DISHA KAPOOR

We always have two roads in front of us. One is crowded, bright, full of laughter and noise. The other is empty quiet, rough, covered in dust and stones. And yet, I choose the empty road every time. Because the first path deceives with comfort. The second path demands courage and courage has always been my bloodline.

People who chase comforts without worrying for next day irritate me the most. How can someone live life without seriousness? Without purpose?
And right now, I am sitting in front of one of those creatures my best friend, Tanuja.

She has spent the last forty minutes talking about her broken heel, her courtroom drama, and everything. Finally, she stops, leans back dramatically, and asks,

"So what led you here, Witch?"

I exhale slowly. I take out a set of neatly arranged papers from my handbag dark cherry leather, custom-made and place them between us on the polished black marble table of Abyss Café.

Tanuja frowns, snatches the papers, and starts scanning through them.

I explain calmly,
"These contain every important detail I've collected over the years about the chain of murders... and that hotel."

Her eyes lift from the papers, sharp and unreadable behind her dramatic eyeliner.
"Okay... so how exactly am I involved?"

I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs with deliberate elegance.
"I need the case files mentioned in those pages. And your sources can get them for me."

She smirks, tapping her nails on the table.
"Fine. Your work will be done. I'll have the files ready by tonight."

I nod once. Efficiency is one thing I appreciate in her.

She asks again, this time softer,
"But why do you need all this suddenly?"

I answer casually, almost bored,
"Tomorrow, I'm meeting ACP Aayan Malhotra. I like to be prepared."

Her jaw drops. She knows what this means the reopening of suppressed controversies, buried truths, and the shadows no one dared to uncover again.

I give her a smile that is nowhere close to sweet.
"Be ready at 9:30 a.m. You're accompanying me."

Before she can begin one of her dramatic protests, I stand up smoothly, pick up my handbag, and walk out of the café. My heels echo on the polished floor as I step into the soft morning sunlight.

My black sedan opens automatically, and I settle inside, the leather seats embracing me like a second skin. I start the engine, and soft music fills the car.

Then I remember I need to call Nisha.

I dial her number and put the phone on speaker.
She picks up on the second ring.

"Hey," I say.

"Hii... what's going on?"
Her tone is casual actually too casual.
She always speaks like this when she is masking her pain. But I let it go.

"Nothing," I reply. "I'm heading to the company."

"Oh. I'm at university. My classes just started, so I'm going."

"Okay. Don't forget to eat lunch."

"Yeah okay, bye," she says quickly and hangs up.

NISHA KAPOOR

People judge too quickly.
They look at the mask I wear and think they know the person underneath, when in reality they only know the version I allow them to see. The absence of people in my life... the silence, the distance, the hollow spaces where love should've been that is what shaped me. They call me rude, arrogant, too sharp for my age. But they forget something important.

I am the daughter of Vijay Kapoor CEO of XYLON, the empire built by my late mother, Poorvi Kapoor.
But I am also the daughter who never got attention, never had a tension-free childhood, and never truly received love the way children deserve.

I was nine when Mom left for that hotel.
For her duty.
For truth.
And she never came back. They never found her body, only her broken phone and a few torn pages from her investigation diary.

People whisper that Hotel Elysian on 13 March becomes a feeding ground for supernatural forces something dark, ancient, hungry. That whoever steps into the hotel's heart never returns alive. But I don't believe in that. I believe in humans in their greed, their rituals, their cruelty. That's what my sister and I believe: the deaths are systematic, intentional... a game played by someone powerful.

But why would anyone continue this ritual every year?
Why leave a set of blood-stained clothes with victim's name on it, in the room number 219 as a mark?

I don't know.
But Dii will find the answer.

After Mom's disappearance, Dad shattered. Our mansion filled with media, police, flashing cameras... questions no one wanted to ask. And Dii, she was just a teenager took the biggest decision of her life. She sent me to the USA, away from this suffocating chaos. To save my sanity in this caos. To save me.

I lost everything my mother, my father, my sister, my country just to survive.

But my first week in the US gave me something unexpected.

It gave me Kashwin.

FLASHBACK
I was walking through the busy corridor of my new school in the USA, humming along to the song playing in my earbuds.

"The summer's wild
And I've been waiting for you all this time
I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me?
Summer's hot but I've been cold without you.."

One thing I liked about rich American schools was the freedom no strict restrictions on calculators, earbuds, or even phones.

Suddenly, a wave of students came running straight toward me. Before I could react, they rushed past me, disappearing behind my back.

Confused, I stopped a girl who was running toward the crowd.
"Excuse me," I asked, "where are you all running, and why?"

She looked at me briefly and replied breathlessly, "Classes started half an hour ago, and we're all late. Mr. Joseph is extremely strict, and he's coming this way. We're trying to reach the classroom first."

Before I could ask anything else, she vanished into the crowd.

I stood there, stunned.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me sharply toward a classroom on the left. I was about to scream when the person covered my mouth.

I looked up.

