Aarya's breath came in short gasps. The message still flickered on her phone screen, the weight of those words clawing at her chest.
"You opened the door. Now you can't close it."
She backed away from the nightstand, her eyes darting around the room. Every corner seemed to whisper. Every shadow felt like it held secrets. But nothing moved. No one was there.
Yet she wasn't alone.
She could feel it.
She walked slowly toward the window, drawn like a moth to the edge of danger. The city lights glowed below—a thousand lives moving in ignorance while hers spiraled into darkness.
And then she saw it.
Across the street.
A man in black. Standing still on a rooftop.
Watching her.
Her heart stuttered. She blinked. He didn't vanish. He just raised his hand—slowly—two fingers to his lips, then pointing directly at her.
Vikram?
Or someone else?
She grabbed her bag and rushed out of the room, nearly running down the hallway. Her heels clicked like gunshots. By the time she reached the street, the rooftop was empty.
Gone.
Was it a hallucination?
A warning?
Or just another layer of the mind games?
Back in her apartment that night, she locked every window, every door. But it didn't stop the unease. Sleep was a far-off fantasy.
And when she checked her inbox just before dawn, a new email had arrived.
No subject. No name.
Just a video attachment.
With trembling fingers, she clicked it open.
It began in darkness. Muffled sounds. Heavy breathing.
Then her face appeared—sleeping in Room 306.
And behind her…
Vikram.
But not touching her.
Just staring.
Almost lovingly.
Obsessively.
For five full minutes.
He knelt beside her. Brushed a strand of hair from her face. Whispered something so softly the mic barely caught it.
"Mine… even if you never want to be."
The screen went black.
Aarya stared at it for minutes. Her body frozen.
What kind of man watches you sleep like that?
What kind of desire is this?
She closed her laptop, trying to steady her breath. But it wasn't just fear anymore.
Somewhere, tangled in the terror, was a truth she didn't want to admit.
A part of her wasn't running.
A part of her was waiting.
For him.
The next day, everything felt slower. The world was still moving, but Aarya wasn't part of it.
At work, her hands moved over blueprints, but her mind was drowning in the shadows of Room 306. The photographs. The video. The man on the rooftop.
And worst of all—her own reaction to it.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't sane.
She should've been terrified. Furious.
Instead…
She was restless.
Her skin ached with a need she didn't understand. Like something had been carved into her bones that night, and no amount of logic could erase it.
What the hell is happening to me?
She left early. Took the train instead of a cab, hoping the crowd would distract her.
But even surrounded by strangers, she felt watched.
Every reflection in the glass… every dark silhouette in the tunnel… felt like it could be him.
And when she reached her apartment, she found the door slightly open.
Her heart flipped.
No signs of forced entry.
She pushed it slowly.
Everything looked the same.
Except for one thing.
A single white rose on her pillow.
A note beneath it.
"You feel me, don't you?"
Aarya's knees weakened. She sat on the bed, note in hand, the scent of the rose flooding her senses.
She hated this.
This violation. This fear.
But what she hated even more… was how her fingers trembled not with rage… but anticipation.
She clutched the note, ready to rip it—
But something was written on the back.
An address.
Tonight. Midnight.
No name.
No threat.
Just a place.
And a choice.
Aarya stared at it, her mind screaming no, but her body… already beginning to move.
She didn't understand it.
But deep inside her, a line was blurring.
Between fear and fire.
Between danger and desire.
Between predator…
…and prey.
Midnight.
The city had changed its skin.
Gone were the neon buzz and honking horns—replaced by shadows stretching long and quiet. Aarya stood in front of the address scrawled on the back of the note: an old colonial building half-swallowed by ivy, set back from the main road.
No lights.
No sound.
Just silence—and that damn rose still in her hand.
Her heels crunched against gravel as she stepped closer. The gate wasn't locked. Neither was the front door. It opened with a slow groan, as if the house itself recognized her.
The air inside was thick. Not dusty—preserved. As if someone had been waiting.
Aarya's pulse raced as she moved through the foyer. Every instinct screamed that she should turn around. Leave. Run.
But her legs disobeyed.
She wasn't sure if it was curiosity… or the undeniable pull of him.
The walls were lined with old portraits—faded women with hollow eyes and tight lips. Their gazes seemed to follow her as she walked up the staircase, guided only by a dim glow spilling from a crack beneath a door.
At the end of the hallway.
Room 9.
The number was painted in crimson. Almost fresh.
Her hand trembled as it reached for the knob.
But before she could touch it—
It opened from the inside.
He stood there.
Vikram.
No mask. No pretense.
Just shadows clinging to his skin like secrets.
His eyes met hers—and for a moment, the entire world paused. She should have slapped him. Screamed. Demanded answers.
Instead, she whispered the one question she shouldn't have:
"Why me?"
He stepped aside, holding the door open without a word.
Inside, candles flickered. Velvet drapes. A low table with a single glass of wine. A camera on a tripod—facing the bed.
Her breath hitched.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Vikram finally spoke.
"This…" he said, voice dark as sin, "…is the place where truth and desire don't wear masks."
Aarya should've run.
But instead…
She stepped inside.
Cliffhanger-
The lights flickered.
Just once.
But enough to make Aarya freeze.
Her apartment had never done that before.
And then, the screen blinked.
The video file she'd just closed… reopened on its own.
No clicks. No prompts.
Just static.
Then the same dim room. The same velvet chair.
But this time—it was empty.
No Raina.
No man.
Just that same oppressive silence.
Until the camera jerked.
It tilted slowly—unnaturally—until it faced the mirror.
Aarya leaned in, breath caught in her chest.
There was a reflection now.
Not of the room.
Not of the man.
But of her.
Standing in her apartment. In real time.
She staggered back from the screen, heart thundering in her ears.
"What the hell—"
The image on the laptop mirrored her every movement. Her every breath. Like a delayed loop through a tunnel of glass.
Then the screen went black.
A single word appeared, typed in glitching white font:
"BEHIND."
She turned—
And the lights went out.
To be continued…