Meera did not go to work that day.
She told her manager she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't entirely a lie. Her body felt heavy, her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and her mind refused to let go of the sound she had heard at 3:02 AM.
Dragging.
Slow. Deliberate.
From a floor that did not exist.
By afternoon, she had convinced herself that the only way to feel normal again was to prove that there was a logical explanation. Buildings made noises. Pipes expanded. Metal shifted. Wood contracted.
Science. Structure. Reason.
Not imagination.
She took the lift down to the ground floor and walked straight to the small office near the entrance where the society secretary usually sat.
A middle-aged man with half-moon glasses looked up at her.
"Yes?"
"I moved into 703 yesterday," Meera said politely. "I just wanted to see the building's floor plan. I'm an architect… habit."
The lie came easily.
The man nodded, uninterested, and pulled out a thick file from the cupboard behind him. He placed a set of old blueprints on the table.
The paper was yellow at the edges.
Meera leaned over them.
Ground floor. Parking. Electrical room.
First floor. Second. Third.
Her eyes moved quickly.
Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.
Seventh floor.
She paused.
The layout showed 701, 702, and 703 exactly as expected.
But above the seventh floor, there was another drawing.
Faded. Half erased with pen marks.
A rectangular space directly above Flat 703.
No number written.
No label.
Just an empty box drawn in pencil, later scratched out with blue ink.
Meera frowned.
"What's this?" she asked.
The secretary adjusted his glasses. "Old plan. Ignore that. Builder made changes."
"Changes like removing a whole section?"
He shrugged. "Before my time."
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Can I take a picture?"
"No photos," he said quickly, almost sharply. "Society rule."
She nodded and rolled the sheet back carefully.
As she walked out, she felt a strange mix of relief and dread.
There had been something above her flat.
Something that was removed from the official layout.
That night, she decided she would stay awake.
She made coffee at 1:30 AM and sat on the sofa with all the lights off, the room lit only by the streetlight outside the window.
She kept looking at the ceiling.
2:41 AM.
Nothing.
2:57 AM.
Her palms began to sweat.
3:01 AM.
Her breathing slowed.
3:02 AM.
Scrraaaaape.
This time she was ready.
The sound was clearer. Heavier. Like a wooden table being dragged across concrete.
Her eyes didn't leave the ceiling.
She whispered, "I know you're there."
The sound continued for almost twenty seconds.
Then stopped.
Meera stood up immediately.
Her fear had changed into something else now.
Curiosity.
She grabbed her phone, stepped out of the flat, and went straight to the staircase instead of the lift.
She climbed to the terrace door.
Locked.
A thick chain wrapped around the handle.
She touched it.
Cold. Undisturbed. No sign that anyone had opened it recently.
She turned around slowly.
Her eyes fell on the ceiling above the staircase.
There was a faint square outline there. Like a sealed opening. Painted over many times.
A hatch.
Large enough for a person to pass through.
Her pulse began to race.
She walked closer.
Ran her fingers over the edges.
She could feel the difference in texture where cement had been filled in.
Something had existed there once.
A way up.
A hidden level.
Directly above Flat 703.