“अगर तुम अकेले हो… तो ये मत देखो | Room 213”

The night crept upon the hostel like a shroud, the kind that felt as though it could suffocate the unwary. Room 213 sat in the heart of this stillness, its single occupant, Riya, oblivious to the whispers of warning that clung to the walls like spectral echoes.

Riya sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop casting a faint glow across her face. The dim light flickered intermittently, a reminder of the hostel’s ancient wiring, or perhaps something more sinister. She brushed aside the thought, focusing on the essay due in two days, but her concentration was as fragile as the paper she typed on.

Outside, the wind threaded through the cracks of the window, a cold, persistent whistling that seemed to call her name. She shivered involuntarily, pulling the comforter tighter around her shoulders. The room was a patchwork of shadows, each one a potential hiding place for the unknown. The wardrobe loomed in the corner, its old wood groaning like a spirit trapped in a coffin.

Riya’s phone buzzed against the table, jittering to life with a message from Meera, her best friend. The screen’s light briefly illuminated the room with a sterile, artificial glow.

“Are you still in Room 213?” the message read. “Heard some weird stuff about that place. Creepy AF.”

Riya rolled her eyes, typing back a quick, “Yeah, still here. It’s just a room, Meera. Chill.” She put the phone down, but her fingers lingered on the device, its cool surface grounding her in reality.

The clock on her bedside table ticked steadily, each second dragging its heels in the silence. It read 1:09 AM, the witching hour still a distant specter on the horizon. Yet, it was during these hours that Riya felt the world shift, the air thickening as if it were alive, aware of her presence.

A sudden creak echoed from the hallway outside, a sound too deliberate to be the settling of old wood. Riya glanced toward the door, her heart skipping a beat. Her rational mind told her it was just another student, possibly returning from a late-night study session or a clandestine meeting. But the part of her that remembered the stories couldn’t shake the unease.

“Stop it, Riya,” she muttered to herself, returning her focus to the glowing screen before her. But her eyes darted around the room, drawn to the window where the curtains rustled despite being closed, as if teased by invisible fingers.

Time slipped away unnoticed, and as the clock struck 1:30 AM, the temperature in the room plummeted. The cold was biting, unnatural, and Riya’s breath misted in the air, a ghostly apparition of life. Her laptop screen glitched, static momentarily distorting her essay before it returned to normal.

“Great,” she muttered, rubbing her arms to stave off the chill. “Just great.”

A soft tapping began, emanating from the window, rhythmic and insistent. Tap, tap, tap. Riya’s heart raced, a drumbeat of fear echoing through her chest. She stood, hesitant, and approached the window. The curtains danced with a life of their own, and she reached out, pulling them aside with trembling hands.

Nothing.

The night was still, save for the leaves whispering secrets among themselves. Yet, she sensed a presence, something unseen and malevolent. Her reflection in the glass merged with the darkness outside, her eyes wide and fearful.

A memory surfaced, unbidden—a senior who had once stayed in Room 213 had warned her, in hushed tones, to leave. She had disappeared soon after, leaving behind an empty room and a growing legend. Riya had dismissed it then as superstitious nonsense, but now, standing in the chill of the room, she wasn’t so sure.

Footsteps echoed again, closer this time, a deliberate cadence that seemed to stop right outside her door. Her heart leaped to her throat as she turned, half-expecting to see the door handle turn. It remained still, yet the sense of being watched was palpable.

She backed away slowly, her pulse a wild thing beneath her skin. Her phone buzzed again, the sound jarring in the oppressive silence. She didn’t pick it up, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the door.

As if in response to her fear, the lights flickered violently before plunging her into darkness. Panic seized her, but it was the sound in the dark—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper—that rooted her in place.

“Riya…”

The voice was faint, a breath on the wind, but unmistakably real. She backed against the wall, her eyes wide, searching the shadows for the source.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice shaky, betraying the terror she felt.

Silence answered, heavy and mocking. The clock ticked on, oblivious to the events unfolding within its domain. And in that moment, Riya knew—this was not just a room. Room 213 held secrets, dark and deep, intertwined with her own past. She was ensnared in its web, a player in a ghostly tale that demanded to be told.

The lights flickered back to life, banishing the shadows to their corners, but the temperature remained frigid. Her phone buzzed once more, and she finally picked it up, desperate for a connection to the world outside this room.

