Chapter 3: Jokes, Jitters, and the Chilling Truth

Bzzz. Goosebumps skittered down my spine.

A bead of sweat slid between my shoulder blades, even with the fan spinning overhead. My hands gripped the sofa tight.

"You… are joking again."

I forced a grin, expecting her to crack up any second. My foot tapped the floor, as if ready to bolt.

But…

Seconds ticked by. Meera kept staring, her eyes cold and glassy.

No mischief, no smile. My real cousin was gone—this was something else. My scalp prickled.

I remembered all those old stories: people who came back from the jungle changed, bhoot-pretas who wore familiar faces. My breath grew shallow.

My knee bounced. I clutched a cushion, every nerve screaming: Run! But I couldn’t move.

Meera’s face twisted—her eyes gleamed, lips twitched. For one horrible second, I wondered if the stories were true.

Suddenly, she stood and leaned in close. Her bangles jingled. Her jasmine hair oil hit my nose—too strong, too sharp. I could see every pore, every scar, and still… nothing felt right.

"Oye."

I jolted, heart leaping. Her voice was too close, echoing off the walls. I almost spilled my chai.

She leaned in—then burst out laughing.

Just like that, the tension snapped. She doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly cried. The old mischief was back, bright as ever. I let out a shaky breath.

"Silly little brother, you actually got scared again!"

She pointed, gasping for air, as if she’d just won the world’s best prank. I groaned.

She slumped into her chair, grinning like she’d just scored the winning run in gully cricket.

I tossed a cushion at her, scowling. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

"Whew…" I sighed, lobbing another cushion her way. "Meera, are you out of your mind?"

My heart still raced, but I couldn’t help laughing. She always knew how to wind me up.

She wiped her eyes, still giggling. "Wait, one day I’ll get you back," I grumbled, wagging a finger. She just stuck out her tongue and winked—old sibling tradition.

She started packing her laptop. "Just running a little experiment—and answering your question."

She zipped her bag, eyes twinkling. Author mode: on.

"What question?"

I frowned, still shaken. “What did I even ask? Oh, right—the fear.”

She tapped her head. “Didn’t you ask why people get scared of humanoids for no reason? My little experiment answers that. Writers need to test things, na?”

I thought about her blank stare a minute ago. "I get it. When someone you know suddenly acts weird, that’s uncanny valley, right?"

I nodded. “Like when Papa starts using Instagram slang, or when your talkative neighbour suddenly ignores you. Feels weird.”

"Exactly." She snapped her fingers. "Suppose I’m a humanoid, and you haven’t spotted my flaw, but you’re scared anyway. My behaviour triggers the unknown—so you feel fear."

She wiggled her fingers, ghost-style. “Fear of the unknown, Rohan. Oldest desi trick.”

I grinned. It made sense.

“So, have you figured out how to finish the early man and humanoid story?”

I leaned forward, eager for author gossip.

Meera slung her bag over her shoulder and did a dramatic Bollywood sigh. “Writer’s block, baba. Kya karein?”

"Not yet. What is the humanoid’s flaw? Still thinking."

She glanced out the window at a squirrel darting along the balcony. “Sometimes, the answer comes at the end, na?”

“Alright, hope you come up with something brilliant. Don’t change the ending just to mess with my head, okay?”

She gave a half-salute and walked out. The jingle of her anklet faded down the corridor.

She paused at the door, voice suddenly low. The hairs on my neck stood up.

"Rohan, do you remember a line from my story just now?"

I blinked. “Which one?”

"Which one?"

She didn’t look back. “The humanoid said, even the devas don’t know of its existence. So, where do you think it came from?”

Her words hung in the air, thick as the first clouds of monsoon. I opened my mouth, but she was already gone.

The door slammed. It was noon, but the room felt cold. Her last words echoed in my mind…

Sunlight blazed outside. Vegetable vendors called from the lane. Still, my heart fluttered, as if a shadow had slipped in and refused to leave.