Arjun barely slept that night. He stayed in a chair beside Room 412-C, eyes glued to the tiny monitor connected to the hidden camera. Every beep of the machines, every hiss of the ventilator, made his pulse jump. He had told himself it was just precaution, that he needed to gather evidence before alerting the board, before anyone else panicked. But deep down, he knew he was holding his breath because he feared what he might see.
Hours passed. The night deepened. Outside, the city of Mumbai was alive with the distant roar of traffic, the occasional wail of an ambulance, and the faint hum of life continuing, oblivious to the impossible drama unfolding within the hospital walls. Inside, the air was thick and still, punctuated only by the soft whirring of the machines and the occasional creak of the ventilation.
And then it began.
At first, it was subtle, a faint shimmer along Rohan's body, almost like a heatwave rising from his skin. Arjun rubbed his eyes, convinced fatigue was tricking him, but the shimmer persisted, tiny ripples across the blanket covering him. His hands shook so violently he had to clutch the monitor to steady it.
And then the bed moved. Not violently, not like someone waking suddenly. But enough to make the sheets shift, the tubes and wires dance slightly, and the machines register a minuscule variation in Rohan's heart rhythm. Arjun's rational mind screamed for him to call for help, to retreat, to pretend he hadn't seen anything. But he couldn't. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the monitor.
Minutes stretched like hours. Then the subtle tremor spread, and the shimmer became a faint glow, pulsing in time with something that wasn't quite a heartbeat. Arjun leaned closer, his breath shallow, hands frozen over the keyboard controlling the camera's recording. He tried to rationalize and tried to find a scientific explanation. Muscle spasms? Electrical interference? He couldn't. Nothing in his training explained this.
And then the impossible happened.
Rohan's eyes, long dormant and opaque, flickered. Just for a moment. A second. But enough to make Arjun's stomach drop and his heart slam against his ribs. And then, almost imperceptibly, his lips curved into the faintest smile. A human gesture, alive, conscious. The kind of movement that should have been impossible, impossible for someone in a coma for over three years.
Arjun's throat went dry. His hands shook violently as he pressed pause on the live feed, then rewound, eyes scanning frame by frame. It was real. It had happened. The faint smile. The flutter of eyelids. His rational brain screamed at him to ignore it, to dismiss it as a trick of light or camera angle. But deep inside, he knew the truth. He was witnessing something no human should. Something impossible.
The night dragged on. Arjun remained, tense and silent, glued to the screen, waiting. Hours passed with nothing more until the first hint of morning light began to bleed through the blinds. He allowed himself a brief exhale, thinking it might be over, thinking he might finally get some rational explanation.
Then he noticed the sheets.
They were wrinkled, folded in a way they had not been when he first entered the room. The blanket covering Rohan had shifted, as if someone, or something, had been under it, moving, observing, and manipulating. Arjun froze. He had not touched the bed. No one else had entered.
And then the faintest sound. Almost a whisper.
A breath, a sigh, something so human it should have been impossible.
Arjun's hand flew to the intercom. "Hello? Room service? Security?" His voice shook, barely audible. The room remained silent, save for the mechanical hum of monitors and ventilators.
He pressed play on the recording. Frame by frame. His jaw tightened, knuckles white. And then he saw it.
A shadow. Just for a moment, barely noticeable, at the edge of the bed. A movement that could not be explained by wires, by light, or by his own exhaustion. It hovered over Rohan, pulsing with energy, shifting like liquid in the corner of the camera lens. And then, just as quickly, it vanished.
Arjun's mind reeled. He fell back into his chair, panting. The room, the night, the city beyond the hospital, everything had shifted. He felt the weight of years of certainty collapse, leaving him exposed, raw, and terrified. He had always believed in science, in reason, and in the unshakeable foundation of logic. And now, that foundation had crumbled beneath him.
He thought of the nurses. Of Priya, Meera, Aisha, and now Ananya. Each one had trusted him and had come to him for help, for answers. And he had none to give. None at all. Because what he had just seen, what he had just recorded, was beyond explanation, beyond belief, beyond the laws that governed the world.
Arjun leaned over the monitor again, hands trembling. He needed proof. He needed more. He had to understand what was happening, why it was happening, and most importantly, how it was possible. He needed to uncover the force, the presence, and the power that had been lying dormant in Room 412-C, touching lives and bending reality in ways that science could not touch.
As dawn approached, the first faint streaks of sunlight falling across the hospital floor, Arjun knew one thing with absolute certainty. Whatever force was at work in that room, it had been waiting. Waiting for someone to notice. Waiting for someone to record it. Waiting for someone to realize the impossible was real.
And he had noticed.
And now, he was part of it.
The camera hummed softly, recording everything, capturing every imperceptible movement, every flicker of light, and every whisper of life. And as Arjun stared at the monitor, heart pounding, he realized he was no longer just a doctor. He was a witness. He was a detective. He was a man confronting a phenomenon that defied every rule he had ever known.
He didn't know if he was ready. He didn't know if anyone could ever be ready. But one thing was clear: the story of Room 412-C had begun, and there was no turning back.
The shadow might have vanished, but its presence lingered, heavy and impossible, in every corner of the room, in every breath of air, and in every pulse of the machines. And deep in the quiet hum of the hospital, in the faint light of dawn, Arjun knew it was only the beginning.
He would find out what Rohan Mehta had done. Or what Rohan Mehta had become.
And when he did, nothing would ever be the same again.