Chapter 2: Meera Returns

Counsellor Ritu’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at Kabir, lips parting in disbelief, fingers gripping her dupatta. “Impossible,” she muttered, the word trembling like a prayer.

“That can’t be. Didn’t I remove her from the group? How could she be back in the class group?”

Ritu’s thumb flew through the group settings, sweat beading at her hairline. “I removed her myself, in front of everyone! How did she come back?” Her unease sent a shiver through the class.

Everyone checked their phones, counting names. The old Nokia ringtone of one girl’s phone sounded eerie in the hush. “Sabhi hai, na? No one is missing?” whispered Priya, double-checking.

A nervous buzz ran through the room. Someone chewed their nails, another rubbed at their forehead as if wiping away a nightmare. “Kab aayi group mein?” a boy muttered at the back.

One girl clutched her dupatta tighter. A boy adjusted his specs, eyes scanning the corners as if Meera’s ghost might appear.

A memory flickered—Meera’s tearful exit, the group admin typing ‘Removed Meera’. No one spoke of it, but the air hung heavy with old guilt.

A sense of dread crept over everyone, sticky as the pre-monsoon heat. Someone whispered a quiet “Ram, Ram...”

A bold classmate slammed the table: “Who the hell is messing with us? Bloody hell, pulling this kind of stunt on Diwali—are you trying to curse us?”

His voice shook, bravado cracking. “Pagal ho gaye ho kya? Diwali pe bura mazaak kar rahe ho?” His hand trembled as he banged the table, but he didn’t let go.

“Meera is already dead. How could she be in the group? Someone must have logged into her WhatsApp to scare us.”

A couple of boys nodded, clutching at this explanation like a lifeline.

A girl tried to laugh it off: “Ha, ha, must be some tech prank, na?” Her laughter died in the tension. Someone reached for their water bottle, hands shaking.

But my skin crawled. It felt like the lights had flickered out for a second—an invisible darkness pressing in. The world felt slightly unreal.

When I saw Meera’s name, I thought I was hallucinating. My heart skipped, both nervous and oddly excited. I blinked, almost expecting her DP to vanish. Was she really back? Was this a sign? Sweat pooled at my neck.

Suddenly, Sneha shot up, her anklets jangling. “Arrey bhagwan!” she gasped, hands over her mouth.

She lunged for Ritu, sobbing: “What kind of game is this? I’ve read about this in stories—can it really happen?”

Her voice cracked, echoing off the walls. “Maine toh sirf stories mein padha hai... yeh sach ho sakta hai kya?” Her tears streaked her kajal.

“The first to play always dies the worst, as a warning. I don’t want to die! You have to save me, Didi!”

Sneha clung to Ritu’s arm, sobs turning to hiccups. “Didi, please! Mujhe bachao!” Someone whispered, “Nazar utaar lo, yaar.”

Sneha’s words sent panic snapping through the class. Whispers turned to shouts; someone started chanting Hanuman Chalisa. Terror crawled up every spine.

The weight in the room was suffocating. Breaths came short, hearts pounding.

They all looked to Ritu—Didi, teacher, protector, culprit. A few glances shot her way, half-accusation, half-hope.

Sneha suddenly paused, her eyes sharpening.

Her lips pressed together, Sneha gave Ritu a hard look. “Something’s not right, Didi,” she murmured, voice trembling.

“Didi, I think something’s off. Everyone else is out celebrating Diwali—so why did you call us here, in the middle of the night, to watch TV?”

Her words hung heavy. The clock on the wall ticked, mocking their confusion. “Aur sab toh ghar pe hai... sirf hum log yahan kyun?”

The accusation burst out: “Are you mad?”

The room erupted, Ritu looking cornered, lips trembling with the urge to defend herself, but no words came out.