Chapter 1
The Roy family had always believed that happiness could be found even in the smallest spaces.
Their rented flat wasn't big—just two small bedrooms, a narrow living room, and a kitchen that barely fit two people at once. But for Mr. and Mrs. Roy, their elder son Arko, and their youngest, Sohom Roy, it was enough.
Sohom was only three years old. A cheerful child with curious eyes and a laugh that could brighten even the darkest day. He followed his mother everywhere, holding onto the edge of her saree, giggling without a care in the world.
Life was simple. Peaceful.
Until the day everything changed.
It started with a feeling.
"I don't like this flat anymore," Mrs. Roy said one evening, her voice uneasy. "Something feels… wrong."
Mr. Roy looked up from his newspaper. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "It's just a feeling. Especially that room."
She pointed toward the smaller bedroom—the one with the large window.
That window had no grills.
To make it safe, she had covered it tightly with thick cloth, tying it from all sides so no one could accidentally get too close.
"We'll move out soon," Mr. Roy assured her. "Just a few more days."
The decision was made.
They would leave the flat.
The day before they were supposed to move, the house was filled with boxes. Clothes packed, utensils wrapped, memories folded into cardboard.
That afternoon, Mrs. Roy stood near the window.
For some reason, she untied the cloth covering it.
Maybe she wanted fresh air.
Maybe she thought nothing would happen anymore.
Or maybe… something made her do it.
The window was open now.
Unprotected.
Silent.
Sohom was playing on the floor with his toy car.
"Vroom… vroom…" he murmured, pushing it forward, laughing softly.
No one noticed when he stood up.
No one noticed when his tiny feet carried him closer to the window.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
And then—
A scream.
Mrs. Roy dropped everything and ran.
"Sohom?!"
But he was gone.
The window stood wide open, the curtain moving slightly in the afternoon breeze.
Below, on the hard ground…
their little boy lay motionless.
The world shattered that day.
Neighbors gathered. People shouted. Some blamed the flat owner.
"How can there be no grills on the window?!"
"This is negligence!"
"This is murder!"
Protests started. Anger filled the air.
The flat owner, under pressure, offered the Roy family another flat in the same building.
A different room.
A "safer" place.
But nothing felt safe anymore.
Days passed.
But peace never returned.
At night, Mrs. Roy would hear soft footsteps.
Tap… tap… tap…
Like tiny feet running across the floor.
She would sit up, heart pounding.
"Sohom…?"
No answer.
Arko refused to enter the old room.
"I saw him," he whispered one night, trembling. "He was standing near the window… looking at me."
Mr. Roy tried to stay strong.
"It's just our imagination," he said.
But even he wasn't sure anymore.
Because sometimes…
late at night…
he heard a faint voice.
"Ma…"
The new flat wasn't normal either.
Toys would move on their own.
Doors would creak open slowly.
And sometimes, the smell of baby powder filled the room—Sohom's favorite.
But the worst was the old room.
The one from where Sohom fell.
Anyone who entered it felt cold.
Unnaturally cold.
As if someone was watching.
Waiting.
One evening, a new tenant came to see that room.
"I like this place," the man said. "Good light, nice space."
As he stepped closer to the window—
something moved behind him.
A shadow.
Small.
Still.
Watching.
The man froze.
He felt a tiny hand touch his arm.
Cold.
Ice cold.
He turned slowly.
No one.
Then—
A soft giggle.
Childlike.
Echoing inside the empty room.
"Ma…"
The man ran out, screaming.
They say Sohom Roy never left that flat.
A three-year-old child…
who didn't understand death.
Who still searched for his mother.
Who still waited by the window.
And if you ever enter that room—
you might feel it too.
A tiny presence.
A silent stare.
Because Sohom is still there.
Watching.
Waiting.