As the clock struck midnight, Arjun noticed something chilling: Vasudev’s lantern was burning bright, but there was no oil in the reservoir.
"I’ve lost my way to the station," the old man said, his voice raspy. "May I seek shelter until the rain stops?" As the clock struck midnight, Arjun noticed something
Arjun hesitated, his mind racing with urban legends and safety protocols. But the ghost of his grandfather’s voice echoed in his head. He stepped aside. "Come in." But the ghost of his grandfather’s voice echoed
In the misty hills of the Deccan, Arjun lived a life of quiet isolation. He was a man of strict routine, a software engineer who preferred the company of code to people. His grandfather had always instilled in him the ancient mantra: Atithi Devobhava —the guest is a god. But in the modern world, Arjun viewed every knock on the door as an intrusion. He was a man of strict routine, a