He was... undeniably handsome.

Indian charm softened his pale skin, amber eyes glowing with mischief. His hair curled slightly onto his forehead, and there was a small mole beneath his lips. He leaned closer and said in a husky whisper,
"I'm going to remove my hand. Don't scream, or the teacher will find us."

Still lost in his looks, I barely managed to nod.

He removed his hand and quickly explained, "You were standing there completely lost, so I thought I'd help you. That's why I pulled you in here."

I glanced around. It looked like a storeroom dimly lit, quiet, but clean enough to breathe.

I cleared my throat. "Thank you."

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Then he looked at me closely, as if trying to read me, to figure me out.

I looked away immediately.
I hated when someone tried to pull off my mask. No one could know the real me. No one.

Suddenly, he asked, "Why are you upset?"

I snapped my gaze back at him. "Who told you I'm upset?"

He shrugged. "I assumed."

I met his eyes, my voice hard. "Then stop assuming nonsense."

He sensed I didn't want to talk about it and smoothly changed the topic.
"So... yeah. I'm Kashwin Malhotra, from India. And I think you are too."

I nodded. "I'm Nisha Kapoor. From India."

Suddenly, he touched his ear and muttered, "Where did I lose my earbuds?”

I instinctively touched my own ear and froze. Mine were missing too.

We both looked down and found two pairs of earbuds lying on the floor.

"Found them," I said.

He smiled in relief, picking one pair up while I picked the other. As soon as I put them in, a soft Hindi melody filled my ears.

I frowned.
I had never listened to Hindi songs before.

The lyrics floated gently:
"Abhi na jao chhod kar... ke dil abhi bhara nahi..."

He looked at me and asked, "Lana Del Rey fan?"

I nodded, realization hitting me we had picked up each other's earbuds.

I asked, "You like Hindi songs?"

He chuckled, putting his earbuds back in. "Who doesn't?"

I shrugged. "I think soft English songs have more feeling."

He looked genuinely offended. "Then you haven't listened to Hindi songs properly, Nish!"

I corrected him immediately. "It's Nisha, not Nish."

He shrugged. "Nish sounds better. And it's okay you like your English songs, I find comfort in Hindi ones."

I nodded.

Then he checked his watch. "I think sir has gone to class. Let's go."

As we walked out, I asked, "Which grade are you in?"

"High school first year," he replied casually.

I stopped and stared at him. "We're classmates, Kaash!"

He groaned. "It's Kashwin, not Kaash."

I bumped my shoulder into his and started walking ahead. "Yeah, but Kaash sounds better."

He laughed and caught up with me. "You literally ruined my name, Nish."

I smirked. "So did you."

And just like that, we became close friends.

He became the reason behind my laughter, and I made it my personal mission to annoy him more and more. But after graduation, he left.

Where?

God knows.

He never returned.

And I... kept waiting for him.

PRESENT

A harsh thought pulls me out of my memories I spoke too rudely about Mom today. In front of Dad. He worships her. she was his whole world. I should've controlled my anger.

I pull my brown hair into a ponytail, slide my feet into soft slippers, and step out of my room. The hallway is painted in warm champagne beige with gold trimming soft lights glowing against marble floors. Luxury, but quiet... just like this place has always been.

"Ms. Ahuja," I call.

She turns respectfully. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Where is my father?"

"In the painting room."

I nod and walk down the hallway. The painting room door is open. Dad sits in front of a large canvas, his hand stained with shades of gold and crimson paint. He's painting her again. My mother. The only woman he ever loved.

I clear my throat.

He looks up, smiles softly. "Hey, little trouble. What's up?"

I smile faintly and take a seat.
"Nothing... I came to say sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have talked about her like that."

He wipes his brush and gives me a knowing look.
"I'm not angry. You have every right to feel hurt. Angry. Confused. But never disrespect her."

"I know," I whisper. "I was just scared. I don't want to lose Dii, too."

His hand covers mine warm, steady.

"Why didn't you stop her from working on Mom's case?" I ask quietly.

He sighs deeply, eyes dimming with memories.
"She lived her life chasing truths. I don't want to snatch only reason of her breathing. And you know bachha, your sister... she is raised by lioness. When I can't stop your mother, how can I stop my princess? No one can stand in her way once she decides something."

I know he's right.

Then a softer curiosity tugs at me.
"Dad... if Mom was fierce, mysterious, and full of fire... why do you call her 'Sunshine'? How can someone made of dark pallette bring light?"

He chuckles gently, eyes drifting to the portrait.

"She was fire, little trouble. And fire gives light, warmth, strength... not just destruction. Her fire lit my whole life."

My chest warms at his words.
If I ever fall in love, I want someone who loves me like Dad loved Mom.

He breaks my thoughts. "Have you eaten dinner?"

I shake my head, guilty.

He sighs dramatically. "Go eat. Now."

"Yes, Dad," I smile.
"And Dii?" I ask.

"In her room, probably."

I nod. My sister always chooses shadows over company.

___________________________

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