The hostel was gone.
Aryan and Vishal stood in silence, covered in ash. The ground where the building once stood was now cracked, smoking earth. No one around. No sound. No life.
"Is it over?" Vishal asked.
Aryan looked down at his notebook. The red ribbon — now white — had turned to dust.
He nodded. "She's free."
But something felt… wrong.
That night, they found shelter in a nearby lodge. They didn't speak much. Vishal fell asleep quickly. But Aryan… he felt like something was missing.
He opened his notebook to write.
But every page was blank.
Confused, he turned to the first page — even that was empty. No writing. No names. No plans. Just… nothing.
He checked his phone. No photos. No messages. No call history.
He whispered to himself, "What's going on?"
Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door.
Vishal woke up with a jerk. "Who is it?"
Aryan opened the door.
A woman stood there. Dressed in formal clothes. Pale face. Eyes kind, but distant.
"Mr. Vishal?" she asked politely.
"Yes?"
"I'm from the Seth Govind Mental Institute," she said, flashing an ID. "We've been looking for you. You went missing two weeks ago."
"Wait— what?" Vishal looked at Aryan. "I was with him. With Aryan."
The woman tilted her head. "Aryan?"
Vishal pointed. "Right here—"
But Aryan… was gone.
No one in the room but Vishal.
The woman stepped in, gently. "Vishal, there was no Aryan."
Vishal shook his head. "No. No. He was with me. We were in that hostel. We saw things. We—"
"There is no hostel," she said softly. "It burned down 30 years ago."
Vishal dropped to his knees. "No… he was real. He had a notebook. He saved me."
The woman sat beside him and handed him something.
A torn photo.
Old. Burned at the edges.
Nine boys. One girl.
But in the far corner — almost hidden — a blurry figure. A boy. Not smiling. Staring directly at the camera.
The woman whispered,
"That's Aryan. He was one of the original ten. He died with Meera."
Vishal's breath stopped.
"But he… he saved me."
She nodded. "And maybe, that's why he came back."
—
Epilogue:
Vishal was never the same again.
He often wrote in an empty notebook. Spoke to someone no one else could see. And sometimes… at night…
He tied a white ribbon on his wrist and whispered:
"Thank you, Aryan. You never left me."
And far away, where the hostel once stood…
A boy's shadow still watches.
Waiting.
Protecting.
The final room… may be gone.
But the final story?
Lives on.
The end