Arjun barely slept that morning. He had barely eaten, barely moved, and barely blinked. The city outside Room 412-C was waking, the hum of traffic growing louder, and the distant voices of early commuters spilling into the hospital corridors. But inside, time had slowed. Inside, the world had narrowed to the small monitor flickering in front of him.
He pressed play again. The recording looped, every second meticulously captured by the hidden camera. His hands trembled as he adjusted the playback, zooming in on Rohan's bed, tracing the faint movement of the blanket, the imperceptible twitch of a hand, and the shadow that had danced at the edge of the frame.
It was then he saw it.
Something he had not noticed in his initial viewing, something that made his stomach turn. The shadow had a shape. A form. Not fully human, not fully anything he had ever encountered, but deliberate. Fluid, almost liquid in its motion, pulsing along the edge of the bed like it was breathing with the same rhythm as Rohan's heart monitor. It hovered, waiting, observing. And then it moved closer, touching the blanket, sending small, subtle ripples across the sheet as if testing its own power.
Arjun felt bile rise in his throat. He leaned back in his chair, hands gripping the monitor like it could anchor him to reality. His rational mind screamed for an explanation. A trick of the light. A defect in the camera lens. An electrical interference. But deep down, he knew. He knew there was nothing rational here. Nothing explainable.
He rewound the footage again, frame by frame, and his blood ran cold. The shadow's movement was synchronized with the night's progression. It lingered near the nurses' side of the bed. It shifted slightly whenever a nurse leaned over Rohan. It seemed… aware.
Arjun's thoughts raced to the nurses. Priya, Meera, Aisha, and Ananya. Each one had been drawn to Rohan, each one had fallen under this unexplainable influence. And now, watching the footage, he could see it with his own eyes, the presence, the force, the entity that had been silently shaping lives for years.
He slammed his hand down on the desk. The sound echoed through the empty office. He had to tell someone. He had to warn the hospital board. But a part of him hesitated. What could he say? How could he explain the inexplicable without sounding insane? Without being dismissed, ridiculed, or worse, committed?
The answer came without warning.
The shadow shifted again, this time faster, almost impatiently. It hovered directly over Rohan's chest, and for the briefest instant, the heart monitor spiked, a perfect, impossible rhythm that suggested life where there had been none. Arjun's pulse thundered in his ears. He pressed pause, leaned closer, and held his breath. The shadow lingered, almost aware of his gaze, almost acknowledging that it was being watched.
And then it disappeared.
The room returned to normal, or as normal as it could be with a man in a coma at its center. The machines hummed steadily. The sheets lay smooth again. The faint smell of jasmine lingered in the air. But Arjun could feel it. The presence had not left. It had only hidden, waiting for the next moment, the next shift, the next unsuspecting nurse.
Arjun rubbed his temples. He could no longer think in terms of logic, in terms of medical diagnosis, or in terms of scientific theory. This was beyond the boundaries of human understanding. And yet, he had proof. Not just stories, not just reports, not just nurses' frightened testimonies. He had seen it, captured it, and recorded it.
He pulled the footage onto a separate drive, encrypting it and labeling it carefully. He could not risk it leaking. Not yet. Not until he understood what he was dealing with. Whoever, or whatever, was responsible for this, it was intelligent. Calculating. And if it had been able to influence five women without detection, what else was it capable of?
A knock on the door made him jump.
"Dr. Malhotra?" It was Ananya, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. She had returned earlier than expected. Her eyes were red from crying, her hands trembling as she clutched her bag to her chest. "I… I couldn't stay away," she admitted.
Arjun swallowed hard. He didn't know if he wanted her here or if he wanted to protect her from what he had seen. "Ananya… you shouldn't be here. You need rest."
She shook her head. "I need to know what's happening. I can't… I can't just ignore it." Her voice was steady now, but her eyes betrayed the fear she carried. Fear he shared. Fear he had barely begun to understand.
Arjun gestured toward the monitor. "You'll see it soon enough," he said, almost whispering. "I… I need to show you something."
They watched together as he played the footage again. Frame by frame. The shadow. The subtle pulses. The shift of the sheets. And the moment when Rohan's eyes flickered open for the first time in three years, that faint, impossible smile.
Ananya gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "This… this isn't possible," she whispered.
"I know," Arjun said. His voice was raw, trembling. "But it's happening. It's been happening all along."
Her eyes darted to the bed, to the man lying motionless, yet somehow alive in a way neither of them could comprehend. "We… we have to tell someone. The board. The other doctors. Someone has to see this."
Arjun shook his head. "No. Not yet. If anyone sees this before we understand it… they'll think I'm insane. They'll shut it down. They'll..."
A sound interrupted him, a faint creak from the corner of the room. Both of them froze, hearts hammering. The shadow returned. Not a trick of the footage now. It was here, in the room, lingering near Rohan, pulsing like it had its own heartbeat.
Ananya's hand gripped Arjun's arm. "What… what is that?"
Arjun swallowed, his throat tight. He had no answer, none that would make sense. But the truth was undeniable. Something was in the room. Something had been here long before them, long before the first nurse became pregnant. Something was powerful and intelligent, and it was watching. Waiting.
He realized then that the story of Room 412-C was no longer about coincidences. It was about a force that had chosen this man. Chosen these nurses. And now, it had chosen them.
As the morning sun filtered weakly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, Arjun understood one terrible fact. They were no longer merely observers. They were participants. And whatever had been sleeping for three years in Room 412-C had begun to wake.
The shadow pulsed one last time before fading into the corners of the room, leaving silence, leaving tension, leaving a question that neither of them could answer: What had Rohan Mehta done while the world slept?
And more importantly… what would he do next?