Chapter 4: A Lesson in Silence

Neha Sharma was used to being the center of attention. She thrived on it—the way people looked at her, admired her, envied her. She had everything—beauty, status, confidence. No one ignored Neha Sharma. No one dared.

And yet, tonight, she felt something she had never felt before.

Fear.

She didn’t know when it started, this feeling. The feeling of being watched. The way shadows seemed to stretch too long, the way silence felt too loud.

It had been a normal day. Or so she thought.

She had spent the afternoon doing what she did best—making Malang uncomfortable. She had leaned in a little too close, let her perfume linger a little too long, her fingers grazing his hand ever so lightly. He had pulled away, as he always did, but that didn’t matter.

Because she knew she was getting to him.

Or at least… she thought she was.

Now, as she walked through the empty parking lot toward her car, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge. The night air was thick, too still. Her heels clicked against the pavement, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet.

She reached for her car door.

Click.

The doors wouldn’t open.

She frowned, pressing the key fob again. Nothing.

A gust of wind brushed past her, though there was no wind tonight.

Then, a whisper.

Not a voice. Not words. Just… the sense of someone there.

She spun around.

No one.

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t scared—no, Neha Sharma did not get scared. She was just being paranoid.

Right?

She took out her phone. No signal.

Her fingers tightened around the device. Her heart pounded, but she pushed it down. "Ugh, seriously?" she muttered, turning back to her car.

Then—

A hand covered her mouth.

A scream rose in her throat, but it never left.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

When Neha woke up, she wished she hadn’t.

The world was cold. Hard. Her arms ached. She tried to move—couldn’t. Her wrists were bound. Her vision blurred, adjusting to the dim light. The scent of metal filled her nostrils, and her breath came out in uneven gasps.

She was sitting on a chair, her ankles tied to the legs. A single bulb flickered above, casting eerie shadows on the damp concrete walls.

She wasn’t alone.

A figure stood just beyond the light. Unmoving. Watching.

Her pulse hammered. "W-Who are you? What do you want?" she spat, forcing strength into her voice.

No answer.

Only slow, deliberate footsteps.

The figure stepped into the light, but the shadows still clung to them like a second skin. Neha couldn’t make out their face. Just the presence. The aura. And it was wrong.

Not human.

Not normal.

Something else.

She trembled. "Say something!"

Finally, the figure spoke.

"Do you like touching what’s mine?"

The voice was smooth, soft. Deceptively calm. But there was an edge beneath it. Something sharp. Deadly.

Neha’s breath hitched. "W-What—"

A gloved hand reached out. Cold fingers brushed against her cheek, slow, almost gentle.

Then—

A grip.

Tight. Suffocating.

"Do you think you’re special?" the voice whispered, amusement laced with something darker. "Do you think he even notices you?"

Neha gasped, struggling against the hold. "I— I don’t know what you’re talking about!"

The fingers traced her jaw, then her throat.

"That’s a shame," the voice murmured.

And then—

The grip released.

Neha gasped for air, coughing.

The figure stepped back. "You’re lucky," they mused. "I don’t need you gone."

Neha stared, her body trembling. "Then why—"

A sharp click.

She flinched. Something cold pressed under her chin. A knife.

"Because you have a purpose," the figure said, pressing just hard enough for her to feel the sting. "And when I need you, you will be exactly where I want you to be."

Neha swallowed hard, her lips trembling. "W-Who are you?"

The figure chuckled. A slow, knowing laugh.

"You’ll know when it matters."

Then—

Darkness.

Neha woke up in her car.

Her hands were free. Her ankles untied. Her head ached, her throat dry.

Had it been a dream? A hallucination?

Her shaking fingers reached for her phone. The screen lit up. 4:07 AM.

She turned to the passenger seat.

And froze.

A single item lay there.

A silver chain.

One that didn’t belong to her.

Her blood ran cold.

She wasn’t crazy.

It had been real.

The morning sun rose as if nothing had happened, painting the sky in warm hues of gold and orange. The college campus buzzed with life—students laughing, chatting, and rushing to their classes, unaware that the night had swallowed something unspoken.

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