By afternoon, the rumors had multiplied.
Someone said the old block was haunted.
Someone said seniors were pulling a prank.
Someone swore they heard a scream.
Someone else said it was a transformer issue.
The truth was buried under noise.
Arav sat on the edge of the courtyard steps, elbows on his knees, watching students pass by. Laughter. Complaints. Phones out. Life continuing like nothing had tried to crawl out of a classroom that morning.
Tiku paced in front of him, agitated.
"I'm telling you, Bade Baba, this is how it starts. First shadows. Then administration denial. Then suddenly there's a 'counselling circular' and someone disappears."
Arav didn't look up.
His chest still felt tight.
Not pain—pressure.
As if something inside him hadn't fully settled after the fight.
Ira stood a few steps away, scrolling through her camera gallery with a frown. She had checked the same images at least four times already.
"Arav," she said. "The hallway footage… it shouldn't have done that."
He glanced at her.
"Done what?"
She turned the camera screen toward him.
The photo from the corridor was there—but distorted. The girl's face was gone now, replaced by a warped blur, like the image had been smeared intentionally.
"But earlier, I saw her," Ira said. "Clear enough to know it wasn't a reflection. Cameras don't imagine things."
Arav said nothing.
Because he knew the truth was worse.
Cameras didn't imagine.
They remembered.
And something had rewritten that memory.
Residual Cognitive Distortion Detected
Source : External
Persistence : Unknown
Tiku leaned over the screen. "Okay. So either your camera is haunted, or the ghost is camera-shy."
"That's not funny," Ira said.
"I'm coping," Tiku replied immediately.
A sudden whistle cut through the courtyard.
Security.
Two guards stood near the administration building, scanning the area. One of them pointed toward the old block.
Arav felt it immediately.
Eyes.
Not supernatural.
Human.
And those were often worse.
"Let's move," he said quietly.
They didn't get far.
"Hey—wait."
A guard approached them, posture stiff, hand already reaching for his walkie-talkie.
"You three were near the old block this morning, right?"
Ira straightened. "Is there a problem?"
"We've got reports," the guard said. "Power fluctuation. Noise complaint. Some students claiming… strange things."
His gaze lingered on Arav for half a second too long.
"Names."
Tiku froze.
Arav spoke first. "Arav Malhotra."
"Ira Gupta."
"Tiku," Tiku said, then hesitated. "Just Tiku."
The guard frowned. "You were all inside the building?"
"Yes," Ira said firmly. "I'm with the journalism club. I was documenting an issue."
The guard raised an eyebrow. "Documenting what?"
Ira met his gaze without flinching. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
The guard studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Principal wants a word," he said. "All three of you."
Tiku groaned softly. "Ah. Summoned. Classic."
As they followed the guard toward the building, Arav's vision blurred for a fraction of a second.
Just long enough for the world to feel… off.
The noise dulled.
The colors flattened.
Then—
A familiar pressure brushed against his awareness.
Light.
Reflected in glass.
He glanced sideways.
In the darkened window of the physics lab, a figure stood behind his reflection.
Female.
Still.
Watching.
His breath hitched.
He blinked.
The reflection showed only himself.
Arav's fingers curled slowly into his palm.
She was close.
Closer than before.
And she hadn't needed darkness this time.
Perceptual Echo Logged
Ajna Interference : Increasing
Warning : Focus required
Ira noticed his change immediately.
"Arav?" she whispered. "What is it?"
He shook his head once. "Later."
The guard pushed open the administration doors.
Inside, the lights were bright. Clean. Normal.
Too normal.
As the doors closed behind them, Arav felt it again—that faint sense of being measured, evaluated, weighed.
Not by a creature.
Not by a shadow.
But by something that understood rules.
And knew how to bend them.
Outside, somewhere between memory and reflection, the girl tilted her head.
And waited.