Sarthak's POV

“Jaa na andar,” Akshat snapped at me, his voice low but loaded with urgency. This bloody fucker — the audacity. First, he dragged me all the way to the goddamn college campus like it was some casual Sunday stroll.

( go inside )

And why?

Because this irresponsible idiot is suffering from a deluxe edition of short-term memory loss and forgot his entire damn bag. Wallet. Books. MacBook. The full package. Man’s a walking HR liability.

“Saale, tu jaa na pehle,” I shot back, shoving him with zero remorse.

(First, you go, you idiot)

“Abeey kya kar raha hai, guard aa gaya toh?” His eyes darted like a squirrel on Red Bull, paranoid and sweating buckets.

( What are you doing ? What if guard came ?)

I scoffed. “Toh thoda sa suspend ho jaiyo, kya hi hoga?” I said, rolling my eyes as I hoisted myself up and jumped across the wall like I was auditioning for a Fast & Furious campus edition.

(So get suspended for a little while, what will happen?)

Akshat followed, muttering curses under his breath like a bad remix. The whole thing felt less like a rescue mission and more like two idiots reenacting Ocean’s Zero Braincells.

“Bhai yaha toh bohot andhera hai…” this dumbass muttered, voice barely above a whisper. I could practically feel him shivering beside me like a Nokia phone on silent mode.

( Bro it's so dark in here.)

I swear, if this idiot pokes something cursed or disturbingly ancient again, I will rearrange his balls with my shoe.

With a deep, exhausted sigh, I muttered, “Toh raat ke 12 baje konsa suraj niklta hai, gawar.” We were already halfway to the classroom, and my regret was growing by the second.

( Sun doesn't shine at midnight, you idiot)

“Agar tujhe darr lage toh mujhe gale laga lena… mai tujhe judge nahi karunga,” he said, like a creep trying to be poetic.

(If you feel scared then hug me, I won't judge you)

So naturally, I kicked him.

Right in the shin. He stumbled like a knocked-over trash bin and hissed, “Kya kar raha hai yaar?”

(What are you doing, bro?)

“Saale, tere chakkar mein adhi raat ko jhoot bolkar aaya hoon Di se,” I grumbled, offering a hand and yanking him back to his feet

( I have came here at midnight just for you bastard. I even lied to Di)

“Kya bola unko?” he asked while brushing dust off his jeans like that was his biggest concern.

(What did you tell her ?)

“Ki… ki tu marne wala hai."

(That you are going to die)

“Kya!?” His eyes went wide, scandalized.

(What!?)

“Kya ‘kya’? Yahi kaha ki tera accident ho gaya hai aur tu marne wala hai. Aur kya kehta? Adhi raat ko college jaa raha hoon?” I snapped.

(What 'what'? I just said that you got into an accident and now you're going to die.  What else could I have said? That I am going to college at midnight?)

“Tune mujhe maar dala?” he gasped, betrayed as fuck.

(You killed me ?)

“Maara nahi… par ab maar dunga agar tu chup nahi hua toh,” I snarled as we walked past the eerily silent staff room.

(Not till now... but I will definitely kill you if won't shut up. )

We reached the far corner. No light. Just shadows, echoes, and bad decisions.

Suddenly, he grabbed my hand.

“Darr mat… chup chap chalta reh,” he whispered, like he was in a spy movie.

(Don't be scared... just keep moving quietly)

Bastard.

“Saale, sabse zyada toh tu hi dara hua hai. Dekh ke chal, nahi toh muh toot jayega tera,” I snapped, yanking my hand back like he had the plague.

(You are the one who is scared, you bastard. Move carefully otherwise you'll get some broken bones.)

The hallway stretched ahead, dark and quiet. Too quiet.

But we kept moving.

Because whatever this night was turning into — we were already in too deep.

Finally.

After what felt like crawling through a horror movie, a shitty treasure hunt, and a bad acid trip rolled into one — we found the damn classroom.

“Thank fuck,” I muttered under my breath. My legs felt like they’d aged ten years.

I pushed the door, half-expecting it to be locked and the universe to throw another middle finger at us — but nope.

It opened.

No creaking. No dramatic horror sound effects. Just pure, blissful silence.

Akshat walked in first, scanning the dark room with his phone flashlight. “Mil gaya bhai!” he yelled, voice echoing through the emptiness. That stupid grin — I could feel it even in the dark.

( Got it, brother)

“Bhai nahi, bag mila?” I asked, because clarity is important even at ghost o’clock.

(Got the bag ?)

“Haan saale, mil gaya.” His tone was bored now, like he just retrieved a tiffin box from the fridge, not a MacBook worth a semester’s GPA.

(Yes , you fucker)

“Toh chal na, subh mahurat ka intezaar kar raha hai kya?” I shot back, already turning on my heel, halfway to the door.

(Then why are you standing like a moron, let’s go.)

“Haan chal,” he said, following behind, bag finally slung across his shoulder.

(Yeah, let’s go)

We stepped out of the classroom, exhausted, slightly paranoid, and completely done with the night

We were walking down that same cursed corridor again — same flickering lights, same dead silence, same rising regret levels — when I heard something.

I swear I did.

Being a guitar player and a music student, my ears were sharp. Not just sharp, bro — sniper-level audio accuracy. It was faint, subtle... like a soft dragging sound or a whisper caught in wind.

“Shhh…” I hushed this non-stop commentary machine beside me who was still yapping about everything from pani puri to PlayStation updates.

His face scrunched up in confusion. The corridor had only one working light — that dim bulb right in front of the staff room — and in its weak glow, I could see him about to speak again.

