chapter 1

Mrinalika: THE CRIMSON WHISPER

They say the gods took their time when they crafted her-

Skin kissed by moonlight, eyes deeper than centuries, and hair that flowed like night rivers through a cursed forest.

She wasn't just beautiful...

She was the epitome of beauty-a vision that made queens insecure and made kings fall to their knees with trembling hands.

No woman, no man-no being alive or dead-had ever possessed the kind of beauty that Mrinalika did.

But beauty was only the surface.

Her strength?

It didn't roar-it silenced.

Men who boasted of their might would shiver in her presence.

She didn't lift weapons-she was one.

A silent storm.

A walking curse.

And no one could outrun her power.

She looked delicate, like a flower resting on still water, like someone who might break with one harsh word.

But those who mistook her softness for weakness...

Never lived to tell the tale.

Because Mrinalika became more than just a woman-

She became a fear, a legend, a curse whispered to children in cracked lullabies.

No one remembers who cursed her.

No one knows why.

All they know is:

> On every Crimson Red Moon Night, a girl vanishes.

Her body is found near the old forest lake.

The waters turn red,

her blood painting the ripples like fallen petals.

People fear the lake.

They fear the moon.

But most of all...

They fear the one whose name they dare not speak after dusk.

They say she kills out of rage.

Or sorrow.

Or punishment.

But only Mrinalika knows the truth.

And if she ever whispers it in your ear-

You won't live long enough to tell it.

She didn't just carry the curse...

She turned it into her crown.

Nobody knows where she lives and nobody tries to find it not knowing she lives in them, in the form of fear.

His grandfather’s voice still echoed in Aarav’s mind — soft, low, almost like a whisper stitched into the silence of his room.

But sleep? Sleep refused to come.

It had been two years since his grandfather died…

Two years since the night he first heard the name Mrinalika — the woman cloaked in myth, fear, and moonlight.

And yet, the story had never left him.

Aarav, now 24 and in his final year of medical college, had never been one to believe in legends, spirits, or anything that couldn’t be dissected or diagnosed. But there was something about that name — Mrinalika — that clung to him like smoke.

It wasn’t just the beauty of the name.

It was the weight of it. The way it lingered after being spoken.

His grandfather’s sudden death, just days after sharing the tale, had always felt… wrong.

Too abrupt.

Too timed.

Since then, Aarav had been chasing shadows — books, whispers, online forums, even abandoned archives. But no matter how far he searched, Mrinalika’s name didn’t exist in the present. No records. No myths.

No proof.

And that silence?

That nothingness?

It frustrated him more than any lie ever could.

Now, lying in bed with the moonlight stretching long across his floor, Aarav’s thoughts remained tangled in the same name. The same woman. The same curse.

Eventually, exhaustion wrapped around him — and before he realized, darkness pulled him under.

The next morning, Aarav woke up later than usual — it was the weekend, after all. The golden light pouring through the dorm window felt warm against his skin as he lazily stretched and greeted his roommate and best friend, Yash, who was already up, scrolling through his phone.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” Yash smirked.

“Shut up,” Aarav muttered, chuckling as he rolled out of bed to get ready. They were meeting the others today.

By the time the two stepped out of their college dorm, they spotted Reyansh and Zyan walking toward them, chatting about something and laughing. The four boys greeted each other, falling into easy conversation as they made their way to their usual hangout spot — the small café just around the corner from the dorm.

The moment they entered, the familiar scent of coffee and cinnamon greeted them. Seated near the window, Meher and Tia were already waiting, sipping iced drinks and waving at them.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Meher teased as the boys slid into the seats around the table.

“Blame Aarav,” Yash said with a grin. “He’s still haunted by that creepy story his grandpa told him two years ago.”

Aarav rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it.

They placed their orders, settling into their usual back-and-forth banter. Laughter echoed softly between sips and teasing — until Meher, absentmindedly twirling her straw, said the name that shifted the air instantly.

> “Mrinalika.”

The word dropped like a pin in a quiet room.

Everyone stilled for a beat — even the background hum of the café seemed to hush.

Tia flinched. “Please don’t say that name,” she whispered, almost begging. “It freaks me out.”

She tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Yash gently squeezed her hand, shaking his head.

“It’s just a name,” he said softly. “Don’t worry.”

But the tension remained.

And then — unexpectedly — Reyansh spoke up, his voice low and unreadable.

“I might know where we can find something about her.”

Five pairs of eyes turned towards him.

Aarav leaned in, heart racing. “What do you mean?”

Reyansh looked at him calmly. “Your grandfather’s old house. The one near the forest. It’s been locked for years, right?”

Aarav blinked, surprised. “Yeah... why?”

“If he knew that much about Mrinalika, maybe he left something behind.”

The table fell quiet again — this time not out of fear, but anticipation.

It felt like the first piece of a puzzle had just clicked into place.

They didn’t talk about it for too long — just enough to know that they all wanted to know more. And by the time their drinks were nearly done, the plan had already formed.

> They’d go there.

During the upcoming holidays.

To his grandfather’s house near the forest.

To find out who — or what — Mrinalika really was.

None of them knew it yet, but the moment that name returned to the table…

There was no turning back.

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