By next morning, Vishrampur buzzed with the same question that had been circling since the canal: was it true?
The bazaar had lost its usual rhythm. Stalls were open, yes, but haggling had softened into mutters, and every bargain circled back to the same story. Someone swore the police had pulled a woman's head from the water. Others said it was never there, just panic chasing rumor. But the story wouldn't stop.
Sai walked beside Veer and Rhea, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The streets seemed narrower than usual, hemmed in by whispers that clung to him like smoke.
He wanted silence, but Vishrampur refused him that.
Rhea broke it first. "They're still saying it was two bodies now. Someone in Patel Bazar told me both were women."
Sai stayed quiet. He wasn't convinced either way, and that uncertainty pressed against his chest harder than belief.
They passed the corner where Mrs. Mishra's tea stall used to draw the loudest crowd. Now the shack stood silent, its benches empty, its kettle cold. The space looked wrong without her voice rising above the chatter.
Ramu stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the closed shutters. His shirt was creased from the day before, his eyes sunken as though he hadn't slept.
He noticed them and gave a half-smile that never reached his eyes. "Feels strange, doesn't it? A bazaar morning without Mishra-ji's chai."
Rhea nodded politely. "How is she?"
Ramu exhaled, his shoulders sagging. "Government hospital. One arm gone. Doctor says she'll live, but… living isn't the same anymore, is it?" He paused, his throat tight. "She used to serve a hundred people in an hour. Now she can't even lift a cup without help."
The words hit Sai harder than he expected. He remembered her laughing at him once for spilling half his tea, scolding him the next time for standing too long without buying anything. Her stall had always felt permanent, like the cracked walls of the college. Now it felt like even the permanent things were crumbling.
"Who'll run the stall?" Veer asked softly.
Ramu shook his head. "No one yet. Maybe never. She told me not to worry, but you know how people talk. Already some are saying the app wanted her gone."
Rhea frowned. "That's cruel."
"Cruel or not, people believe it." His eyes flicked toward the road. "And belief is more dangerous than truth in this town now."
He left before any of them could answer, disappearing into the lanes with his head bent.
Sai's gaze lingered on the empty stall. A breeze stirred the dust around its legs, carrying faint echoes of clinking glasses that weren't there. For a moment, he could almost hear Mrs. Mishra's voice again, sharp and steady.
Then it was gone.
…
They turned toward the road leading past Janki Ram Temple. The bells rang at odd intervals, the sound spilling down to the canal's direction like water trickling through cracks.
Sai's chest tightened as the air shifted, carrying with it the faint odor of rot. He hated how quickly his body reacted now, the sweat on his palms, the tremor in his breath.
Veer nudged him. "You alright?"
Sai forced a nod. He didn't want to admit how close the memory of the corpse still felt. That pale head, the rope tied around it, the way it seemed to plead. It was carved into him.
Rhea scribbled something into her notebook, her pen scratching faster than her steps. Sai wanted to ask what she wrote but didn't. Sometimes her notes felt like walls, keeping her thoughts sealed where neither he nor Veer could reach.
"People said the constables threw stones yesterday," Rhea murmured, still writing. "But nothing surfaced. Either the current carried it away, or…"
"Or it was never there," Veer cut in.
Rhea shot him a look. "You saw it. Same as us."
"Fear makes us see plenty of things," Veer replied. His tone wasn't mocking, but firm. He glanced at Sai. "Right?"
Sai opened his mouth but shut it again. He didn't know what he'd seen anymore. His mind kept folding the memory back on itself until it lost shape.
But he couldn't shake the voice that had echoed when he stared at that head. *Truth.*
It came back whenever he tried to sleep, louder than the town's gossip.
…
They reached the canal by noon.
The constables weren't there anymore, just yellow tape fluttering half-torn against the railing. The dogs had gone too. Only the water remained, dark and sluggish, swallowing the sunlight in patches.
Sai crouched near the bank, staring at it. His reflection bent with the ripples until it looked like a stranger's face.
He thought of the app's messages, each one stitching itself into him:
*Beware the fall.*
*The canal hides more than water.*
*One truth is already missing. Another will follow.*
They wove together in his mind, not as predictions but as accusations.
His chest tightened again. He pressed a hand to the mud, grounding himself.
Veer tossed another stone into the water, its splash louder than it should have been. "See? Nothing. Just water."
Rhea crouched too, her notebook hovering over her knee. "If it was just water, the app wouldn't have mentioned it. And the police wouldn't have been here at dawn."
Sai wanted to tell her to stop. To leave it. But the words stuck. Part of him wanted her to keep pushing, to keep asking. Because maybe if she found answers, he could stop drowning in questions.
Still, when she leaned closer to the bank, he grabbed her wrist without thinking. "Don't."
She looked up sharply. "Why not?"
Because I can't lose another person to this, he thought. But what came out was only: "It's not safe."
Her eyes softened for a second before she pulled her hand back. "I know you're scared, Sai. But fear doesn't change what's already there."
Veer stepped between them, breaking the tension. "Come on. Let's move. The whole town's watching the canal now. No point in sitting here like bait."
…
They walked back slowly, the bazaar swelling louder as the day stretched. Every corner carried fragments of rumor.
At the cloth shop, women argued about whether the corpse had been cursed. Outside the sweet stall, men swore the app had warned them days earlier not to walk by the water. Children followed them with questions, daring each other to chant predictions like rhymes.
Sai kept his head low, but he couldn't block the voices out. Each word burrowed deeper, pressing against the same thought: the app knew.
When they passed Mrs. Mishra's stall again, Sai slowed. For a moment, he expected her to call out, to scold them for loitering. Instead, nothing happened.
Ramu had returned, standing nearby with two other clerks. His voice was low, but Sai caught enough.
"She asked me yesterday if people still come to her stall. I told her yes, of course. What else could I say? If she knew it was empty, it'd break her."
Sai glanced at Veer. Neither spoke. Some truths were too heavy to touch.
…
By evening, Sai sat alone in his room. The notebook Rhea had left behind by mistake lay on his desk. He stared at it for a long time before touching it.
The pages were filled with dates, places, people's names. Crossed-out guesses, underlined rumors, half-formed maps of Vishrampur with arrows pointing from the temple to the bazaar to the canal.
It wasn't just notes. It was obsession.
Sai's chest ached. She wasn't doing this to annoy him, or to shine a spotlight on him. She was doing it because she cared, because she wanted answers when he couldn't bear to ask the questions.
And still, all he could feel was irritation pressing in.
Why couldn't she understand that sometimes silence was survival?
His hand shook as he closed the notebook.
The room was too quiet.
And in that quiet, the app's words returned again, threaded through his thoughts like whispers:
*The canal hides more than water.*
*One truth is already missing.*
*Another will follow.*
They didn't feel like predictions anymore.
They felt like promises.
Sai pressed his palms against his eyes, wishing he could unhear them. But they only grew louder.
…
On the rooftop later, Veer sat beside him, the fog already rolling from the canal's direction.
"You're holding too much inside," Veer said softly.
Sai gave a weak smile. "What choice do I have?"
"There's always a choice," Veer replied. His voice carried no judgment, only quiet steadiness. "Even if it's just choosing who to trust."
Sai thought of Rhea's trembling hand, of Ramu's tired eyes, of Mrs. Mishra in the hospital bed with one arm.
Trust felt heavier than fear now.
He looked at Veer and managed a small nod.
For the first time that day, the voices in his head loosened, just enough for him to breathe.
But the canal waited.
And Sai knew it wasn't finished with him yet.