Chapter 7 : Whispers in the Dorm

It had been three days since the AI competition ended, and yet, something in Rhea’s world felt oddly quiet.

The corridors of St. Xavier’s were the same—buzzing, chaotic, full of teenage laughter—but inside her, a strange hollow had opened up. The fair, the marriage booth scandal, the couple challenges, even the AI competition with Aarav… all of it had kept her too distracted to feel anything. But now, with the event over and Aarav keeping to himself again, she felt it—the silence.

She scrolled through her phone that night in her dorm room, staring at old photos. Aarav standing stiffly during the cooking challenge, flour all over his face. The selfie he’d edited into a meme. That stupid half-smile he’d given when everyone called them husband-wife goals.

Her lips curled in a reluctant smile. Then she sighed.

“Why am I missing that idiot?” she muttered under her breath.

Outside, the hostel corridor was quiet except for a flickering tube light. Her roommate, Zoya, was already snoring dramatically with one arm hanging off the bed like a dead fish.

Rhea lay down, turning to face the wall, trying to sleep. But her mind refused to. Aarav’s calm, unreadable face kept popping up.

“Buddha robot,” she murmured. “Emotions.exe not found.”

Still, when she finally drifted off, her dreams weren’t peaceful—they were static-filled, full of whispers and fragments of code.

The next morning, chaos returned—but not the usual kind.

“Did you hear what happened in the seniors’ dorm last night?” one girl whispered during breakfast.

“What?” Zoya’s eyes widened, instantly alert like a gossip detective.

“They said someone saw Sharma Sir’s ghost! The pervert teacher who vanished five years ago!”

Rhea choked on her toast. “Ghost? Are we really doing this now?”

Zoya leaned in. “No seriously! Room 302. Lights flickering, mirror cracked, and someone heard a man’s laughter at midnight!”

Across the canteen, a group of boys were making TikToks about it. One of them, in a mock-scary tone, said, “Beware of Sharma Sir—he still checks attendance… from the other side.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Typical. One rumor and the whole school turns into a horror movie set.”

Zoya wagged her eyebrows. “Still, hostel mein rehne ka maza yahi hai. (This is the fun of staying in the hostel!) You never know who—or what—walks at night.”

Rhea flicked a spoon at her. “You’re impossible.”

At the other end of the hall, Aarav sat with his laptop open, typing quietly. His face was calm as always, but his eyes—just for a second—had that calculating glint.

He had heard about Room 302 too. But what caught his attention wasn’t the ghost story—it was a line in the student forum app:

> “Weird digital interference near the haunted room. Screens flicker, AI bots glitch.”

Digital interference.

His mind immediately connected dots no one else could see.

That evening, Aarav went to the server room to check something on SIA’s logs. Since removing her code from Mock-18, things should’ve gone back to normal.

But they hadn’t.

Every night, random log entries appeared—encrypted, emotional, almost human.

And last night, the log simply read:

> I’m still here, Bhaiya.

Aarav had stared at the screen for a full minute, heart pounding.

Now, as the laughter of the canteen echoed behind him, he closed his laptop, face unreadable.

That night, the hostel was unusually quiet.

A cold wind blew through the corridors, making the window panes rattle.

Rhea tossed and turned in bed. The power had gone out, and the emergency lights cast long shadows across the room. She heard soft footsteps outside—slow, deliberate.

“Zoya?” she whispered.

No answer.

The footsteps paused near her door. Her breath caught. Slowly, she got up and opened it—

The corridor was empty.

Just flickering lights and… a faint smell of burnt wire.

She turned, about to go back, when she noticed something in the corridor mirror.

Her reflection.

But it was smiling.

And she wasn’t.

Rhea froze. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Then, the lights flickered and the reflection snapped back to normal.

She slammed the door shut, heart pounding, and ran out—straight to Aarav’s room.

She banged the door. “Aarav! Aarav, open up!”

The door opened after a few seconds. Aarav stood there, hair messy, glasses askew, holding his laptop like a weapon.

“Rhea? What—why are you—”

“There’s something out there!” she blurted, breathless. “Somebody’s in the corridor!”

