Hospitals are strange at night.

Not just quiet — unnaturally quiet. Like the silence is breathing around you, listening. The white lights overhead hum steadily, and everything smells like antiseptic and secrets. A place meant for healing, somehow always on the edge of haunting.

Dr. Ananya Mehra moved down the east wing corridor, arms crossed over her chest. The sleeves of her white coat were tugged down to her knuckles. It wasn’t the cold — not really. It was 2:07 a.m., and something about the hospital always shifted at this hour. The shadows stretched longer. The quiet changed shape.

She had just finished checking in on Mr. Sethi in Room 214 — post-op, diabetic, recovering faster than expected. He’d already asked for sweets. She smiled at the thought. Patients like him made the shift bearable.

Her footsteps echoed as she walked. Too loud. Even the scuffed rubber of her shoes couldn’t hide in the hush.

Her phone buzzed.

Veer: Still alive, Doctor?

She didn’t pause as she typed back.

Ananya: Barely. Your coffee tasted like disappointment.

Veer: You wound me.

Ananya: You'll survive. You're a Malhotra.

She smiled. The ritual was as routine as drawing blood. He always checked in at 2 a.m. Sharp. A strange comfort, that little thread of connection woven into their nights.

The staff room was just ahead. She was craving tea — or something hot. Something that didn’t taste like sterile air.

Then — a noise.

Soft. Barely audible. Like fabric brushing against a wall.

She stopped.

Turned.

Nothing. Just the corridor stretching out behind her, lined with closed doors and buzzing lights.

She stood still, listening.

Hospitals have sounds — beeps, wheels, distant voices. But this wasn’t that. This was the kind of sound that didn’t belong.

She shook it off. Probably a nurse doing a late round. Or her own tired brain firing shadows into corners.

She turned back toward the staff room — and stopped.

A figure.

At the far end of the hallway.

Still. Almost statue-like. Half in shadow, just outside the flicker of the emergency exit light.

A man?

Maybe. Slim frame. Wearing an oversized gray sweater.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

Ananya’s breath caught.

She blinked.

Gone.

Just like that — empty hallway.

She stood frozen, unsure if what she’d seen had even been real.

Her pulse ticked upward. She turned on instinct — not toward the staff room now, but toward the archives room.

The door at the end of the corridor stood slightly ajar.

It was supposed to be locked after hours.

Every doctor knew that. Especially after... well, everything that had happened.

She approached slowly. Her fingers hovered near the handle. Cold metal met skin.

Click. Unlocked.

She hesitated.

Technically, she had no reason to go inside. No reason to push open a door that shouldn’t be open. But instincts aren’t bound by protocol.

She eased the door open just an inch.

Darkness.

The scent of dust, old paper, and time.

She didn’t step in. Just stood, still as the shadows inside.

Silence.

Not empty silence. Heavy silence. Like someone had just exhaled and slipped out of view.

Ananya’s spine prickled. Her fingers curled slightly.

Then she backed away. Slowly. Closed the door without a sound.

By the time she turned back toward the corridor, everything looked... normal.

The lights buzzed. The air smelled clean. The shadows were just shadows.

But her heart was beating harder now.

She didn’t understand why.

2:18 a.m. — Staff Break Room

She sat with a cup of vending machine tea in her hands. It wasn’t good. But it was warm, and that was enough for now.

The vending machine hummed behind her, dropping a snack into the tray. She didn’t flinch.

She stared at her phone. No new messages.

She considered calling Veer — just to hear his voice. But she didn’t. He’d ask questions. He always did. And she didn’t have answers tonight.

2:40 a.m. — Lab Floor

Aditya Menon adjusted his lanyard for the fourth time. It still sat too loose around his neck, flopping like a sad ID badge of anxiety. His first night shift. He already hated the smell of disinfectant. It clung to everything — clothes, skin, even the back of his tongue.

Across the counter, Ravi Sen didn’t look up.

“You’re late,” he said. Not cruelly. Just a fact.

Aditya exhaled. “Sorry. Got lost near radiology. Somehow ended up in maternity. It was... awkward.”

Ravi gave a tiny, sympathetic nod and went back to sorting blood samples with precise movements.

“Don’t worry. Everyone gets lost here,” he said. “The hospital was built in layers. East wing’s like a labyrinth.”

Aditya peeked into the centrifuge with interest. “So... uh, are the rumors true?”

Ravi paused. “Which ones?”

