"Eight shadows danced under city lights,
But one was never truly there.
Laughter echoed down the glass halls—
Yet silence held the loudest stare.
They planned a trip to chase the dead,
But something else had planned ahead."
There are moments in life when everything feels too ordinary, so ordinary that the sharpness of reality hides behind it. The air smells of coffee beans, the hum of the city is far away, and the polished glass walls of an office tower make it seem like life is safe, measured, and predictable.
It was late evening on the seventeenth floor of GlassView Corporate Tower, and eight young professionals sat around a conference table, a space usually reserved for PowerPoints and performance reviews. Tonight, it was buzzing with an energy no project deadline had ever inspired.
The storm that had been threatening all day pressed dark clouds against the city skyline, and in the glow of the tower's fluorescent lights, the group looked more like a bunch of students planning a college prank than employees of one of the city's most reputable firms.
Kabir Mehra leaned forward with his sleeves rolled up, his confidence radiating across the polished table. There was always a sparkle in his eyes that made people listen, even when they knew he was wrong. Perhaps especially then. He was the kind of man who could sell a holiday package to Antarctica and make it sound like a spa retreat.
In the center of the table lay a single file, edges worn, the word "Bhairavpur" scrawled across the front in hurried red ink.
"Alright, everyone," Kabir said, voice booming just enough to quiet the chatter. "This—" he tapped the file, "—is where we're going."
Saanvi, cross-legged in her chair with her ever-present iced coffee, arched an eyebrow. "You're joking, right? A ghost village? Kabir, people plan vacations to Goa, not… whatever this is."
Kabir smirked. "Goa is boring. Everyone does Goa. But Bhairavpur?" He let the word linger in the air, heavy. "That's something none of our peers can say they've seen."
"Or returned from," muttered Abhay, his voice barely above the hum of the air conditioner.
No one acknowledged him. Not yet.
Rohit, loud as always, clapped his hands dramatically. "So what, this is your idea of a detox trip? No Wi-Fi, no network, just us and… what? Haunted cows?"
That earned a laugh around the table. Even Meghna, who usually carried herself with calm seriousness, allowed a small smile. Her long fingers fiddled with her pen as she said softly, "And when HR asks why half of their team disappeared for a weekend?"
"Who said HR needs to know?" Kabir shot back, leaning against his chair with a grin.
"You're insane," Priya said, fixing her lipstick in the reflection of her phone. "But if I survive, at least my selfie game will thrive. #HauntedButHot."
Diya, who had been quiet till now, let out a chuckle. Unlike Priya, her style was simple—loose kurti, hair tied casually—but her wit was sharp. "Kabir, if this ends up being a Scooby-Doo episode, I'm voting you as the first suspect."
"Suspect of what?" Kabir asked, mock-offended.
"Of being too full of yourself," Diya shot back, earning laughter from Rohit and Yashpal.
Yashpal adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, finally speaking in his measured, data-driven way. "For your information, the last verifiable census of Bhairavpur was over fifteen years ago. No functioning road access since 2018. Reports of erosion. There are no official police records about the supposed missing families, which in itself is suspicious. Logically, there's no reason for us to go."
"Which," Kabir said smoothly, "is exactly why we should go."
The table went silent for a moment, Kabir's grin holding steady. Then, like a ripple, reluctant smiles appeared. A group of young professionals, bored of spreadsheets and city routines, suddenly found themselves on the edge of something different. Something unexplainable.
"Fine," Saanvi said, throwing her empty cup in the bin. "But if a witch curses my eyeliner, you're buying me new ones."
Kabir raised his hands like a victorious general. "Done."
The meeting broke up, but the energy lingered. Outside, rain began to fall, sliding down the glass walls like streaks of silver.
Later that night, as they packed for the weekend ahead, each of them reacted differently. Rohit spammed the group chat with memes of horror movies. Priya live-posted her "spooky chic" outfit ideas. Yashpal muttered statistics into a recorder, trying to convince himself it was all irrational. Meghna scribbled something into her diary and shut it firmly.
And Abhay—Abhay sat in his small rented flat, staring at his bag. He had already packed, yet he felt like he hadn't moved at all. His reflection in the mirror looked back at him, slightly delayed. Or maybe it was his imagination. He looked away quickly.
The next morning, the tempo traveler arrived. Its paint was faded, its seats worn, but to the group it felt like a vessel of freedom.
The driver stepped out, an old man with clouded eyes. He didn't greet them with warmth, nor with hostility. Just a long, unreadable stare.
"Name of the village?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
"Bhairavpur," Kabir said, tossing his bag inside.
The old man paused. His lips curled into something between a laugh and a sigh. "You'll reach." He started the engine. "Whether you'll return… that is not mine to say."
The group exchanged looks.
"Sir," Rohit called out, grinning, "do ghosts take UPI?"
The driver didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead.
Inside the van, the mood was light again. Music blared from someone's phone speaker. Saanvi and Diya bickered over playlists. Priya took photos of the rain-splattered windows. Rohit cracked joke after joke until Meghna finally told him to shut up, which only made him louder. Yashpal tried to read, but the bumps in the road kept ruining his concentration.
Kabir sat at the front, occasionally looking back, soaking in the chaos with pride. This was his plan. His adventure. His moment.
And Abhay sat by the window, watching the city disappear behind them, buildings giving way to fields, fields giving way to forests. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and whispered something no one else heard.
"I already said yes."
No one asked him the question.
Hours later, the van rolled deeper into unfamiliar roads. Conversation dulled. Sleep claimed some of them. The hum of tires on wet earth filled the silence.
None of them noticed how the forest seemed to grow denser the further they went.
None of them saw the way the driver's eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror, not at the road, but at them.
And none of them heard the faintest sound of a bell in the distance, ringing where no temple stood.
"Eight entered the traveler of roads,
But only seven carried a name.
One melted into silence itself,
And silence never plays fair."