The Endless Chase (1970s) Faces in the Dark

Author

December 6, 1976 | Bombay Police Headquarters

[Aarav stands before a cluttered desk, yellowed case files scattered across the surface. The overhead fan creaks, pushing thick air around the dimly lit room. The officer behind the desk flips through the pages, brows furrowing deeper with every turn.]

police officer

(frowning) "These names… you’re sure about them?"

Detective araav

(lighting a cigarette) "More than sure."

[The officer exhales, rubbing his temple. He picks up one of the black-and-white photographs—young women, staring blankly into the camera, their eyes hollow in a way that makes the skin crawl.]

police officer

(hesitant) "There’s something wrong here."

Detective araav

(leaning forward) "Tell me."

[The officer tosses the files aside, a strange, unreadable look in his eyes.]

police officer

"These girls don’t exist."

Detective araav

(pausing mid-drag) "What?"

police officer

(quietly) "No birth records. No missing persons reports. No family. No history. It’s like they were never here."

[Silence stretches between them. Outside, the city moves as if nothing is wrong.]

Author

December 6, 1976 | A Room With No Exit

[A candle burns low, casting Meera’s shadow along the wall. She’s been awake for hours now, staring at the door. Waiting. Listening.]

Andarin

(smiling) "You look well-rested."

Meera

(tensing) "Who are you?"

[His smile widens, slow, deliberate, as if the question itself amuses him.]

Andarin

"A strange question, don’t you think?"

Meera

(whispering) "I don’t know you."

[He steps closer. Too close. Her breath catches.]

Andarin

(softly) "That’s not what you used to say."

[A flicker. A sensation—hands against her skin, a voice in the dark. A memory just out of reach.]

Meera

(shaking) "I don’t remember anything."

Andarin

(gently) "Then let me help you."

[He reaches for her. She flinches. He doesn’t stop.]

[A whisper curls through the dim room, soft as smoke—not his voice. Not hers.]

"Run."

[The candle flickers. The shadows shift.]

[She is not alone.]

Author

December 6, 1976 | A Street Bathed in Fog

[Aarav walks with purpose, the city's neon glow bouncing off the wet pavement. He stops at a small café, the hum of jazz spilling onto the empty street. A man waits for him at a corner table, face obscured by the dim light.]