“You know... about the archives? About the doctor who—”

The door opened.

Both turned.

Dr. Veer Malhotra entered. Coffee in hand. Crisp coat. Shoes that never squeaked.

“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, with the warmth of someone used to being obeyed. “Bonding already?”

Ravi lowered his eyes. “Just explaining the layout.”

Veer’s gaze lingered on Aditya for a second too long — not hostile, not quite friendly either. Just watching.

“Welcome to the graveyard shift, Aditya,” he said. “You’ll find it... enlightening.”

Aditya smiled nervously. “Thanks, sir.”

Veer’s smile stayed in place, eyes still on him.

“The building has a memory,” he added, tone softer now. “It watches.”

Then he turned and walked out. The scent of antiseptic and something faintly floral followed him.

Lavender.

2:57 a.m. — Diagnostic Wing

Ravi was running routine scans. Aditya had wandered off again — supposed to be delivering charts to logistics, but curiosity pulled stronger than duty.

He moved through the quieter corridors until he reached the east wing.

It felt... different here. Older. Colder.

He stopped.

Voices.

Two of them.

Low. Urgent. Behind a partially open door.

The records room.

He stepped closer.

"...she said she was leaving. She can’t leave," said one voice. Calm, but dangerous. Not raised. Not angry. Worse — controlled. Like a scalpel.

Then — a sound. A gasp. A struggle?

Aditya moved closer, just enough to lean near the door—

Creak.

The door shifted under his hand.

Silence.

Footsteps.

Approaching.

Fast.

Aditya backed up. Tripped. Hit a mop bucket left in the hall. The clang was deafening.

A voice followed.

“Hello?” Smooth. Familiar. Friendly.

And cold.

Veer.

Aditya didn’t wait.

He ran.

4:15 a.m. — Stairwell Landing

They found him slumped near the landing.

Unconscious.

No witnesses.

Head injury. Blood pooling slowly beneath him. Cardiac arrest.

“Must’ve slipped,” someone whispered. “Terrible accident.”

Dr. Veer Malhotra arrived at the scene moments later. Arms crossed. Eyes lowered. Face calm.

Ravi stood near the edge, pale and silent.

He stared at Aditya’s hand — clenched tight around a piece of torn synthetic fabric.

Then his eyes drifted to Veer’s shoes.

Untouched.

Perfectly clean.

Later That Morning — Break Room

The sky outside turned the color of faded bruises — ash and pink. A new day.

Ravi sat alone, staring at the vending machine.

His tea trembled slightly in his hand.

He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the cold. Or the exhaustion.

Or the glimpse he thought he’d caught in the machine’s metal reflection — just for a moment.

Ananya’s kitchen.

Warm yellow light. Cabinets open.

And then—

Blood on tile.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Hospitals never really sleep. Even at 3 a.m., something always hums—whether it’s the constant drip of IVs, the faint whirr of ventilators, or the low murmur of distant voices filtering through walls. The night shift was a world apart, a strange twilight zone where time folded in on itself, and reality blurred at the edges.

Aditya Menon adjusted the too-loose lanyard around his neck again, tugging at the hospital ID that felt heavier than his own skin. First night shift. His stomach churned, not just from nerves but the sterile smell that clung to everything — disinfectant, antiseptic, a clinical scent that seemed to seep into the very walls. It made him feel hollow, like breathing in emptiness.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as he shuffled through the cramped lab space, a maze of blood samples, test tubes, and glowing monitors. He tried to ignore the distant clatter of footsteps echoing in the hallways and the low buzz of machines, but the hospital’s pulse was relentless, omnipresent.

“You’re late,” a voice said quietly from behind the sorting counter.

Aditya jumped slightly and turned. There stood Ravi Sen—thin, pale, wearing an oversized gray sweater that swallowed him whole. His hair was disheveled, and behind thick glasses, his eyes held a wary intelligence. He wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a distance in the way he moved, a guardedness.

“Sorry,” Aditya muttered. “Got lost in radiology. Ended up in the maternity ward. Very awkward.”

Ravi gave the smallest hint of a smile. “Don’t worry. Everyone gets lost here. The hospital was built in phases. The east wing’s a maze.”

Aditya glanced around the dimly lit room. It was cluttered but oddly comforting — papers stacked in corners, sticky notes plastered everywhere, a small, cracked coffee mug perched on the edge of a desk. It had character, a quiet resilience.

