23 Years Later — Udaipur
Night
The car cut through the empty highway like a careless thought, headlights slicing into darkness that seemed far too thick for comfort. Beyond the road, fields lay still, black and endless, as if watching.
Inside the car, laughter spilled freely—too freely.
"Bro, that DJ was terrible," one of them complained, turning the volume down. "But the drinks? Worth it."
"Worth it till we get caught," another laughed. "Police checkpost toh aage hi hoga."
The driver smirked. "Relax. Who's out here at this time anyway?"
As if answering him, the headlights caught a figure.
The car slowed.
"Wait," someone said. "Stop the car."
The brakes squealed softly.
She stood at the side of the road.
Alone.
Still.
Not waving. Not calling. Just standing.
Silence crept in.
"Why is she here?" one of them whispered.
Another leaned forward, squinting. "Midnight. Highway. Alone." He chuckled uneasily. "Bhai… what if she's a daayan?"
A beat.
Then laughter exploded.
"Arre haan! Long braid, reversed feet!" one mocked. "Next she'll ask for a lift and eat us."
"Stop it," Rahul said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "You all watch too many horror reels."
"Oho!" someone teased. "Hero ban raha hai."
"If she turns into a daayan, we'll write RIP on your Insta," another laughed.
Rahul opened the door.
The night air felt… colder.
He walked toward her slowly. Up close, she looked ordinary—covered modestly, head slightly bowed.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently. "Car broke down?"
She lifted her head.
Her voice was soft. Almost polite.
"Yes. I need help."
Rahul relaxed a little. "We can drop you. It's not safe here."
She glanced past him—to the car.
"Your friends don't look happy," she said calmly. "They were trying to scare you."
Rahul chuckled awkwardly. "Ignore them. They think everything is a ghost story."
She tilted her head. "Daayans too?"
He smiled. "Especially daayans."
There was a pause.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "That they're not real?"
Rahul nodded. "Completely. Superstition."
The wind stirred.
Her lips curved—not quite a smile.
"Then," she said softly, "look down."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Just… look."
Something in her tone made his stomach twist.
Slowly, hesitantly, Rahul lowered his gaze.
And froze.
Her feet were wrong.
The heels faced forward.
The toes… backward.
His breath caught in his throat.
"No…" he whispered.
He lifted his head—
Her eyes had changed.
Yellow. Burning. Inhuman.
He stumbled back. "What are you?"
She smiled fully now.
"I am daayan."
Her hair loosened, unraveling into a single, impossibly long braid that whipped through the air like a living thing.
"Kapalika Daayan," she said.
Rahul screamed.
He turned and ran.
"DRIVE! DRIVE!" he shouted, slamming into the car.
The engine roared.
Too late.
The braid shot forward, wrapping around the car, tightening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Screams filled the night, one by one, until there were none.
Moments later, by the river, Kapalika stood alone.
She drained the last of their life force, their bodies collapsing empty.
With a flick of her braid, she tossed them into the water.
She watched the ripples fade.
"Daayans," she murmured, "are very real."
The highway fell silent again.
Meanwhile — Somewhere in the Forest
Dry leaves shattered beneath frantic footsteps.
A young woman in a flowing traditional gown ran through the forest, her breath tearing from her chest in uneven gasps. The hem of her dress caught on thorns and roots, but she did not stop. Fear drove her forward, louder than pain, louder than reason.
The trees pressed in around her, their shadows stretching too long, bending in ways shadows should not bend. Branches scraped her arms as if trying to hold her back.
Something was chasing her.
She could not see it.
But she felt it.
The air behind her grew dense, suffocating, as though something unseen was breathing down her neck. Every instinct screamed that it was close—far closer than it should be.
She ran faster.
Suddenly, the forest fell silent.
No wind.
No insects.
No life.
She skidded to a halt, her feet slipping on damp earth.
It stood in front of her now.
Not visible—yet unmistakably there.
The darkness thickened, shadows folding into one another, forming a presence so heavy her body froze. Her heart thundered in her ears. The air seemed to bend around it.
Her mouth opened.
A scream tore free.
---
Udaipur — Morning
Pranati jolted awake with a sharp gasp.
She sat upright, her chest heaving, sweat soaking through her clothes. For a moment, the forest clung to her—the scent of damp earth, the echo of running feet, the terror still vibrating in her bones.
She swung her legs off the bed and pressed a trembling hand to her face.
"Oh God," she whispered.
The small room slowly came into focus: pale sunlight filtering through thin curtains, a simple wooden table, the familiar safety of her modest life.
She let out a weak, disbelieving laugh and leaned back against the wall.
"What a nightmare," she muttered.
Then she paused.
"They say dreams seen in the morning come true."
Her smile faded.
"What kind of luck do I have?" she murmured, shaking her head as if to brush the thought away.
Yet, without realizing why, her hand drifted to her upper arm and lingered there, her fingers pressing lightly against the skin.
Outside, the city stirred into its usual rhythm.
Inside, something ancient had just awakened.
To be continued…