Chapter1
The rain started at 9:17 p.m.
That was the exact time Mira's phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
*"You forgot something."*
Mira stared at the message, her reflection pale against the dark window of her apartment. The city below was blurred in rain, headlights smearing into streaks of white and red. She hadn't forgotten anything. She was certain of it.
Her bags were packed. Her train ticket to another city—another life—sat on the kitchen counter. By morning, she would be gone.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
*"Check the storage box."*
Her chest tightened.
No one knew about the storage box.No one knew about the storage box.
Chapter 2:":
The storage unit was three floors below her apartment, at the end of a narrow concrete hallway that always smelled faintly of rust and damp cardboard. She hadn't opened her box in two years. Not since *that night*.
She told herself this was a prank. Someone guessing. Someone fishing.
Still, she grabbed her keys.
The hallway lights flickered as she descended the stairs. Each step echoed louder than it should have. The building was old; sounds traveled strangely. But tonight, the silence felt staged—like something was waiting for a cue.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
*"Hurry."*
She didn't reply.
When she reached unit 317, her hands trembled so badly she dropped the keys. The metallic clatter exploded through the corridor. She froze.
From somewhere down the hall, she thought she heard breathing.
Slow.
Measured.
She spun around. The hallway was empty.
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself.
The lock clicked open.
Inside the unit were dusty boxes, an old lamp, a suitcase—and at the very back, the small wooden chest she'd sworn never to touch again.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
*"Open it."*
Her throat tightened.
"No," she whispered.
Buzz.
*"You don't want me to open it."*
Her heart slammed so violently she thought she might faint.
There was only one person who would know.
Arjun.
But Arjun was dead.
Two years ago, everyone said it was an accident. A fall from the cliff outside the city. He'd been reckless. Distracted. People moved on.
Except Mira knew the truth.
She had been thereShe had been there.
Chapter 3:::
Her fingers hovered over the wooden chest before she finally lifted the lid.
Inside was the scarf Arjun had been wearing that night—deep blue, torn along one edge. Beneath it was the cracked face of his watch. It had stopped at 9:17 p.m.
The same time the rain started.
The same time the text arrived.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
*"Tell me what happened."*
Her breath came in sharp gasps.
She typed with shaking fingers:
*Who is this?*
The reply came instantly.
*"You know who."*
The overhead light flickered violently.
And then it went out.
Darkness swallowed the hallway.
Mira's pulse roared in her ears. She fumbled for her phone flashlight, the beam slicing through dust-filled air. The corridor outside the unit looked longer now. Endless.
Her phone buzzed again.
*"You left me."*
"I didn't!" she whispered into the dark. "You slipped—"
A sound echoed behind her.
A footstep.
Not hers.
She turned slowly.
At the far end of the corridor, a silhouette stood beneath the emergency exit sign. The red light painted the figure in blood-colored glow.
Too tall. Too still.
Her flashlight flickered.
The figure took one step forward.
Then another.
Water dripped onto the floor.
As if it had just climbed out of the rain.
Or the sea.
Mira backed into the storage unit, knocking over a box. Her breath hitched. "This isn't real. This isn't real."
Her phone buzzed one final time.
*"Say it."*
The figure was halfway down the corridor now.
Mira collapsed to her knees.
"I pushed you!" she screamed. The words tore from her throat. "You were going to tell them about the money, about everything—I panicked! I didn't mean to kill you, I just wanted you to stop talking!"
Silence.
The figure stopped walking.
The dripping ceased.
The emergency light flickered.
And then—
Her phone rang.
Not a text.
A call.
Unknown Number.
Her hands shook so violently she almost dropped it. She answered.
Static filled her ears.
Then a voice.
Not ghostly.
Not distorted.
Just calm.
Familiar.
"Mira," it said softly. "Thank you."
The call ended.
The corridor lights snapped back on.
The hallway was empty.
No figure. No water. No footsteps.
Just her. Alone.
Her phone buzzed once more.
This time, from a saved contact.
**Detective Rao.**
A new message:
*"We got the recording. I'm sorry it had to be this way. Please come upstairs."*
Her blood ran cold.
Recording.
Her confession.
The unknown number.
The silhouette.
It hadn't been Arjun.
It had been them.
The police.
They had known about the storage box. They had known about 9:17.
The "figure"—
A shadow.
A trick of light.
Or someone standing just far enough away to let guilt do the rest.
Mira's chest felt hollow.
Two years she had carried the secret.
Two years she had told herself it was an accident.
But guilt is louder than ghosts.
And tonight, it had finally answered the phone.
Chapter4:::?
Upstairs, sirens began to wail.
And the rain never stopped.
The sirens grew louder.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic.
Just real.
Mira sat on the cold concrete floor of the storage unit, staring at her phone as if it might take it all back. As if another message might come through saying it was a mistake.
None did.
Footsteps approached—steady, controlled. Not the echoing phantom steps from minutes before. These were heavy. Human.
"Ms. Mira Sen?" a voice called gently.
She didn't answer.
Detective Rao stepped into view, two officers behind him. No red lights. No shouting. Just procedure.
"You're not in danger," he said quietly. "But we need you to come with us."
Mira let out a strange, broken laugh.
"Danger?" she whispered. "It was never danger. It was me."
Rao's expression didn't change. But his eyes softened.
"The number…" she asked faintly. "The texts…"
"We needed you to tell the truth in your own words," he replied. "You never would've if we just accused you."
The silhouette.
The timing.
9:17.
They had studied her. Watched her routines. Known about the watch from old photographs. Known the guilt would do the rest.
Her own mind had built the ghost.
She rose slowly to her feet. No resistance. No tears. The panic had drained out of her, leaving something strangely calm behind.
As they walked her down the hallway, she glanced once more at the storage unit.
The wooden chest sat open.
The broken watch inside caught the light.
9:17.
Frozen forever.
Outside, rain soaked the pavement. The city looked washed clean, as if nothing terrible had ever happened there.
But some stains don't show on concrete.
They live in memory.
They live in silence.
As the car door shut behind her, Mira finally understood something she had spent two years running from:
Arjun hadn't haunted her.
Guilt had.
And guilt always answers… eventually.
The car pulled away.
The storage hallway lights flickered once—
Then went still..