The room was bathed in a thick, artificial crimson. The only light came from a single lamp draped in a scarlet silk scarf. On the bed, Ria lay curled like a cat, her fingers tracing the jawline of the man lying beside her. His face was entirely obscured by a red cloth, draped over him like a burial veil.
"Stay," Ria whispered, her voice uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the venom she used at college. She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow, terrifyingly steady thrum of his heart. "Please... don't leave tonight. Just stay until the sun comes up."
The man didn't speak. He didn't move. He simply lay there, a silent statue in red, while the scent of expensive cologne and copper filled the air.
The Interrogation
The following morning at GEC, the smell of cheap floor cleaner and panic hung heavy in the air. Inspector Dhillon sat at Professor Verma's desk, looking like a man who hadn't slept since the late nineties. One by one, the students were ushered in.
When Raj stepped inside, he looked even paler than usual. He fidgeted with his glasses, his eyes darting to the Inspector's notepad.
"Sir," Raj began, his voice cracking slightly. "I noticed the crime scene photos being moved. Based on the trajectory of the bolt, the killer must have calculated the height of the victim to within two centimeters. That's not a crime of passion; it's a physics problem."
Dhillon looked up, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face. He gestured to the other officers in the room. "Look at this, boys. We've got Sherlock Holmes' malnourished cousin here. Tell me, son, does the magnifying glass help you find your way to the bathroom, or just help you spot the girls who won't talk to you?"
The officers roared with laughter. "Go back to your books, 'four-eyes,'" Dhillon sneered. "Leave the real blood to the men who don't faint at the sight of a papercut."
Outside the office, the 'Elite' group was leaning against the lockers, looking bored.
"That Inspector is a total vibe-killer," Shila said, filing her nails. "He asked me if I noticed anything unusual. I told him the only thing unusual was how bad his breath smelled."
"Honestly, Ajay doing the 'exit-stage-left' in a toilet is the highlight of the semester," Dwivedi chuckled. "At least we don't have to submit that assignment on Monday."
"I heard the arrow went through his mouth," Syed added with a smirk. "Finally, a way to keep him from talking about Calculus."
"I bet he looked like a human kebab," Rahul laughed, leaning against the wall. "A very salty, very dead kebab."
"Maybe the arrow was just looking for a brain and got lost in his skull," Pihoo whispered, prompting a round of high-fives.
"Guys, be nice," Rehan said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "He died doing what he loved—being a pain in everyone's ass."
The Apartment and the Theory
Raj and Subin retreated to the far end of the cafeteria. Subin was nervously crushing a packet of chips.
"Listen, Subin," Raj whispered, leaning in. "The bathroom was locked from the inside. The killer didn't enter the room. They rigged the mechanism days ago. They knew Ajay's routine. They knew exactly how he'd lift that lid."
"You're getting too deep into this, Raj," Subin said, his eyes scanning the room. "And honestly? I can't focus on murder when I'm thinking about your life. You're lucky, man. You've got that nice apartment in Noida, AC, high-speed internet, probably a fridge full of cold soda. Meanwhile, I'm in the hostel sharing a room with a guy who talks to his socks and smells like fermented cabbage."
"The apartment is just a place to read, Subin," Raj dismissed.
"Yeah? Well, I'd rather read in your 'place' than survive the bio-hazard of the GEC dorms," Subin grumbled. "Seriously, I think my roommate is growing a new civilization in his laundry bag."
Their conversation was cut short as Ria approached, her eyes fixed on Raj. She leaned over their table, ignoring Subin entirely. "Still playing detective, Raj? You look like you're about to have a heart attack. Or maybe you're just excited that I'm talking to you?"
"I'm just... thinking," Raj stammered.
"You think too much. It makes you look even nerdier," Ria said, reaching out to flick his ear. There was a strange, frantic energy in her eyes—an obsession she couldn't quite mask.
"Hey! Leave him alone," Subin piped up, his mouth full of chips.
Rahul marched over, his face darkening as he saw Ria hovering over Raj. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in. "Ria, enough. Why are you even wasting breath on this trash?"
"Let go, Rahul!" Ria snapped, trying to wrench her arm away.
Suddenly, Rehan stepped between them, his hand landing on Rahul's chest. "Watch it, big guy. She's just a girl, and you're acting like a gorilla. Don't be a cliché."
Rahul glared at Rehan, the air thick with potential violence. Shila pointed toward the exit. "Guys, look! The nerds ran away while you were chest-thumping!"
The Shadow of the Flame
The first thing Rahul felt was the cold. Then, the rough texture of rope against his wrists and ankles.
He opened his eyes. He was in a room with no doors. No windows. Just four walls of raw, grey concrete. He was tied to a metal bed frame, the mattress removed, leaving him lying on cold iron slats.
"What the... What is this?!" Rahul screamed, his voice echoing off the walls. "Show yourself, you coward! Come at me! You think this is funny? I'll kill you! I'll snap your neck!"
The only light came from a single, thick candle sitting on a wooden stool a few feet away. The flame flickered, casting a long, dancing shadow against the wall.
Rahul stared at the shadow. His breathing slowed as his engineering brain—the part of him he usually ignored—began to scream.
The flame has a shadow.
In the natural world, a candle flame is a source of light. It doesn't cast a shadow because the light passes through the ionized gas of the plasma. For a flame to have a shadow, the light hitting it would have to be more intense than the flame itself, or the 'flame' wasn't a flame at all. It was an impossibility. An optical nightmare.
"That's not... that's not possible," Rahul whispered, his bravado vanishing. "The refractive index... the opacity of the carbon soot... a flame doesn't have a shadow."
As he stared at the impossible shadow, the bed frame beneath him began to glow a dull, angry orange. The mattress hadn't been removed, it had been replaced with a bed of hidden gas jets beneath the iron slats.
With a soft whoosh, the bed erupted into a roar of blue and orange fire.
The metal slats turned white-hot instantly. Rahul's scream was a ragged, soul-tearing sound as the flames licked at his back, melting the skin into the iron. The impossible candle watched him, its shadow dancing mockingly on the wall as the jock of GEC was cooked alive in a room that didn't exist.