“Riya, you okay? Seriously, get out of there,” Meera’s message read.

Riya swallowed hard, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to leave, to flee this room and the darkness it harbored, but something held her back—a need to understand, to unravel the mystery that had claimed her nights.

The clock ticked on, the witching hour slipping away, yet her unease remained, a constant companion in the chilling solitude of Room 213. She knew she had to heed the warning, but something deeper, an instinct she couldn’t ignore, compelled her to stay.

As she settled back onto her bed, the whispers resumed, lulling her into a restless sleep, promising answers in the shadows of her dreams.

Riya awoke suddenly, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. The dim light from her phone cast eerie shadows across the room, illuminating the worn, wooden wardrobe in the corner. It was as if the shadows themselves whispered secrets, urging her to listen closely.

The clock on the wall showed 1:30 AM—again. Her heart skipped a beat. She could have sworn she had drifted off just a moment ago, and yet here she was, caught in the same moment. A strange déjà vu washed over her, the sensation that she was cycling through time itself, trapped in an unending loop.

Riya rubbed her eyes and sat up, her skin prickling with the cold. The air in Room 213 felt heavy, charged with an energy that pressed down on her shoulders. She could hear the faint tick-tick of the clock, a metronome marking the passage of time that seemed to have abandoned its linear path.

Her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with another message from Meera: “Riya, I’m serious. It’s not safe there. Remember what Anjali said before she disappeared?”

Anjali—the senior who had vanished without a trace. Her name was whispered in hushed tones across the campus, a cautionary tale that Riya had dismissed as mere superstition. But now, in the oppressive silence of her room, Anjali’s warnings felt like a lifeline. Riya recalled their brief conversation, the way Anjali had looked at her with eyes wide with fear, urging her to leave before it was too late.

“You’ll start seeing them,” Anjali had said cryptically, her voice a tremor in the dimly lit hallway. “They’re trapped, too. And they’ll try to pull you in.”

Riya had laughed it off then, chalking it up to the stress of exams or a prank. But now, as she looked around the room—at the shadows that seemed to dance just out of sight, at the curtains that fluttered despite the lack of wind—she felt the weight of those words settle over her like a shroud.

The floorboards creaked softly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the icy touch of the wooden floor. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, and then she made her way to the window. Pulling back the curtain slightly, she peered out into the night, hoping for some semblance of normalcy.

But the world outside was different, too. The trees swayed gently, their branches casting long, skeletal shadows that seemed to reach out toward her. The campus grounds lay deserted, a ghostly landscape under the pale moonlight.

Riya turned away from the window, her gaze falling on the wardrobe. It stood there, an ominous presence, as if guarding secrets long buried. A shiver ran down her spine as she took a step toward it, compelled by a force she couldn’t explain.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the handle, the metal cold against her skin. She hesitated, a part of her screaming to stop, to run, but another part—driven by a need to understand—urged her on. She pulled the door open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest.

Inside, it was empty, save for a few forgotten hangers that swayed gently, as if moved by an unseen hand. But as she looked closer, Riya noticed something etched into the back panel of the wardrobe, faint and almost imperceptible in the dim light.

Words. A message.

She leaned in, squinting to make out the letters, tracing them with her fingertips. It read: "You are not alone. They are watching. Find the key."

A chill swept through her, and she staggered back, her heart racing. The message was clear, yet cryptic. Who was watching? And what key was she supposed to find?

The air seemed to thrum with an urgency now, the shadows pressing in closer, as if they too were eager for her to unravel the mystery. The clock ticked on, its hands frozen at 1:30 AM, as if mocking her predicament.

Riya knew she couldn’t ignore the signs any longer. The time loop, the shadows, the message—they were all pieces of a puzzle she had to solve. The answers lay in Room 213 and, perhaps, in the words of the vanished Anjali.

As she stood there, the wardrobe looming behind her, Riya felt a change in the air, a shift so subtle it could have been imagined. But she knew better now. She knew that this room held secrets, and she was determined to uncover them, no matter the cost.

She glanced at her phone, contemplating calling Meera, but decided against it. This was something she had to face alone. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever lay ahead, her resolve growing stronger with each passing moment.

The night was far from over, and as the shadows deepened, Riya felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. She was ready to confront the darkness, to find the key and break free from the haunted loop that bound her.

And with that thought, she turned back to the room, ready to face whatever ghosts Room 213 had in store.