Chapter 5: The Room They Mustn’t Enter

The Oberoi mansion stood like a relic from another era—towering gates, stone lions guarding the entrance, and rows of carefully trimmed hedges leading up to an opulent, chandelier-lit entrance. As Shweta and Arush approached, the grandeur of it all made her pause for a breath.

White marble floors reflected the golden glow of antique lamps. Servants moved like shadows, seamlessly fulfilling duties. Portraits of regal ancestors lined the corridor walls, watching with timeless eyes.

“Whoa…” Shweta murmured.

Arush chuckled lightly. “Bit much, huh?”

Before she could reply, a cheerful old butler beamed at them. “Young Master Arush! And… oh!” He looked at Shweta, eyes twinkling. “Is this the young lady? The one you’ve finally brought home?”

Several maids giggled in the background, whispering not-so-quietly.

Arush turned bright red. “No, no! She’s just… a friend. We’re just going to the library!”

Shweta looked just as flustered, brushing hair behind her ear. “It’s not like that!”

The butler nodded sagely. “Ah yes, yes. Of course. Just a friend. The first girl you’ve brought here… just a friend.”

“Uncle...!” Arush groaned, half hiding his face. “Can we not do this today?”

As they walked toward the grand double doors of the library, butler leaned in and whispered with unusual seriousness, “Master Arush… don’t enter that room.”

His tone shifted—stern, wary.

Arush paused, his face hardening into a cold stare, eyes narrowing. But the second Shweta turned back with a questioning glance, he masked it with a casual shrug and opened the library door.

Inside, the library was a cathedral of knowledge—walls stretching high, bookshelves stacked with leather-bound volumes and strange trinkets from all over the world. A soft golden lamp cast warmth across the antique desks and velvet chairs.

Moments later, the quiet was broken by the front door slamming shut.

Sashwat strolled in, hoodie over his head, earphones dangling.

He barely glanced at Arush and Shweta as he headed upstairs, typing on his phone:

"Reach near the gate at 8. We’ll have some adventure."

Sahil, staring at the screen from his room, raised an eyebrow. He still didn’t know what this “adventure” was, but if it might help his sister, he wasn’t going to back down.

He looked down at the wallpaper on his phone—an old picture of Ananya smiling in the sunlight—and whispered to himself:

“I wonder… how that child is right now.”

At the hospital, under the cold fluorescent lights, a single finger on Ananya’s hand twitched.

Back at the library, Shweta sat at one of the large oak desks, poring over a thick book. Arush had brought her tea, but she hadn’t touched it. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed nights of restless sleep—ever since Siddharth returned, normalcy had deserted her.

But here, in this quiet room, with Arush nearby… she felt something rare—calm.

Not long after, she dozed off, her breathing evening out.

Arush looked up from his notes and smiled softly. She was curled up, arms folded under her head, the warm lamplight casting golden halos around her silky, wavy brown hair. Her lashes were long and curled, cheeks soft and flushed. Her lips—

Arush blinked, then jolted, as if electrocuted by his own thoughts.

“Oh God,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks flushing. He stood abruptly and ran a hand through his hair. “Water. I need water.”

He headed downstairs to the kitchen, mentally scolding himself.

Behind him, the library was silent—too silent.

Then, a voice whispered—low, cold, not from this world.

“You are not Shweta. I am. You took my place…”

Shweta stirred in her sleep. Eyes still closed, she murmured something unintelligible, as her body rose and moved, almost unconsciously, toward the far wall—toward a door half-hidden behind an old painting.

“Give it back… my identity, my life, my everything…”

The voice wrapped around her like a spell.

Her hand reached toward the knob—

“Shwetaaa!!”

Arush’s voice sliced through the trance.

She stopped. Blinked. Looked around, dazed. “Huh…? What just happened?”

Arush ran to her side, clearly shaken. “Are you okay? You were… sleepwalking or something.”

Shweta frowned, hugging herself. “I heard… someone. A girl. She said she was me…”

Arush stiffened. He didn’t ask more.

“You must be daydreaming from all the stress lately,” he said gently. “I think you should head home. It’s getting late.”

She nodded slowly.

As they walked toward the door, Shweta tripped over the uneven carpet. Before she could fall, Arush caught her—arms around her waist, eyes locked with hers.

Time stopped.

For a moment, neither moved. Their breaths mingled. Their faces inched closer, hearts pounding. Almost—almost—

CLACK!

A noise came from the window.

Both turned sharply. The curtains fluttered.

Arush’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s there… at this hour?”

To be continued…

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