Chapter 2
The Shadow That Didn't Follow
Arjun skipped breakfast.
Not because he wasn't hungry—his stomach kept reminding him that he was—but because the kitchen felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Even the ceiling fan sounded hesitant, like it was thinking before each rotation.
He told himself he was imagining things again.
College was supposed to fix that. Noise. People. Distractions.
The walk to campus usually took fifteen minutes. That morning, it felt longer, like the road had stretched itself while he wasn't looking. Shops opened and closed in the same places, yet he had the strange urge to keep checking behind him.
Not because he heard footsteps.
Because he didn't.
When Arjun stopped at a crossing, he noticed it.
His shadow.
It lay on the pavement, stretched by the morning sun—but its shape was wrong. The outline lagged slightly, as if it had reacted a moment too late to his movement.
He lifted his hand.
The shadow followed.
A second later.
Arjun's throat tightened. He stepped forward quickly. The shadow snapped back into place, perfectly normal. People brushed past him, annoyed, unaware.
"Get a grip," he whispered.
Inside the lecture hall, the feeling faded. Numbers on the board. Professor's voice. The comfort of boredom. He almost laughed at himself for being scared of something so stupid.
Almost.
During the break, he felt it again—stronger this time. The sense of being observed. Not watched by someone in the room, but by something patient. Something that didn't blink.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Did you feel it too?
Arjun stared at the screen.
His fingers hovered, then typed.
Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
Someone who didn't sleep either.
Across the city, Meera sat on the edge of her bed, phone clenched tightly in her hand. She hadn't gone to college. Couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that lane again—the way the light bent wrong, the way the air felt thick, like it had weight.
She hadn't told anyone. She never did.
Her wrist still ached faintly. The mark was gone, but the skin felt tender, as if something had pressed into it from the inside.
When Arjun's reply came, her heart jumped.
Why did you message me? he wrote.
She swallowed, then typed carefully.
Because you were there. Yesterday. Near the bus stop. You looked… lost.
Arjun read the message twice.
He remembered her now. The girl standing across the road, hair caught in the wind, staring at nothing for a second too long. At the time, he'd thought nothing of it.
I don't even know your name, he typed.
Meera.
A pause.
And I don't think we met by accident.
That sentence sat heavier than it should have.
Arjun didn't reply.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, he stood on his balcony, watching the city lights flicker on one by one. For a moment, everything felt normal again. Safe.
Then he noticed the shadow on the wall behind him.
It wasn't his.
It stood taller. Thinner. Its edges blurred, like smoke trying to remember a human shape.
Arjun didn't turn around.
Slowly, deliberately, the shadow leaned closer.
And this time—
It didn't need light to exist.