"When laughter breaks, it sounds like glass,
When silence grows, it will not pass.
A truth too sharp for skin to bear,
Will cut the ones who do not care."
The morning after Diya's strange communion with the wall began with forced normalcy.
The group had split again—partly to explore, partly because being together all the time was starting to grind on nerves.
Yashpal and Rohit went toward the fields again, searching for any way out.
Meghna and Saanvi returned to the temple, claiming they wanted to "document" but mostly whispering about prayers.
Kabir and Priya headed deeper into the village with cameras and questions.
Abhay and Diya stayed behind in the old house, tending to the little fire they'd built.
Abhay sat with his notepad, scribbling lines that looked less like notes and more like riddles. Diya sat opposite, her back against the wall, knees drawn up.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was almost… expectant.
Finally, Diya broke it.
"Do you ever feel like we shouldn't have survived?"
Abhay looked up slowly. "All the time."
Diya studied him. He wasn't joking.
The First Sign
It started small.
Rohit and Yashpal returned before noon, both sweating and pale.
"There's no end to those fields," Rohit muttered. "We walked straight. I swear. Straight. But it just… bent back."
"Like a circle," Yashpal said flatly.
"Not a circle," Rohit snapped. "A trap."
Before anyone could argue, Priya and Kabir stumbled in, looking shaken.
"We found something," Priya whispered, clutching her camera tight.
On the tiny display, she played back the footage.
It showed them walking through the eastern houses, pausing at a crumbling wall. The frame zoomed in on what looked like faint chalk drawings.
At first, they were meaningless spirals.
But as the video continued—
—the spirals moved.
Not in real time. But on playback, faintly, like time-lapse. They shifted inward, curling tighter, as though being drawn deeper and deeper by invisible hands.
"What the hell—" Meghna recoiled. "That's not possible. That's—"
Saanvi interrupted, voice sharp with nerves. "Don't say it's haunted. Don't you dare say it."
But no one laughed this time.
The Crack in the House
That night, they stayed together in the same building—the safest choice, or at least the illusion of safety.
Conversation was minimal. Even Yashpal, usually loud, stayed quiet.
Then—
A sound.
Craaaaaack.
Everyone's heads snapped up.
The ceiling beam above them had split down the center, wood splintering as though something heavy pressed from above. Dust rained down.
"Shit! Get out, get out!" Kabir shouted.
They scrambled into the open air. The house creaked behind them, but it didn't collapse. It just… held the crack.
Like a wound that refused to heal.
And from inside, faintly—
a child's giggle.
Everyone froze.
"There's no one inside," Priya whispered, her voice shaking.
Diya gripped Abhay's arm. "It doesn't want us to leave."
But when they turned, the crack was gone.
The wall looked whole. Perfect.
Only Abhay noticed the faint outline still etched into the wood. He reached out and pressed it with his finger.
Warm.
Alive.
Tension
Later, around their fire, Yashpal finally snapped.
"This is insane. We're trapped in some cursed playground. Fields don't end, walls breathe, beams laugh at us. What the hell are we waiting for?"
"For morning," Meghna said. "Always morning."
"What if morning never comes?" he shot back.
"It always comes," Saanvi whispered, though her eyes darted nervously toward the horizon.
Kabir said nothing. He was replaying the spiral footage again, zooming in frame by frame. His knuckles were white against the camera.
Priya sat beside him, quieter than usual, her lips pressed tight.
And Diya—Diya watched them all. She said nothing, but she kept her back against the wall, palm flat against it, like she was listening.
Only Abhay noticed her lips move silently.
As though answering something no one else could hear.
The Shadow
The night was nearly calm again when Kabir jolted upright.
"Did anyone see that?"
They all froze.
"See what?" Priya hissed.
He pointed toward the far side of the square, where the lamplight barely touched.
A figure.
Tall. Still. Not moving.
It wasn't one of them.
It wasn't the driver.
It wasn't a villager.
It was just there.
And then, as quickly as it appeared—
Gone.
Like it had never been.
The group didn't move for a long time.
Finally, Abhay whispered what everyone was too afraid to say aloud.
"It's watching us."
"A shadow waits where silence grows,
It does not ask, it only knows.
And those who see, but dare not speak,
Will find their voices gone and weak."