Chapter 3: Night of Fear and Group Banter
There were five of us in the room right now. We weren’t scared that we couldn’t handle him, but no one wanted to be the first to try.
We looked at each other, sizing up our own bravery. Kabir, Aman, Sneha, Rohan, and me—we all knew we could take on one crazy man if we had to, but none of us wanted to test our luck. Better to let someone else be the hero. Kabir held his bat like a shield, Aman looked ready to throw his water bottle, and Sneha just hugged her knees, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. Her dupatta slipped off her shoulder, but she didn’t bother fixing it. I wondered if anyone was thinking about their families right then.
Students from other rooms started messaging in the group chat:
"Uncle Sharma, what should we do?"
"Arey Sharma ji, what is happening? Kitna time lagega to sort this out?" One of the fresher boys from the next wing typed. Another girl from Room 210 sent, "We’re scared, Uncle!"
"How are we supposed to sleep with that lunatic making such a racket?"
Someone sent a voice note: the background was filled with muffled thumping and wild howling. A senior from the commerce block typed, "Sir, you’re getting your salary for free! At least come and handle this!"
The warden quickly replied:
"Everyone just stay inside for now. I’ve already notified the teachers from the hostel management committee—they’ll be here soon to handle it."
Uncle Sharma's message was full of big words, but I knew he was probably panicking. There was some comfort in knowing the teachers were coming. In my head, I pictured them marching in with their usual frowns and formal kurtas, as if a parent-teacher meeting could scare off a madman. Still, I told myself, better than nothing.
We’re all college students, young and full of energy.
The group chat quickly devolved into people cracking nervous jokes and memes. Someone sent a GIF of Rajinikanth fighting goons, another put up an old video of Salman Khan flexing his muscles. Someone posted a meme of Sharma uncle photoshopped onto Akshay Kumar’s body, holding a hammer. There was a strange comfort in those silly forwards—it made us feel like we were still in control, even though everyone’s voice was tinged with fear.
A few guys from the sports department tagged the warden:
"Why don’t we just go hold him down now? Judging by his build, he doesn’t look so tough."
"Uncle, we’re all here only! If he comes to our side, we’ll tackle him, pakka," one of the hockey players typed. Another wrote, "Arrey, Sharma ji, permission dedo—hum log WWE kar denge uske saath."
The warden immediately shut that down:
"Stop creating a scene. Stay in your rooms."
"Bas, abhi koi hero banne ki zaroorat nahi hai. This is not a Salman Khan film. Stay inside!" Sharma uncle’s strict reply killed the bravado instantly. There was a collective sigh in the group, followed by a few sheepish emojis. No one wanted to challenge the warden’s authority at a time like this.