Chapter 3: Guilt and Return

Tears streamed down my face.

They mixed with blood and dust, carving muddy tracks down my cheeks. I didn’t even try to wipe them away.

I slowly opened my eyes.

Everything was blurry at first, then sharp with pain. The sky above was dark, silent, as if holding its breath.

The sky was as dark as if it had been dyed with ink.

Clouds gathered, heavy and menacing, threatening rain that never came. Even the moon was hidden, as if ashamed to witness what had been done.

I woke up outside the dried-up well, but everything that happened before was real.

My body ached as if crushed by a thousand bricks, but I was out, somehow. The stones, the skeletons, the burning acid—they were all real. I could feel the scars on my soul.

They used the same trick again, trying to trap me in the dried-up well.

It was the old story, repeating itself—a cycle of betrayal and punishment.

Bhagwan knows what price I paid to climb out of that well.

It must have been the gods, or maybe just my stubborn will to survive. Either way, I had crawled back from the edge.

Now, I am back, and I will definitely make them pay!

I clenched my fists, anger and pain swirling in my chest. “Ab toh hisaab barabar karna hi padega,” I whispered.

At that moment, the lights in Kabir’s house came on.

Through the window, I saw the flicker of tube lights and heard the faint blare of a TV news channel—voices arguing about politics as usual.

Someone was home. I smiled slightly and went upstairs.

The building smelled of incense and frying onions. I took the lift, my steps heavy but determined.

The lift doors opened, and Kabir’s wife, Sneha, stepped out.

She was still in her nightie, hair tied up, a streak of sindoor in her parting. She looked startled, clutching her phone tightly.

She sensed something was wrong at the door and froze.

Her eyes darted from my face to my hands. She hugged her shawl tighter around herself, her anklets jingled as she shifted nervously, eyes darting to the puja shelf in the corner.

She slowly turned her head: “Rohan, are you here to see Kabir?”

Her voice was shaky, a nervous politeness masking real fear.

I clenched the hand hidden at my chest, smiled at her, and nodded.

My smile felt wrong, stretched too tight. I tucked my hand beneath my jacket, hiding the knife that pressed coldly against my skin.

“He got drunk last night, made a scene all night, and still hasn’t woken up. If it’s urgent, come in and wait.”

She stepped aside, eyes flickering with suspicion. I could hear the sound of Kabir’s heavy snores from the bedroom.

Just as she finished speaking, the door suddenly swung open.

The wooden door creaked, and the familiar stench of old whisky wafted out.

Kabir staggered out, reeking of alcohol.

His hair was wild, shirt half-buttoned, eyes bloodshot. He stared at me, rubbing his face in disbelief.

“You witch, which man are you flirting with outside this time? See if I don’t—”

His words slurred, venomous. He stopped mid-sentence, seeing me standing there.

He only got halfway through his curse before his eyes landed on me. Instantly, he stared in horror.

All the colour drained from his face. He stepped back, bumping into the doorframe.

“Ro… Rohan?”

His voice was barely a whisper, thick with terror.

“Tu… tu insaan hai ya bhoot, Rohan?”

He pressed his hands together in a trembling namaste, as if that might save him.

“What do you think?” I looked at him coldly.

My eyes bored into his, unblinking, as I took a step closer.

“You’re not…” His body began to tremble.

He backed away, clutching at Sneha’s arm, mouth working soundlessly.

“Didn’t we seal you in the well?”

His words were laced with disbelief and mounting hysteria. The room grew colder as I stared him down.

I stared straight into his eyes.

My gaze never wavered, holding him in place. “You did. And yet, here I am.”

“Impossible… That stone can’t be opened without three people.”

He muttered this to himself, shaking his head in denial. “No…no, it’s not possible!”

“You… you must be a ghost!” He wailed and tried to close the door.

His hands fumbled for the latch, desperate to shut me out of his life forever.

A cruel smile curled at my lips. I drew the knife hidden at my chest and jammed it in the door that was about to close.

The blade gleamed in the tube light, my hand steady. “Kabir, you thought you could bury me. Now it’s your turn to feel what I felt.”

They had harmed me so deeply—how could I let him off easily!

Every old wound, every betrayal, every lost night surged up inside me. My voice was ice-cold, but my heart burned with fury.