Another morning in Vishrampur started with rumors and noise. The clang of shutters opening in Patel Bazar, the temple bells at Janki Ram, the cycle rickshaw men calling out their routes.
But today, the noise felt different. Quieter in one way, sharper in another.
Every sound carried a new rumor.
"The police are lying."
"It was two women."
"No, it was a girl, not even twenty."
The voices piled on each other until they drowned out the usual rhythm of the town. Even the rickshaw bells felt uneasy.
Sai heard all of it as he walked through the bazaar with Veer. He kept his head low, but the words pressed into him anyway, each one scraping across his nerves.
A group of children hopped along the gutter, chanting:
*StarCode says the water's red,
Close your eyes or you'll be dead.*
The rhyme ended in laughter, but Sai flinched.
Veer noticed. "Don't listen."
"I can't help it," Sai muttered. His throat felt dry.
They turned past the sweet shop. The owner, a heavyset man with flour on his kurta, leaned close to a customer. "I swear on my son, I saw it. A head. Floating like a balloon. And then, gone. Pulled under."
Sai's stomach knotted. He quickened his steps.
Rhea caught up from behind. Her notebook was already open, pen in hand. "They all saw something different," she said, more to herself than them. "A head, a bundle, two bodies. If they can't agree, it means no one knows what's real."
"Or it means," Veer said, "that they're making things up because they like to hear themselves talk."
Rhea didn't look up from her page. "Or it means the truth is being hidden."
Sai winced at the word. He hadn't told them what the corpse's mouth seemed to whisper to him. He wasn't even sure it had happened.
But the word haunted him. *Truth.*
…
They reached the bend where the bazaar thinned into the road leading past Janki Ram Temple.
The temple bells rang, softer now, as if muffled by the fog already creeping along the canal. Women carried empty brass pots back down the steps, their eyes darting toward the towpath.
Sai glanced at the water's edge. Constables still stood there, rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. Yellow tape fluttered weakly in the breeze, though it didn't stop anyone from staring.
The crowd was smaller today, but still there. People craned their necks, whispering. Some threw stones into the water, waiting to see what surfaced. Nothing did.
"It's gone," Veer murmured. "Dragged under."
Rhea wrote quickly. "Or taken away before more people saw."
Her insistence grated against Sai's nerves. He wanted to snap, to tell her to stop chasing shadows. But before he could, she looked up and met his eyes.
"You were shaking yesterday," she said softly. "I saw it. You're scared."
Sai froze.
Her voice wasn't sharp this time. It wasn't a scolding. It was just… honest.
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I don't know what I saw."
"That's fine," she said, closing her notebook. "None of us do. But if you keep pretending it's nothing, it'll eat you alive."
Veer glanced between them, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Sai wanted to argue, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he looked away.
The fog from the canal pressed thicker, carrying that same faint stench of rot.
…
By afternoon, the three of them had left the towpath behind. They walked back through Nehru Nagar, past peeling walls and rusted tin roofs.
They passed the small park where they had played cricket as kids. The pitch was still marked faintly in the dirt, though weeds had grown high around it.
Veer kicked a pebble across the ground. "Remember when you bowled me out here, Sai? And you wouldn't stop bragging for a week?"
Sai almost smiled. "That was because you cried."
"I didn't cry," Veer said, mock-offended.
"You did," Rhea said without looking up from her notebook. "I was there."
They all laughed softly, the tension easing for a moment.
But when the laughter faded, the silence returned heavier than before.
Sai shoved his hands into his pockets. He wanted to hold onto that brief warmth, the reminder that they had always been more than this fear. But the canal's shadow followed him, sticking to his skin like damp air.
…
When they reached Sai's house, his mother was stringing clothesline in the courtyard. She didn't ask where they had been. She didn't even look up.
Rhea hesitated at the gate. "I should go. I need to write everything down before it fades."
Sai frowned. "You're always writing."
Her eyes flickered with something between guilt and defiance. "If I don't, no one will."
For once, her voice wasn't sharp. It was steady. Almost sad.
He nodded slowly. "Alright."
She gave him a small smile before turning down the road.
Veer stayed behind, helping Sai's mother with the clothesline before following Sai upstairs.
…
On the rooftop, the town spread below them in dull colors. The fog was already seeping from the canal's direction, curling low over rooftops.
Sai sat with his back against the wall. Veer set down the food he had brought and pushed a plate toward him.
"Eat."
Sai picked at the food but didn't taste it. His chest still felt heavy.
"Rhea's right, you know," Veer said finally. "You can't just bottle it all up."
Sai shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Then don't," Veer said simply. "But don't push her away either. She cares. Even if she says it wrong sometimes."
Sai stared at the fog. "I know."
Veer leaned back beside him. "We've known each other since we were kids, Sai. You, me, Rhea. None of this changes that. Don't forget it."
Sai glanced at him. For the first time all day, the knot in his chest loosened. He nodded faintly.
They sat in silence, watching the fog rise higher.
…
That night, Sai lay in bed, the cracks in the ceiling swimming in his vision.
Sleep refused to come.
The sound returned again.
Drip.
Drip.
Water spilling steadily, though no tap was open.
He sat up sharply. The room was still.
His phone buzzed.
The screen lit the dark.
*The water keeps its secrets. Some truths should never surface.*
Sai's breath caught.
The words pulsed in his mind like a warning and a threat at once.
He turned toward the window. The fog pressed heavy against the glass.
And for a heartbeat, he swore he saw the woman's pale face in the mist, eyes wide, lips parted.
He blinked, and the fog swallowed it.
But the dread stayed.
The canal hadn't finished with him. Not yet.