“Meera had always been busy studying space, calculating the forces involved in rockets, but tonight the most unpredictable forces—some of them malevolent—were waiting in the space of her own apartment.”
Meera locked the door of her 3BHK apartment behind her. The cold metal clicked like a warning. Silence pressed against her ears—too heavy, too complete—but she knew the apartment was never truly empty. Life had been precise once—rockets, calculations, timelines. Everything made sense… until the accident that took her family, leaving a void her numbers could never compute.
Her father, an English professor, had often scolded her for being a workaholic. Her mother, too, hadn’t approved of her missing most family gatherings. Now, beyond life, they regretted never appreciating her accomplishments—or expressing their love.
Her brother, carefree while she had always been responsible, had a fatal flaw: he drove drunk. The night of the accident, he had booked first-day-first-show tickets for a movie starring a box-office Tamil silver-screen demigod for the whole family. Meera stayed behind in Chennai, adjusting critical data for an ISRO rocket launch.
Romance had never entered her life. Her world was calculations, research, discovery—not dates or social expectations.
Now, in death, her brother raged over absurd grievances: she hadn’t joined the ride, she had outshone him in everything, she had missed the demigod’s punchline. His jealousy had solidified into a spectral cocktail of sibling possessiveness and absurd fanboy rage.
Tonight, the apartment’s air thickened, heavy and electric. Forms flickered in the corners, casting shadows that represented her family in strange, unexplainable ways. Her parents’ presence was frantic, mournful. Her brother’s, explosive with hurt and rage.
A soft, drifting voice whispered: “Meera… please forgive us. We never told you how much we loved you.”
Her parents.
Then another voice shrieked: “You didn’t join the ride, and now I’m left behind. It’s all your fault!”
Her rational mind screamed impossibility. Her body felt every presence, tangible and insistent. Tube lights flickered. Papers spun like planets. Calculations warped into alien symbols. Shadows circled, silent but menacing.
Her parents needed forgiveness. Her brother needed… something else. Revenge. Possessiveness. Reminders of old slights.
Meera closed her eyes. “I forgive you,” she said in a broken voice. The chill dissipated. The apparitions faded, leaving only the soft crackle of her dad’s vintage radio, broadcasting late-night English poetry.
Her brother remained, attempting every terrifying trick. Papers flew, lights flickered, a gust of cold air swept past her. Meera sipped her tea, scrolling through emails, completely unfazed. She rolled her eyes. “In 5 minutes I’m making Maggi—2-minute noodles. Can you shut up until then?”
The brother apparition froze mid-distortion, muttering complaints about injustice, missed movies, sibling neglect. Beaten but not gone, it slumped into sulky gloom. Meera hummed along with the radio.
Then the apartment changed. A subtle chill brushed her neck. Shadows deepened, moving with intent. Something was coming—a presence she hadn’t sensed before.
From the darkness emerged the previous tenant—a single woman whose life had ended there. Gorgeous and malevolent, wearing an ethereal gown, eyes burning with obsession. She moved like a predator, poised for the kill—Meera would be her next target, after which the brother would be hers to torment. Jasmine-scented air swirled, heavy and intimate. Even the brother’s presence quivered, sensing a darkness far beyond his own.
“He’s mine,” hissed the voice, sweet but venomous. “This is my house. And you… don’t belong here.”
Tube lights flickered violently, like lightning ripping across a stormy night. The apartment itself seemed alive, talking secrets to itself in whispers. The apparition—a dark velvety shadow with a silky voice—crept closer, swallowing the room in a vortex of cold air. Meera just wanted to run.
She backed toward the wall. Her confidence faltered. The apartment felt alive, watching, hungry.
And then… silence.
The air hung thick, trembling as if the apartment itself waited. Meera could feel eyes—unseen, intimate, malignant—watching her. A threat she could neither measure, calculate, nor escape.
And somewhere, in the dark, it waited.
Disclaimer:
All ghosts, rockets, incidents, and one-pot meals in this story are fictional—any resemblance to real life is purely for you to fantasize about.
