A young man ran hurriedly and stopped in front of the police station, gasping for breath, his clothes drenched in sweat.
Without hesitation, he rushed inside and spotted a police officer sitting at a desk. He sprinted toward him, his voice urgent and shaky.
"Hurry! Hurry! A murder!"
The officer, startled by the man's sudden appearance, straightened up. "What? Who are you? What do you mean by murder?"
Seeing that the man was out of breath, the officer gestured for him to sit down and handed him a glass of water.
"Calm down. Drink this first," he said.
The man gulped down the water, his hands trembling. The officer leaned forward and asked, "Now, tell me—who are you? What murder are you talking about? Give me the details."
Catching his breath, the man introduced himself. "My name is Arjun. I work as a night security guard at a bank ATM nearby."
"Alright, Arjun. Are you saying you witnessed a murder? Or are you involved in it?" Office asked.
"No," Arjun shook his head quickly. "I didn't witness it, and I had nothing to do with it. I don't even know who did it."
The officer frowned. "Then how do you know a murder happened? Who was killed? And where?"
"Please, just come with me," Arjun pleaded. "I'll show you."
The officer's patience thinned. His tone turned sharp. "How can you be so sure there's been a murder if you didn't see anything? Did you do it?"
Arjun looked the officer in the eye and said, "I can't explain how I know. And if I try, you won't believe me."
The officer studied him for a moment before exhaling. "Fine. Let's go."
They got into a patrol car, and Arjun started guiding the officer toward the location.
As they drove, the officer spoke. "You have time until we reach the place—about fifteen minutes. Use it wisely. Explain everything. Let me decide whether to believe you or not."
Arjun thought for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll tell you everything."
He took a deep breath and began.
"I came to Bangalore two years ago in search of a job. I landed one at an MNC, and life was going well. But then the pandemic struck. Then came the recession. I lost my job.
For months, I struggled, attending one interview after another, but nothing worked out. Desperation pushed me to take whatever job I could find. That's how I ended up as a night security guard at a private bank's ATM."
He paused, glancing at the officer. "The ATM is right next to a bus stop."
The officer sighed, interrupting him. "Where is this going? How long is this story?"
Arjun held up a hand. "Please be patient. I'm giving you the details because, by the time I finish, you'll have many questions. You might not even believe what I’m about to tell you."
The officer glanced at the road ahead. "Fine. But you have fifteen minutes. I hope I get all my answers by then."
"I'll try," Arjun murmured. Then, he continued.
Every day at 7 p.m., my shift would start.
I carried a radio and a flask of hot coffee to keep me awake and alert. At 11 p.m., a company bus would stop at the nearby bus stand. A few employees would get down, greeted by their family and friends, who would take them home.
But among them was one girl who always walked alone.
She looked like a hardworking woman who cared more about important things than wearing bright clothes or fancy accessories. I was immediately drawn to her.
I watched her every day at the same time.
One evening, curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know where she lived. So, I followed her.
The cop listening to the story turned to me with suspicion. Sensing the tension in the air,
I quickly clarified, "You might think I’m a stalker, but let me tell you—I’m not. Every guy who's interested in a girl is naturally curious about her whereabouts."
As I followed her, she sensed it. She picked up her pace.
She thought I was a stalker. But I wasn’t.
Suddenly, one of the streetlights flickered and went out, leaving a stretch of the road in darkness.
She froze. She turned to look at me, her face filled with uncertainty.
I walked closer.
She closed her eyes and started whispering, "Please..." over and over again.
I stepped past her and switched on the torch I had in my pocket.
"You look like you need some light," I said.
She opened her eyes but didn’t reply. She just stood there, motionless.
"You don’t have to be scared," I reassured her. "I’ll hold the light so you can walk through."
Still, she didn’t move.
"Anyway, I’m leaving," I said, turning away.
After a moment, she followed—keeping a safe distance of about a hundred meters behind me.
Once her apartment came into view, she hurried inside without looking back.
I returned to my post. The next night, at the same time, I saw her get off the bus and walk in the same direction.
A thought struck me—what if the streetlight was still broken? It would be pitch dark, and she’d be afraid again.
With that concern, I decided to check.
I was right. She had stopped at the same spot, hesitating, too scared to move forward.
"Hi," I called out. "Do you need some light?
Startled, she turned to look at me. She didn’t say a word.
I offered her my torch. She refused.
I considered leaving but then changed my mind.
Instead, I walked ahead of her, lighting the way.
She followed—again, keeping a distance of 100 meters.
The next day, I was ready.
I waited for her bus.
As soon as her bus arrived,
I glanced at her and started walking toward the apartments.
She followed. This time, as we walked, I introduced myself, told her about my work—just small talk to ease the silence.
She didn’t reply. But she didn’t tell me to stop, either. She just listened.
I asked her name.
No response.An awkward silence settled between us.
Wanting to change the mood, I turned on my radio.
An old Mohammed Rafi song played. The melody was soothing. She didn’t seem to mind.
And so, it became a routine.
Every night, I would walk ahead, holding my torch, listening to Rafi’s songs on the radio.
And every night, she would follow—always keeping that hundred-meter distance.
One day, I received an emergency call from home—my mother had fallen sick.
I immediately left Bangalore and returned two days later when everything was back to normal.
After coming back to work, I didn’t see her that night. I waited at the bus stop, but when the bus arrived, she wasn’t there.
I thought she might be on leave, I felt sad that I couldn’t see her that day.
