Chapter 7: The Chudail’s Secret

She frowned and pointed at the wood. "Where did you get that? Throw it away."

Her voice was softer, almost pleading, but beneath it ran a current of anger sharp as a knife. She stepped closer, but not close enough to touch the wood.

I looked at her and said weakly, "No. I’m not throwing it out."

My voice shook, but I clung to the wood as if it was my lifeline, refusing to blink or look away.

We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, she sighed. "That’s peepal wood."

She shook her head, lips pressed together. I caught a glimpse of something ancient and tired in her eyes—a sadness that didn’t belong to someone so young and beautiful.

She laughed, a sound that sent chills down my spine. "You think peepal wood keeps us away? It calls us, taxi-wale."

Her voice was almost mocking now, as if she was sharing a secret nobody else knew. The street around us seemed to darken a shade.

"Didn’t you feel something off while you were driving tonight?"

My pupils shrank, and my breathing quickened.

The memory of that cold patch on my scalp, the way my fingers tingled on the steering wheel, rushed back. I had ignored it, blaming the old AC, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Come to think of it, the back of my head really had felt cold all night.

I thought it was just my imagination.

But now, the old man’s words, her haunted eyes, and my own racing heart told a different story. And outside, the city was waking, but for me, dawn had never felt so far away.