Something had shifted.
Rudra wasn't sure when it began—maybe it was the cold draft that crept through the dorm window despite it being shut, or maybe it was the way the corridor lights flickered exactly when he passed. Small things. Things no one else noticed.
But Rudra noticed everything.
He kept his expression blank, his voice calm. He didn't want the others to know what he suspected: someone was watching him.
Being Watched
The problem wasn't fear. Rudra didn't fear. Not in the way others did. What unsettled him was the precision of it.
Whoever it was, they were skilled.
For two nights, he ran silent tests. He placed a thin thread of fishing wire across the hallway door—twice it was disturbed, though no one admitted entering. He rubbed chalk dust lightly over the floor near his bedside—twice the prints came and vanished by morning.
Then came the messages.
Slipped under his pillow in the middle of the night. Typed on old, yellowed paper. No signature.
"You're not the only one with eyes."
"Curiosity kills more than cats."
"You were never invisible. Just unimportant. Until now."
Rudra didn't flinch.
But a part of him, buried under years of training and logic, felt something. Not fear. Not paranoia.
Something worse—recognition.
The Discovery
It was like facing a mirror in the dark: blurred, distorted, but undeniably familiar.
He'd spent years learning to predict people. To read their patterns, manipulate outcomes, stay three steps ahead. But now, someone was doing it to him.
At breakfast, he noticed the stares. Not obvious ones—calculated glances. People looking and quickly looking away. Was it guilt? Fear? Or was he imagining it?
In the afternoon, Rudra skipped the lecture. Instead, he returned to the abandoned biology lab—this time with gloves, a flashlight, and a crowbar.
The door gave way with a groan.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and something else… a sharp, metallic stench. He scanned the room: broken furniture, scattered books, old jars of formaldehyde. Nothing obvious.
Until he found the mirror.
Large. Cracked. Leaning against the far wall.
It hadn't been there before. He was sure.
He approached slowly.
Written in jagged letters on the surface—using what looked like dried red ink—were four words:
"You are not alone."
Behind the mirror, hidden in the wall cavity, he found a camera. Modern. Wireless. Streaming.
Someone had been watching the lab.
Rudra's breath didn't quicken. His hands didn't shake. But inside, the calm shattered slightly.
This wasn't just about Varun anymore.
This was a game.
And Rudra was no longer the only player.