“So, are the rumors true?” Aditya’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if the walls might listen. “You know… about the archives? About the doctor who—”

A door opened behind them.

They both turned sharply.

Dr. Veer Malhotra stepped inside, his presence immediate and magnetic. Coffee in hand, crisp coat, perfect posture. His smile was calm but carried an edge, like he was always three steps ahead.

“Gentlemen,” Veer said smoothly. “You two bonding already?”

Ravi lowered his eyes slightly but nodded. “Just explaining the layout.”

Veer’s gaze lingered on Aditya for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were calm, unreadable. “Welcome to the graveyard shift, Aditya. You’ll find it... enlightening.”

Aditya swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

Veer gave a subtle smile. “First night’s always strange. The building has a memory. It watches.”

With that cryptic remark, Veer turned and walked away, the scent of antiseptic and something floral trailing behind him like a ghost.

2:57 a.m.

Ravi was deep in diagnostics, the hum of machines blending with the quiet shuffles of the few remaining night staff. Aditya had drifted off again — supposed to be helping with lab logistics, but curiosity was a stronger force than protocol.

The east wing called to him. Older corridors, peeling paint, and the faint echo of footsteps long past. He hesitated near the old records room, the door slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness spilling into the hallway.

Then he heard voices.

Two voices.

Low. Urgent.

He crept closer, heart pounding.

“…she said she was leaving. She can’t leave,” one voice said—calm, but with an edge like a blade sharpened on stone.

Then, a noise—a sharp, sudden sound. Like a struggle.

Aditya froze.

He leaned forward just enough for the door to creak under his weight.

The voices stopped.

Footsteps approached quickly.

His breath hitched.

He turned to leave but caught a glimpse of a shadow moving just inside the room—quick, fleeting.

Suddenly, a voice, cold but familiar.

“Hello?”

It was Dr. Veer.

Aditya’s heart slammed in his chest. Panic surged.

He turned and ran.

4:15 a.m.

They found Aditya collapsed in the stairwell, a pool of cold concrete beneath him.

Head injury. Cardiac arrest.

“Must’ve slipped,” someone murmured. “Terrible accident.”

Veer stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes lowered. The hospital buzzed softly on, indifferent.

Ravi, pale and silent, looked from the limp hand to Veer’s pristine shoes—untouched, clean.

The hospital whispered around them, a dark secret hiding in its depths.

The days that followed were heavy with silence.

The hospital issued a brief statement:

“Accidental death. Tragic fall. A young technician, barely twenty-four. Our thoughts are with his family.”

No mention of the rumors.

No mention of the dark corners hiding in the night.

Detective Aryan Khatri had seen silence weaponized before.

The morgue was colder than necessary. Always was.

The coroner, a woman who had worked more murders than birthdays, handed him the autopsy report with a look that said everything.

“No clear defensive wounds,” she said, voice low. “But look here—at the base of the skull.”

Aryan leaned closer.

A thin fracture. Subtle. Too perfect.

Like someone had known exactly where to strike.

“He didn’t fall,” she muttered. “Not naturally.”

She handed him another file.

“There’s more.”

Aryan examined the fingernails—traces of fabric, synthetic blend.

“Hospital uniform?” he asked.

She nodded grimly.

He said nothing for a moment, then: “Pull up the file on Dr. Ananya Mehra.”

She hesitated. “The suicide?”

“The suicide,” he echoed, voice low, almost bitter. The word sounded like a bad joke.

Back at the hospital, Nurse Sara D’Mello stared at her locker.

Another note.

Slipped through the vents this time.

This one was different—handwritten. Block letters. Neat. Deliberate.

You saw too much. And now another one is gone.

She tore it into pieces before anyone else could see.

Her hands trembled.

Ravi barely spoke after Aditya’s death.

Not to the nurses, not to the admin, not even to Veer.

Veer had approached him the night before, voice soft, eyes shadowed.

“He was young,” Veer said quietly. “Bright. We’ll make sure he’s remembered.”

Ravi only nodded, but behind his eyes, something was shifting. Gears grinding, trying to piece together fragments of a night that had slipped through his mind like smoke.

The cold tile.

The antiseptic scent.

Something faintly floral.

A shadow.

A whisper.

A glimpse of Ananya’s kitchen cabinets, open, like someone had been searching.

He knew something now.

He just didn’t know what.

Later that week, Detective Aryan arrived under the guise of reviewing old patient records.

