanka: “You must stay for the festivals! They’re a riot of colour and joy — dances, songs, and streets decked out like a dream. Maybe India will melt your heart yet.” ❤️

Me: “Festivals…”

Priyanka: “First comes Durga Puja, one of India’s brightest and most beloved celebrations. Then, Kali Puja — a local holiday here in West Bengal.”

Me (thinking): “Okay, yesterday’s conversation definitely wasn’t a dream.”

Me: “When do these festivals start?”

Suddenly, Sana reappeared in the living room, her face pinched with worry.

Me: “?”

Sana: “Miss Khan, you have a visitor. She seems agitated, but I don’t understand English well enough to know what’s wrong.”

Me (internally): “She?”

I stood and headed swiftly to the front door. Outside, it was Lima — her nervous energy almost palpable.

Lima: “Amala! Come quickly!”

I rushed over.

Me: “What happened?”

Lima: “Get in the taxi, now. There’s chaos at work!”

Me: “Explain. Please.”

Lima: “Lightwood and Rose didn’t want to call you. They thought you weren’t well enough after yesterday. I was furious — who gave them the right? I got distracted for a moment talking to Mr. Vaish, and when I looked back, they’d already left! I rushed here as fast as I could.”

I gripped Lima’s hand, desperate to focus her attention.

Me: “Lima! What’s going on?”

She hesitated, then straightened up and said:

Lima: “A man’s body was found near our embassy by the police. We need to get there immediately.”

A cold chill slid down my spine.

Me: “Was it… the diplomat?”

Lima: “No.”

Me (thinking): “Thank goodness.”

Me: “Then why are we involved?”

Lima: “When we realised the diplomat’s disappearance was complicated, Captain Lightwood contacted the local police through our guide. They agreed all unusual murders must be reported and investigated jointly. They don’t have a choice — cooperation with our task force is mandatory.”

Me: “But why all the fuss about unusual murders?”

Lima: “Killian is just a pessimist.” 🙄

Me: “I see. So our colleagues went to the crime scene? What makes this one so special?”

Lima: Her voice dropped, heavy with dread. “It’s a… ritual murder.” 🔥

P.S.

Oh, my exquisitely unruffled Velvet Vixen 🍫—

Can we just recap? Yesterday it was haunted closets and deranged diplomats; today, it’s ritual murder and more secrets than there are saris in my wardrobe. If drama were currency, darling, I’d be the richest girl in Calcutta by now! (And still underdressed for the occasion—scandalous, I know.)

Honestly, if one more supernatural shadow so much as twitches in my direction, I might demand danger pay… or at least hazard-proof eyeliner. But here’s the real tea: do you think I’m cracking the case, losing my marbles, or just living for the plot twist? And, for the record, is it just me, or is this city dead set on turning my skepticism into a full-blown crisis of faith? (All opinions welcome—as long as they’re juicier than Sana’s curry, and twice as spicy.)

So, darling, I dare you:

• Drop your wildest theory about who—or what—was grinning in that vision.

• Confess: would you run from haunted closets, or throw open the doors and strut through?

• Share survival tips: mascara waterproof enough for possession, or a snack that wards off evil spirits?

Go on, feed the fire—my sanity depends on your scandalous speculations and cheeky comments. Remember, the wilder, the better. After all, where else would I turn for a little midnight validation but to the sharpest, sassiest minds on this side of the internet?

With a swirl of pearls, petrichor, and pure chaos,

Your Mistress of Midnight Masala 🕯️