"What breaks first—the body under hunger,
or the soul under suspicion?
The dead may haunt you,
but the living will carve you apart."
The haveli walls still trembled from the wind. The shutters rattled in broken rhythm, though the air had gone utterly still. The corner where the bent woman had stood remained dark, darker than it should have been, as if refusing to give up its secrets.
No one dared speak.
The lantern, relit but weak, sputtered with every flicker, and in its unsteady glow the eight faces looked less like friends and more like strangers trapped together.
Kabir finally broke the silence. He always did. His voice was sharp, biting into the air.
"So… are we going to keep pretending? Or are we going to admit what we all saw?"
Diya flinched. Priya's hand tightened on her camera strap.
Meghna's gaze slid like a knife toward Diya. "We don't need to pretend. The village has been screaming it since we arrived. Her name on the walls. Her name on the trees. Now that woman. All of it points to her."
"Stop," Abhay said immediately, his voice low but dangerous. "You don't know what it means."
Meghna's lips curled. "And you do?"
The words hung heavy. Everyone's eyes shifted toward Abhay, waiting, questioning. But he didn't answer. His silence was its own weight, heavier than any confession.
Saanvi's voice cracked as she whispered, "Why would the village… want her? What does it mean to be 'kept'?"
No one answered.
The silence twisted tighter until Rohit couldn't stand it. He stood, pacing, his footsteps echoing in the hollow hall. "This is insane. We're talking about villages choosing people like—like sacrifices. Or prisoners. Or worse. None of this makes sense."
Kabir gave a hollow laugh. "Sense? You want sense, Rohit? Fine. Sense is this: the village has chosen Diya. The rest of us are just… extras. Witnesses. Maybe bait."
"Shut up," Priya hissed, her voice breaking. "You don't get to talk like that. Not when we're all—"
"Scared?" Kabir cut in, his grin cruel. "Look at you. All clinging to your cameras, your little prayers, your scraps of courage. You think it'll save you? It won't. It never saves anyone."
The words hit harder than anyone wanted to admit.
Yashpal slammed his fist into the wall, dust raining down. "Enough! If you've got nothing useful to say, shut your damn mouth."
But Kabir didn't stop. His voice lowered, almost a whisper, but it carried across the room.
"Why do you think it hasn't touched her? Why do you think the trees remember only her? Maybe she isn't trapped like us. Maybe she belongs to it."
Diya shot up, her chair scraping across the floor. Her eyes burned with fury, but her voice trembled.
"I don't! Don't you dare say that. I never asked for this. I don't know why my name is here. I don't know what it wants from me!"
The shout cracked through the haveli like thunder.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Meghna muttered, "Maybe you don't need to know. Maybe it already decided."
The lantern flickered violently, shadows stretching across the walls. For an instant, they all thought they saw the bent woman again—just a shape, just a blur—but it was enough to silence even Kabir.
They sat back down, one by one, breathing heavily, as though they had just run a race but gone nowhere.
Abhay didn't look at Diya. Didn't look at anyone. His gaze stayed fixed on the darkened corner. His mind whispered a thought he didn't dare speak aloud:
It isn't choosing her for nothing. It's choosing her for something it will take from all of us.
The wind outside rose again, rattling the shutters like laughter.
And inside, the eight of them sat in the dim light, broken by suspicion yet bound by fear, their fragile unity one word away from shattering completely.
"Some shadows circle and leave.Others circle and wait.And the deadliest ones?They circle inside the heart,until you mistake them for your own thoughts."