People Die, Stories Don't.

"Sometimes the worst changes you in a way it isn't supposed to—and there's no coming back."

“Oh my god, seniors,” Ishaan whispered, nudging me hard. “Look down. Don’t stare.”

I obeyed. Ragging was a tradition in most colleges, but this didn’t feel like playful hazing. The guy near the gate had a presence that prickled my skin, like standing too close to a live wire.

“Summon yourself to the common room. Your father is waiting,” he said, voice sharp and dripping with disdain.

Our feet moved, but our minds screamed to turn around. Every corridor was lined with seniors, arms folded, eyes locked on us. No way to back out. No room for fear.

Then we entered the common room.

It felt like walking into a twisted fever dream. Disco lights blinked erratically, a mirrored ball spun like a hypnotic eye, and a bass-heavy track shook the air like a heartbeat on edge. It wasn’t just noise—it was disorientation.

Shirtless freshers stood in crooked queues. Beer and weed floated freely in seniors’ hands, their eyes glassy and their smirks unkind. It felt like we’d walked into a ritual rather than a welcome.

One senior gestured me to join a line in the far corner. At the end stood a guy already sneering at me. His smile was wide—but hollow.

“Hi, I’m Dev,” I said.

“Niche dekh, gandu!” he snapped. ("Eyes down, asshole!")

My stomach twisted. The insult hit harder than it should’ve. I stared at the floor. Something about the atmosphere felt... wrong.

The music stopped. Just like that. Abrupt. Jarring.

Sahil entered, all smirk and swagger, like a shark cutting through a still pond. My fists curled. He made his way to the guy beside me—and bent to touch his feet.

Wait. What?

Sahil stood, beaming. “Oye bitches, meet Gottu Dadu, your one and only father tonight. Big round of applause—he’s footing the bill for your nightmares.”

Cheers erupted, drunk and chaotic.

“Niche dekh, gandu,” the guy whispered again. But this time, his voice was colder—almost calculated.

I didn’t know whether to feel scared or furious. Then Sahil turned to me.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Romeo,” he sneered. “Hand over your phone, bitch.”

I froze. Ishaan nudged me. I handed it over.

Gottu spoke, loud and commanding. “These two are mine now. Shift their room to mine. I’ll handle their ragging personally.”

Sahil resisted. “But Romeo’s mine.”

Gottu stepped in. “Say that again, bitch.”

Silence.

Sahil backed off and returned my phone. “Till next time, Romeo.”

We followed Gottu through the halls. Everything felt off-kilter—like the walls were watching. At the terrace, the noise faded into a low hum. The stars looked distant, almost fake.

“This place is off-limits for freshers,” Gottu said, taking a drag. “But not for you two. You’re mine now.”

Oddly enough, I felt safer—but that didn’t stop the chill gnawing at my spine.

“Can I ask something?” I said.

He offered a cigarette. We refused. He lit his anyway, the flame dancing against his eyes.

“Life’s brutal,” he said. “Family pressure. Fake friends. Love that turns on you. You’ll crave this poison soon.”

I saw something in him then—broken glass held together with swagger. And for the first time, he called us friends.

He pointed to a dark silhouette in the distance.

“Stay away from that building. That’s your only rule.”

“What is it?” Ishaan asked.

“Supposed to be the girls’ hostel. Until a bitch jumped off the roof. Day before inauguration.”

I laughed nervously—until I saw something.

A flash of white.

“There’s someone there!” I yelled.

Gottu shot up, cigarette forgotten. “Where?”

“White saree—by the ledge! I swear!”

We looked again. Nothing. Just shadows.

“Don’t mess around,” Gottu hissed. “You don’t want to see what you think you saw.”

“I did see her,” I whispered. My voice didn’t feel like mine.

Gottu’s hands shook as he lit another smoke.

“After she died, stories spread. Lights turning on by themselves. Singing. A shadow with no feet. People see things. Hear things. That building... it holds something that shouldn’t exist.”

The night air turned still. Suffocating.

“That girl—she ended more than her life,” he muttered. “She cursed this place. And now it waits for people stupid enough to look.”

“Was that her?” Ishaan’s voice cracked.

“There are no ghosts,” Gottu snapped. “Not officially. Not anymore.”

Then he softened. “I’m a dropper. Four years stuck here. My brother’s a politician. This college is a puppet show, and I pull a few strings. I stay because I can. Because it’s easier than leaving.”

It made sense. Why the others feared him. Why Sahil stayed quiet.

“Call me Gaurav. Or Gottu Or Dadu. Just don’t screw with me. And stay alive.”

We nodded.

He exhaled. “Now, tell me about you guys. No more ghost crap. Understand?”

We introduced ourselves.

But I barely heard Ishaan’s voice. My mind was spiraling.

Had I really seen her?

Or had something seen me first?