The water was tepid, but he didn't mind. He lay submerged, ears underwater, listening to the muffled, rhythmic thumping of his own heart. The bathroom was a tomb of shadows; the power wasn't out, he just hadn't bothered to flick the switch. He preferred the dark. It hid the edges of things.
When he finally rose, the water cascaded off his skin like heavy silk. He reached for the ivory towel hanging over the rack. As he pressed the plush fabric against his chest, a sickening transformation occurred. The white cotton didn't just dampen; it bloomed. A violent, visceral crimson spread from his skin into the fibers, turning the towel the color of a fresh wound. He didn't scream. He simply watched the red soak through, dripping onto the cold tile floor.
The Gates of GEC
7:30 AM. Ghaziabad.
The alarm clock on the security desk at Gautam Engineering College (GEC) flickered with a dusty red glow. Outside, a rusted yellow bus screeched to a halt at the main gate, belching a cloud of diesel smoke.
The back of the bus was a zoo. "Oi, Shila! Looking like a literal snack today," Rehan yelled over the seat, followed by a string of colorful Hindi profanities that made the girls in the front row stiffen.
"Ignore them," Pihoo whispered, though she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and suppressed a smirk. "They're just dogs barking."
"Yeah," Shila giggled, glancing back at the rowdy group. "But at least they're loud dogs."
Amidst the chaos sat Raj. His skin was the color of old parchment, punctuated by dark circles that suggested he hadn't slept since the previous semester. His nose was buried in a dog-eared detective novel. As the bus jolted, Raj stood up to exit, his eyes still glued to the page.
Thud.
He collided with Ria. Her expensive perfume was immediately replaced by the smell of tension. Before Raj could even blink, a sharp crack echoed through the bus aisle. His glasses skewed sideways. His cheek burned.
"You blind, four-eyes?" Ria hissed, her eyes flashing.
"I—I'm so sorry, Ria. The bus lurched, and I --"
"Sorry doesn't fix my mood, nerd," Ria snapped, crossing her arms. The back-benchers went silent, leaning in for the show. "Apologies are cheap. If you're really sorry, get down on your knees. Kiss my feet and maybe I'll let you go to class without a black eye."
Raj felt the heat crawl up his neck. Humiliation was a heavy weight. He looked at the floor, his knees beginning to tremble, when a booming voice cut through the smog.
"That is enough!"
Professor Ajay Verma stood at the bus door, his briefcase looking like a weapon. The Faculty of Engineering Maths 1 did not do 'mercy.' "Ria, this isn't a film set. Move. Now. And Raj, if I see that book in my lecture, I will ensure your internal marks become a work of fiction. Move!"
The Lecture Hall
Inside the humid classroom, the ceiling fans groaned as if they were tired of Calculus. Raj sat next to Subin, who was currently trying to discreetly eat a samosa from a plastic bag.
"Bro, she almost had you licking the floor," Subin whispered, his Tamil-accented Hindi thick with worry. "You need to stop reading about Sherlock and start looking at where you're walking. Real life doesn't have a narrator, man."
"It's fine, Subin," Raj muttered, rubbing his sore cheek. "I just wasn't paying attention."
"Clearly," Subin grunted, taking a massive bite. "Anyway, did you see the new Poirot adaptation? The mustache is all wrong. It looks like a dead caterpillar."
Across the room, the 'Elite' group sat in a semicircle of expensive sneakers and iPhones.
"Ajay Verma is a total buzzkill," Dwivedi grumbled, spinning a pen. "Ruined a perfectly good morning. I wanted to see the nerd crawl."
"He's a fossil," Rehan added, a strange, distant look in his eyes. "Fossils eventually turn to dust, don't they?"
Rahul, the college jock, leaned in close to Ria, placing a heavy arm around her chair. "Forget the nerd. I've got tickets for that new horror flick tonight. You, me, and a dark theater?"
Ria rolled her eyes and shoved his arm off with a sneer. "In your dreams, Rahul. You smell like a gym locker and desperation. Sit back."
The group erupted in "Oohs," and Rahul's face turned a mottled purple. Rehan, sitting at the edge of the group, just watched them all with a thin, unsettling smile.
The Dinner
Night fell over Ghaziabad like a heavy shroud. Professor Ajay Verma sat in a dimly lit corner of The Grand Spice, across from his wife.
"The students are getting more brazen, Sunita," Ajay sighed, poking at his paneer tikka. "No discipline. No respect for the variables."
"You work too hard, Ajay. Forget the college for one night," his wife replied gently.
"You're right. Excuse me for a moment."
Ajay walked toward the restaurant's restroom. It was a single-occupant room, tiled in sterile, flickering white. He walked to the commode, intending to use it. As he reached down and gripped the lid to lift it, there was no sound of water—only a sharp, mechanical thrum.
The lid flew open. From the dark bowl beneath, a spring-loaded mechanism hissed. A high-velocity carbon-fiber arrow, barely six inches long, shrieked upward.
It entered through the soft tissue under Ajay's jaw and tore through the roof of his mouth, the steel tip erupting through the crown of his skull with a wet crunch.
Ajay didn't even have time to gasp. His body slammed against the stall door, his eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, blood beginning to pool in the porcelain bowl behind him. The silence that followed was absolute.
The Aftermath
The next morning, GEC was not a college; it was a crime scene. Yellow tape fluttered in the wind. The news had traveled faster than a leaked exam paper.
"Did you hear?" Subin whispered to a pale Raj. "The Math prof... they found him in a bathroom. They say his head was pinned like a butterfly in a collection."
The students stood in hushed circles, faces pale with genuine terror. But amidst the sea of shocked expressions, Rehan stood by the fountain. He wasn't crying. He wasn't scared. He leaned against the stone, a sly, knowing smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, triumphant light.