Chapter 1: Diwali Eve – The Gathering

Diwali Eve. This year, the festival overlapped with the campus New Year, so the hostel was buzzing with double the excitement. The counsellor gathered the entire class to watch the Diwali Special on TV together.

The common room was alive with colour and chaos—LED lights flickered above, their rainbow reflections bouncing off steel tiffin boxes and half-open packets of Haldiram's namkeen. The aroma of leftover samosas mixed with the gentle waft of agarbatti drifting from the corridor mandir. Somewhere, the old ceiling fan whirred on full speed, scattering bits of rangoli powder across the floor. Students squeezed together: some perched cross-legged on plastic chairs, others sprawled on the cool tile, the air alive with anticipation as the TV blared its grainy Diwali Special.

Suddenly, someone sent a PayTM cash gift in the class WhatsApp group.

The soft ping of notifications set off a ripple. Phones appeared in every hand, faces bathed in blue glow. The group chat exploded with emojis—diyas, crackers, even a Salman Khan dancing gif.

“Arrey, someone’s sent a PayTM gift! Let’s play Luck King relay!”

A voice shouted from the corner, full of masti. Cheers erupted, the room’s mood turning mischievous. This was the kind of silly game that made hostel nights memorable.

Within seconds, everyone scrambled to claim the cash gift.

Thumbs flew over screens, students cackling as they snatched at their phones—some even jostling elbows to click faster. In that moment, the class felt like one big family, united in greedy chaos.

The counsellor beamed, holding up her phone: “Arrey, dekho! Mere haath toh poore paanch sau sattar lag gaye!”

Her voice was warm, with the pride of a teacher who could still beat her students at their own games. Ritu Didi, as they all called her, grinned and shook her phone like a trophy. “Aaj toh kismet saath hai, bachcho!”

Priya, ever-practical with her South Indian lilt, checked her screen. “Not bad, haan? Tomorrow, I’ll order extra chai—mess chai toh waste only!” Her words drew approving grins; everyone knew the hostel mess chai was best avoided.

Sneha stared at her phone, face crumpling. “Kya yaar, fourteen paise? Universe has something against me only.” She flopped back, waving her phone in the air like it might start working better, her nose wrinkling in mock outrage.

The whole class burst into laughter.

Boys slapped desks, girls giggled, and even the security guard peered in with a grin. “Bhai, issi ka toh maza hai!” someone called out, laughter echoing off the stairwell. Even the outside fireworks seemed to join in.

But then, more messages appeared in the group chat.

Phones buzzed again. Jokes gave way to confusion as automated game notifications appeared, their tone cold and mechanical.

[The cash gift has been split by all students. The Luck King game officially begins.]

[First round game rules:]

[The person with the best luck can do anything they want within the classroom.]

[The person with the worst luck, choose a way of dying you prefer.]

The messages scrolled past with the sterile efficiency of a railway announcement. A strange chill crept in. Someone muttered, “Yeh kya nautanki hai, man?”

Ritu Didi adjusted her dupatta with a snap, eyes blazing. “Ajeeb baatein mat karo! Paagal ho gaye ho kya?” She glared at her phone, bangles clinking, and pointed accusingly at the group admin.

Kabir, sitting closest to her, stammered: “Didi, it was sent by Meera.”

Kabir’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The air grew thick. Someone dropped a steel glass; its clang rang out, too loud.

“Didn’t she just pass away a few days ago?”

A hush fell. Meera’s name snapped through the room like a diya blown out by wind. Even the TV’s volume seemed to fade, as if the walls themselves were listening.