“Nahi bhai, abhi nahi. Ghar pe jaake washroom kar lena, abhi nikalte hai.” this absolute fucker said, dead serious.

(No man, not now. Go home then pee, let’s go out now.)

I resisted. I really resisted.

“Abbey behan ke ladle—”

(You bloody -)

“Oyee!” he suddenly barked like an untrained dog, voice echoing down the hallway like we were begging for paranormal attention.

(Heyy!)

I slapped my palm over his mouth before he invited a fucking poltergeist.

“Abbey, par meri toh koi behan hi nahi hai,” he mumbled under my hand.

(Bro, I don’t have a sister)

This fucker.

“Gobar ki shakal ke, chup ho jaa. Koi hai waha,” I growled, nodding toward the staff room.

(Be quiet , you moron. Someone is there)

“Kaha?” he asked, not looking anywhere near the staff room. This blind bastard was making me question evolution.

(Where?)

I grabbed his face like I was molding clay and forced him to look at the door near the staff room. “Yaha. Dekh. Waha.”

(Look. There. Bastard)

His eyes widened like a cartoon.

“Kahi woh Ms. Rabeca ka bhoot toh nahi—” his voice dropped to a horror-movie whisper.

(Is that the spirit of Ms. Rabeca?)

I blinked. “Abbey Chamanprash… ab yeh kaun hai?”

(Who's this Ms. Rabeca now ?)

He looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Tujhe nahi pata?”

(You don’t know?)

I shook my head, deadpan.

Great. New name just dropped. Midnight ghost lore DLC unlocked. FML.

He leaned in closer, eyes scanning the staff room door like it was about to explode.

“Ms. Rabeca...” he whispered, like it was some forbidden name.

“Who the hell was she?” I asked, now mildly intrigued and massively regretting every decision that led me here.

“Old music teacher,” he said, voice low. “Taught in this college, like… fifteen years ago? Violin. Piano. Harmonium. Everything. Said to be a genius.”

“And?”

“And one day, she just… stopped coming. Rumor was she died inside this staff room.”

I blinked. “The staff room we’re standing next to?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“No one knows. Some say suicide, some say she went mad. Students used to hear violin sounds from inside even when it was locked for months. She was obsessed with perfection — used to scream at students who played off-key.”

“Bro,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’re telling me we’re standing next to the haunted changing room of Beethoven’s evil sister?”

He nodded again. “And it gets worse.”

“Of course it does.”

“Some say,” he swalloiwed, “on certain nights — exactly like this — when the corridors are quiet and the staff room’s light flickers just once…”

We both glanced at the bulb. It flickered.

He froze. I stopped breathing.

“…she comes back to check if someone’s playing wrong notes again.”

“Chup reh saale—” I tried to snap at him, but he was already spiraling.

(Shut up you fuck-)

“Kahi unki aatma humein maarne toh nahi aayi—” he muttered, tugging at his own hair like a soap opera aunty on fast-forward.

(What if it's her spirit , came to end us?)

“Chup ho jaa, saale.” I growled and turned to look at the staff room.

(Don't you dare to speak, you bastard)

Again.

Biggest fucking mistake of the night.

Because this time, we saw her.

A figure. Not a silhouette, not a shadow, but something forming. Like fog gathering in human shape. The air shifted. The corridor dropped a few degrees. The bangles chimed — that same metallic chhan-chhan, delicate, rhythmic, spine-piercing.

A woman.

Not moving. Not blinking. Just there — wrapped in what looked like a white dress or a kurti like Sanu, hair down, those blue eyes locked on us like she’d been waiting for this moment since the day she died.

Akshat’s voice cracked as he asked, “Kya… kya tujhe bhi woh dikh rahi hai, Sarthak?”

(Can you see that?)

First valid f*cking question he’d asked all night.

I didn’t answer.

I could feel him beside me, stiff, trembling, one sneeze away from collapsing into a sob. But me?

I wasn’t scared.

Not of her. Not of ghosts. Not of being caught. Not even of dying right here in a dusty corridor with a scared idiot and a spirit staring me down.

What scared me?

Not knowing who she was.

That mystery — that pull — was bigger than fear. Louder than logic. Stronger than superstition.

(A/n- ye marega)

Because deep down, I didn’t believe in ghosts.

But she was standing there.

And I needed to know why.

And then—she moved.

No, not moved. Ran.

Like—full speed, no hesitation, her dress floating like CGI, bangles clashing like a damn horror remix.

She fucking ran toward us.

Like ma’am, excuse me, some of us need a second to emotionally stabilize or at least mentally pee.

“Aaaahhhh!” she screamed.

“BHAAI! NILI AKHON WALI BHOOTNI HUMARE PAAS AA RAHI HAI! BHAGGG!!!!” Akshat lost all sense of pride, logic, and bladder control in one go. He turned on his heels and sprinted like his future depended on it — and honestly? It kinda did.

I didn’t even argue. I ran. Sprint mode: activated. Shoes slapping the tiles, heart banging like a bass drum, adrenaline screaming “RUN YOU IDIOT” on loop.

We bolted around the next turn, footsteps echoing behind us. We skidded to a stop, gasping, backs to the wall.

Akshat was already crouched, muttering something between Sanskrit, gibberish, and maybe a Taco Bell order.

I, on the other hand, stood still.

Waiting.

Not running anymore.

Waiting for her.

For Nili Ankhon Wali Bhootni to show up.

Because while Akshat was trying not to die — I was still trying to understand why the hell she screamed like a banshee and ran at us like we owed her money.

This wasn’t just haunting.

This was absurd.

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Enid 🤍