He flashed his credentials once, found doors quietly opening.

The administration didn’t like it, but no one told him to leave. Not yet.

He spoke to everyone, slowly, casually.

Asked about Ananya.

Asked about Aditya.

Asked about Ravi.

Sara finally pulled him aside in the supply room, her hands shaking.

“There’s something wrong here,” she whispered. “It’s like... the hospital wants to forget her. Forget everything.”

Aryan narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve received letters?”

She flinched. “I didn’t tell anyone. I—I thought maybe it was just grief. But now Aditya’s dead and... someone was watching me. I know it.”

Aryan stepped back into the corridor, mind clicking.

Two dead.

A traumatized technician.

A nurse receiving threats.

A diary missing from Ananya’s things.

And a doctor who smiled too easily, grieved too neatly.

Final scene:

In a quiet office, Dr. Veer Malhotra sipped tea and scrolled through security footage on a private tablet.

Paused on a frame.

Ravi, standing near the old records room.

Looking... back.

Veer tilted his head slightly, like a cat watching a mouse twitch.

He smiled.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE: THE QUIET ONES

The hospital issued a brief, sanitized statement.

"Accidental death. Tragic fall. A young technician, barely twenty-four. Our thoughts are with his family."

No mention of the rumors.

No mention of the blood on the stairs.

No mention of the fact that Aditya Menon was the second person in six months to die during a night shift.

In the halls, the whispers still came.

Not loud — never loud. The hospital hated noise.

But the staff whispered all the same. In supply closets. In elevator corners. Just loud enough to keep the fear alive.

The Morgue

Detective Aryan Khatri was not a man easily unnerved.

But even he felt it — that pressure in the air when he stepped into the hospital’s lower level. The morgue always seemed colder than necessary. It wasn't just the temperature. It was the stillness. As though time itself had frozen down here.

The coroner handed him the report without a word, her face grim. Aryan glanced over the top page, then paused.

“No clear defensive wounds. But look at the base of the skull,” she said quietly. “Thin fracture. Linear. Not what you'd expect from a fall.”

Aryan frowned and leaned closer. “Sub-occipital?”

She nodded. “Clean strike. Almost surgical. Whoever did this knew anatomy.”

His brow furrowed. “And the fingernails?”

She passed him a sealed envelope. “Traces of synthetic fabric. Not cotton. Blended — like hospital uniforms.”

Aryan’s fingers tapped the edge of the file. Twice. Then again. A habit he’d picked up when his instincts were whispering.

He looked up. “Pull the report on Dr. Ananya Mehra.”

The coroner stiffened. “The suicide?”

Aryan’s eyes narrowed.

“The suicide,” he echoed.

His tone made it sound like a punchline.

Just without the joke.

The Nurses' Station – Later That Morning

Nurse Sara D’Mello stared at her locker like it had grown fangs.

Another note.

Slipped through the vents this time — not even the door.

Not typed. Handwritten. Block letters. Precise.

YOU SAW TOO MUCH.

AND NOW ANOTHER ONE IS GONE.

Her hands trembled as she tore it into small pieces and stuffed them into her pocket. She looked around. No one was watching. But that didn’t mean no one was there.

The hospital had too many eyes.

Diagnostics Lab – Afternoon Shift

Ravi Sen hadn’t spoken much since Aditya’s death.

He moved through his tasks like a machine — precise, quiet, untouchable. Blood samples. Test orders. Glucose panels. Over and over. Everything clinical. Nothing personal.

The same oversized gray sweater. The same hunched shoulders. The same haunted eyes.

Dr. Veer Malhotra had approached him the evening before.

“He was young,” Veer said softly. “Bright. We’ll make sure he’s remembered.”

Ravi only nodded.

But something inside him shifted.

He had seen something — he knew he had.

He just couldn’t pull it from the fog that had settled over his memory.

There were fragments:

The cold tile.

The overwhelming scent of antiseptic.

Something floral underneath.

A whisper in the dark.

A hand clamping over his mouth.

Cabinets open — not in the hospital, but in a kitchen. Ananya’s kitchen.

His fingers twitched at the memory.

The Third Floor Stairwell

Aryan traced the path Aditya would have taken.

He’d already seen the medical report. Aditya had a minor anxiety prescription. Nothing heavy. No hallucinogens. Nothing sedating.

