Rakshit 's pov :
The day of Nandini's engagement had arrived, and I was getting ready to head over to Nitu's house. It was a small ceremony, just as Nandini had requested, preferring something simple and intimate. As I tied my shoes, my gaze shifted to the manuscript and the black feather locket resting on top of it. Two days ago, I had noticed Nandini wasn't wearing the locket anymore. When I asked Nitu about it, she had no idea why Nandini took it off either.
I even went ahead and asked Nandini directly if I could take the necklace, pretending I wanted to create something similar for Nitu. She agreed without hesitation, which only made things feel stranger. Nitu and I were the only ones who knew the real reason why I took it-the locket was our last hope, our last connection to Yash. But now, with Nandini suddenly deciding to take it off, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it was time to let go, just like Nitu had said.
Before heading to Nitu's house, I made an unplanned detour. I drove to Nandini's old house-the place where everything had started. The backyard was as creepy as I remembered, overgrown with grass, with a faint eerie atmosphere that I couldn't ignore. The grave dig was still there, covered with weeds but clearly visible. I stood there, staring at the ground.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the time to say goodbye, once and for all.
I took out the manuscript and the locket, holding them up as if they weighed a ton. "Then maybe it's time to say goodbye, brother," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the wind. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed both the manuscript and the locket into the grave. For closure-or maybe for a miracle. I wasn't sure which.
I stood there for a moment, waiting for something-anything-to happen. The sky started to darken, and the first few drops of rain hit my face. I didn't know I had tears in my eyes too, blending in with the rain.
"Well, this is it," I whispered to myself. "Maybe it's the end." A small, defeated smile tugged at my lips as I turned to leave.
Just as I was about to step out of the backyard, a sudden gust of wind picked up, swirling the black feather and the red mist around me. The sky darkened further, and a feeling of pure dread settled in my gut. It was like one of those horror movie moments, where you know something's about to go down, but you can't stop it. I froze, and in the flash of lightning, I saw it.
A hand.
I screamed-like, actually screamed-in horror, my heart racing in my chest. But then I heard it: "Pull me up."
That voice.
I turned around slowly, my eyes wide. There, in the grave, was none other than Yashwardhan Singhania, lying there like he had just tripped and fallen into a ditch. I blinked a few times, trying to process what I was seeing.
"Y-Yash?!"
Before I could even think, I ran towards him, nearly slipping on the wet ground. He was lying there, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he had just risen from what I thought was his metaphorical grave. Before picking him up, I did the only logical thing my brain could come up with in the moment-I pulled out my phone and took a picture.
Yash looked at me, confused. "What the hell are you doing?"
I clicked the picture and tucked the phone back into my pocket. "Just confirming you're not some ghost or...you know, something else."
Yash blinked at me. "Seriously?"
I shrugged. "I've seen too many horror movies, okay? Better safe than sorry."
He groaned, pulling himself up with my help, and dusted himself off, looking around like he'd just woken up from a nap. "You're an idiot, Rakshit."
I grinned, still half in disbelief. "Well, at least I'm not the one who just crawled out of a grave."
YOU ARE READING
The Forbidden Manuscript : a Villain's Tale
FantasyNandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...