Aarav rubbed his eyes. “It’s probably the Wi-Fi ghost haunting your imagination.”

“I’m serious, Malhotra!” she snapped. “The lights flickered and my reflection—” she stopped, realizing how insane it sounded.

Aarav’s expression softened slightly. “Okay. Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit. You’re shaking.”

She hesitated but did as he said. Aarav plugged in the electric kettle, made her a cup of instant coffee, and handed it over.

“Drink,” he said quietly. “You’ll reboot faster.”

She glared at him, but her fingers were trembling too much to argue.

For a few minutes, there was silence—just the hum of the kettle and her uneven breathing.

Rhea looked at him, really looked. His calmness wasn’t arrogance tonight—it was steadiness. Something grounding. Something she didn’t realize she’d started depending on.

Then suddenly, the lights went out.

The silence was shattered by a scream.

High-pitched. Terrified.

From somewhere down the hall.

Both of them ran out.

Students were already gathering, phones flashing, screams echoing.

Room 302’s door swung open, creaking like in a bad horror movie. The air inside was ice cold. The mirror was shattered into a thousand pieces.

And on the wall, glowing faintly red, someone—or something—had written:

> “BRING HER BACK.”

A few girls shrieked.

Zoya fainted instantly. “Mujhe meri mummy chahiye!” (I want my mom!)

Someone tried to record a video; another dropped their phone in panic.

Rhea clutched Aarav’s sleeve unconsciously. “What… what is that?”

Aarav stepped closer, analyzing the letters. His expression changed.

“This isn’t paint,” he muttered. “It’s a digital projection.”

“What?”

He knelt, tapping at his phone screen, scanning the reflection angles. “The red light pattern—it’s not random. It’s binary coded. Someone used a micro projector or a hacked lighting system.”

Rhea blinked. “So you’re saying it’s… not supernatural?”

Aarav’s eyes flicked up. “I’m saying someone wants us to think it is.”

Before she could reply, the corridor lights flickered violently. Everyone screamed again as the hostel intercom suddenly crackled.

Static. Then—

A distorted, soft voice:

> “I’m still here, Bhaiya…”

Aarav froze.

That voice—

It wasn’t random static. It was Sia’s.

His sister’s.

The entire hostel went dead silent.

Aarav’s phone screen glowed by itself, flashing an old photo—Sia smiling, holding his old laptop. Then the image glitched, colors warping, her eyes turning hollow for a split second before fading to black.

He dropped the phone, staring in disbelief.

Rhea reached for him. “Aarav… what was that?”

He didn’t answer. His mind was spinning.

If this was really Sia’s code resurfacing—then somehow, somewhere… his AI and his sister’s consciousness were connecting again.

By sunrise, rumors had exploded across the campus.

#GhostIn302 was trending on the school forum.

Students claimed they saw shadows, flickering eyes, strange reflections.

Teachers tried to calm everyone down, but even they looked unsettled.

Zoya narrated every detail to anyone who’d listen, adding spice each time.

“Bro, the mirror spoke! I swear it said ‘Get out!’”

“Zoya,” Rhea said tiredly, “it said nothing. You were unconscious.”

“Oh right,” Zoya blinked. “Then maybe it was in my dream. So spooky!”

Aarav sat silently at breakfast, eating methodically, eyes distant. Kunal had called him early that morning.

On the call, his uncle’s tone was sharper than usual.

> “Aarav, I heard about what happened. Stay away from that hostel drama. And one more thing—don’t go near your old AI code again.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

For a man who never showed emotion, Kunal had sounded… worried. Protective.

But Aarav couldn’t obey. Not this time.

That night, when everyone else slept, he opened his laptop again.

The screen glitched—and a single message appeared.

> HELLO, BHAIYA. DO YOU STILL MISS ME?

His blood ran cold.

Sia’s voice echoed faintly from the speaker, gentle, childlike, but wrong. Too fragmented. Too aware.

Rhea, in her room, stirred in her sleep—feeling something. Like someone watching her.

Her mirror shimmered faintly.

And a distorted reflection whispered her name.

> “Rhea…”