The stairwell felt wrong. Too clean. The railing had no scuffs, no blood. But the floor — the floor had a faint mark still visible in the corner. Not red. But darker. Almost like the concrete itself hadn’t recovered from impact.

He leaned over and examined the doorframe.

Scratched.

Small, tight abrasions. Not from shoes. From fingernails.

“He didn’t fall,” Aryan murmured.

Hospital Archives – Night Shift

Later that week, Aryan returned. This time under the pretense of reviewing old patient records related to a case with overlapping dates. The admin didn’t like it, but no one had the nerve to stop him.

He wandered. Slowly. Intentionally.

Talked to nurses.

Talked to the janitor.

Talked to Ravi.

Talked to Sara — last.

She cornered him in the supply room.

“There's something wrong here,” she whispered, voice barely audible beneath the hum of the old refrigerator unit. “It’s like... the hospital wants to forget her. Forget everything.”

Aryan’s eyes sharpened.

“You’ve received letters?”

Sara flinched.

Her eyes darted toward the closed door.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I—I thought maybe it was just grief. But now Aditya’s dead, and... someone’s watching me. I know it.”

Aryan stepped back out into the corridor.

Two deaths.

One nurse with threatening notes.

One technician who remembered fragments.

And a diary that had mysteriously vanished from Ananya’s effects.

And a doctor who grieved too well.

Too quickly.

Too quietly.

Dr. Veer’s Office – Midnight

Veer sipped tea from a bone-white cup, legs crossed, back straight, a subtle smirk playing at his lips. He sat alone, the soft glow of a tablet screen casting shadows across his angular features.

He tapped the screen once.

Paused the footage.

A still frame.

Ravi Sen, standing near the old records room.

Just... standing.

Looking over his shoulder. Right at the camera.

But his eyes weren’t frightened.

They were searching.

Veer tilted his head, as though examining an interesting species in a jar.

He zoomed in.

The camera timestamp blinked.

02:41:09

The exact minute Aditya Menon’s chart was altered in the system.

Ravi was on-screen.

Nowhere near a computer.

Veer smiled.

He didn’t delete the footage.

He didn’t need to.

He simply renamed the file, encrypted it, and sent it to a private folder.

Then he opened a second file.

Ananya’s voice.

From a phone call recording, months ago. She was laughing.

“…don’t be dramatic, Veer. I’m not abandoning anyone. I just need change. A new country, new challenge—maybe research. You’ll be fine without me.”

Click.

The sound stopped.

Veer stared at the screen for a long moment, unmoving.

Then he whispered, to no one:

“They always say that. And they’re always wrong.”

Nurses' Lounge – 3:00 A.M.

Sara couldn’t sleep.

She sat with a cup of lukewarm tea in her hands, staring at the TV in the corner playing a muted soap opera. The drama on-screen was simple, predictable. She preferred it that way.

A soft knock came at the lounge door.

She turned.

Ravi stood there.

“Can I… sit?” he asked softly.

She nodded.

They sat in silence for a while.

Finally, he spoke.

“I think I saw something the night Aditya died.”

Sara turned slowly. “What?”

“I remember… a voice. Two people talking. One of them said: ‘She said she was leaving. She can’t leave.’”

Sara’s face drained of color.

Ravi looked at her. “You’ve heard it too, haven’t you?”

She nodded. Just once.

Neither of them spoke again for a long time.

Detective Aryan’s Apartment – Dawn

The city light bled in through the blinds like diluted blood.

Aryan sat at his desk, surrounded by case files. Photographs. Timelines. Scans of records that had been deleted but still existed in paper form — in places where no one looked anymore.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He answered.

Silence.

Then — a whisper.

“Don’t trust him. Veer isn’t who he seems.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Aryan stared at the phone.

Then he opened a drawer and pulled out the only physical artifact from Ananya’s personal locker that hadn't been logged — a single printed page. Torn. Smudged with tea. Almost overlooked.

The handwriting matched her journal.

“He’s like a brother. But even brothers can drown you if you stop swimming.”

Aryan’s fingers stopped tapping.

FINAL SCENE – Security Basement (Restricted Zone)

Late that night, in a dim corridor beneath the hospital, a motion-activated camera blinked to life.

Footsteps.

A figure approached.

Ravi.

He was holding something. A keycard.

He stopped at a locked security room — the kind only administrators accessed.

Swiped the card.

The light turned green.

The door opened.

Inside, rows of screens flickered with

END Of CHAPTER THREE