The next day, as I waited at the bus stop, the bus arrived. A few people got down, but she was nowhere to be seen. As the bus left, I turned back to leave.
Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. When I turned around, she was there.
I felt relieved and happy to see her. As I walked toward her, shining my torch, she suddenly collapsed.
I rushed to her and asked, “Are you alright?”
She gestured for me to stop.
Looking at me with surprise and happiness, she said, “You! How can you…”
I was confused, unsure of what was happening.
She stood up and said, “Please, I need your help. It’s urgent.”
It was the first time I had ever heard her speak, and though I was surprised, I was more confused about the situation.
“Sure, please tell me,” I said.
She told me her mother was in the hospital and needed urgent surgery. The doctors required a deposit of three lakhs.
She asked me to go to her house and collect the money while she went to the hospital to inform the doctors.
"But please, don’t ask any questions right now," she added.
I agreed, though my mind was full of questions.
When I asked for the key to her apartment and the safe, she explained that both had smart locks and needed passcodes.
She gave me the password, the hospital’s address, and told me to meet her there within an hour.
As I was leaving, she called my name.
I turned back, and she said, "I trust you."
I understood the weight of those words and assured her, "You can."
I went back to my workplace, changed into casual clothes, locked the place, and sneaked past the security guard at her apartment. I took the money and went straight to the hospital.
She was waiting outside when I arrived. She told me to deposit the money in the billing section under her mother's name—Janaki. She also asked me to visit her mother and tell her that I was on a business trip and wouldn’t be able to meet or talk to her for a few days.
"If my mother asks about you, just tell her you’re my colleague," she added.
I did as she asked, then came out and told her it was done.
She thanked me.
I said, "Is this the right time to ask my questions?"
She looked at me and nodded.
"I know what you're going to ask," she said. "But before you do, I want to tell you about myself. I believe it will answer all your questions."
I was happy that we finally got to talk.
She introduced herself as Swathi. She and her mother had moved from their hometown in Mangalore five years ago so she could continue her studies. They moved into the apartment she currently lived in.
After finishing college, she got a job as a supply chain manager.
She said her life was going well.
Until one day, her mother collapsed.
At the hospital, doctors diagnosed her with brain inflammation. She needed immediate treatment. Swathi had taken loans and used insurance money to cover the medical expenses.
She said she was all alone, scared, and distressed every day.
"Walking home late at night after work was terrifying," she admitted. "But I was relieved when you were there with your torch."
She also said, "Throughout the day, the only time I forgot my worries was when I walked from the bus stop to my apartment. You led the way, and the soothing song on the radio made everything feel better."
But then things changed.
"On March 22nd, after work, I reached the bus stop as usual. But you weren’t there." She said.
"I waited for a few minutes, then assumed you weren't coming that day. So, I started walking toward my apartment."
"Before entering the dark street, i paused for a moment. There were no streetlights."
"As i stepped forward, a speeding car hit me. My body was thrown several meters away."
She looked at me and said, "I died that night."
I was shocked.
"Stop joking!" I said. "You look alive to me. If you don’t want to tell me the truth, that’s fine, but don’t joke like this."
She didn’t say anything.
Instead, she reached out her hand and told me to hold it.
I hesitated. "What?"
"Just do it," she insisted.
Trembling with fear, I reached for her hand—but my hand passed right through hers.
I fell to the ground in shock.
She looked at me and said, "Since that night, I’ve been trying to ask people for help, but no one could see me… until you."
I was terrified. I ran back to my room, gasping for breath.
But before I could even process what had happened, she appeared before me again.
I was too scared to speak.
"Please leave," I finally managed to say.
She started crying.
Even though she was a ghost, I couldn’t stand seeing her cry.
I took a deep breath and said, "I’m sorry for reacting like that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there that night."
She calmed down.
I asked her, "What happened next?"
the officer driving the car stopped abruptly.
He looked at me with a serious expression.
"Are you kidding me?" he snapped. "Do you think I’m a fool? How dare you waste my time with this nonsense!"
I sighed. "Sir, I told you before—you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth. But there’s one more thing she told me. And that made everything clear."
The officer frowned. "What is it?"
She told me, i would find her Mobile phone in this car gloves box,
I took out the phone from the glove box.
I looked him in the eye.
"Why did you do it, sir?"
His face went pale.
"What?" he stammered.
"Why did you kill her?" I asked.
Sweat formed on his forehead. His hands trembled.
"I—I didn’t do anything," he mumbled.
Suddenly, Swathi appeared in the back of the car. The car went out of control, speeding up. She had taken control of the steering.
The officer tried to regain control, but he failed.
I looked at him and said, "Confess now. Why did you do it?"
Suddenly, his seatbelt tightened around his neck. He was choking.
I repeated, "Confess now, or stay silent forever."
Panicking, he nodded in agreement. The belt loosened, and he gasped for air. Then, he finally spoke.
He admitted that he had been drunk while driving. The street had no lights, and when Swathi suddenly appeared in front of his patrol car, he couldn’t stop in time. He hit her. Since no one had seen it happen, he bribed a cremation worker and secretly burned her body.
Later, Swathi’s ghost possessed the officer. In court, using his body, she confessed the truth. The officer was sentenced to ten years in prison.
After everything was over, Swathi appeared one last time.
We said our goodbyes.
She looked at me and said, "I wonder what connection we had… Why was I only visible to you and no one else?"
I already knew the answer.
The torchlight.
