Hairpin Nine ch 2

The red brake lights of the stuck cars painted the wet road in red lines.
Murugan yanked at the yellow caution tape strung across the bike-accident spot, his face dark. “Hey! Did you log the number?! Where are you even going with that bag in the dark, who do you think you are?! How dare you walk past this barrier—do you know how many vehicles fell off the cliff right here?!”
I stepped back, hands up: “Sorry, sir—accidentally did it, sorry, sir! I already logged my number with the constable, sir—”
Murugan made an angry sound, turning back to pull the tape loose while casting one final, heavy glare at my back. Even as I walked past the edge, the yellow tape fluttered in his grip like a trapped wing in the fog, his car headlamps burning a white hole into the mist behind us.
The noise of the cars muffled down. Just the wet sound of my shoes on the gravel.
Past the chained eucalyptus tree right near hairpin nine, Karthik stood with a heavy bag on his shoulder, looking frustrated as he stared into the gray mist. He tried to light a cigarette with an orange lighter, but it wouldn't catch.
I took out my lighter and shared the flame. We shook hands.
“BLR?” he asked, shielding the fire.
“Whitefield,” I said.
“Bellandur,” he muttered. “Karthik.”
“Arun.”
As we smoked together under the tree, Karthik asked, “Where do you work?”
“Cyber Park,” I said.
Karthik nodded. “Nice. I work at Infosys.”
“Oh man, I've been trying to get a chance there for a long time,” I said.
Karthik grinned, slapping my shoulder like an old friend. Just like that, we clicked.
Then Karthik let out a breath and rubbed his neck. “Man, I missed my bus.”
I smiled. “Don't sweat it. I booked two tickets for me and my friend, she dropped out at the last minute. When I asked the conductor, he said they’ll send a replacement bus. You can come with me.”
Karthik’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you so much, bro!”
Right then, an air horn blasted through the mist. The conductor started calling out for passengers to board the replacement bus. Karthik stayed right with me. We got on, sat side by side, and talked as the bus rolled through the dark ghat roads.
The passenger sitting near us looked a bit confused by our chatter, and the conductor glanced down the aisle with a brief frown at our row, before both just turned away and dropped the subject.
Later, the bus halted at a roadside dhaba for a food break.
Karthik stood up. “Let me go to the washroom real quick.”
“What do you want to eat?” I asked.
“Paratha and chicken curry is enough,” he said.
“Go ahead, I'll order and get it ready.”
I ordered the food, sat down at the table, and waited. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Karthik didn't come back.
I checked the washroom—empty. I walked back out to the parking lot and searched everywhere between the parked trucks and tables. Nothing.
Panicking a little, I hurried back onto the bus and grabbed the conductor by the sleeve. “Did you see the guy who was sitting beside me? Where did he go?”
The conductor’s eyes widened, staring straight through me. “No one was sitting beside you, sir.”
A sharp cold stitch pulled behind my eyes. I blinked—
—and the room smelled of old mosquito repellent and warm paint on the concrete ceiling.
Dry sheets. Taut cotton bunched behind my knees. Overhead, a Bajaj fan spun with a dry, slow click-whir, click-whir. My heavy shoes were gone. My small bag sat neatly on a wooden chair by the locker, camera strap coiled beside it.
My palm brushed the mattress looking for the phone screen's blue pulse.
It wasn't still. It was vibrating the wooden nightstand with a low rattle.
I picked it up. No caller photo. Just a local mobile prefix sliding into motion, and Harshika’s voice cutting through the earpiece flat and clear:
“Did you pack your bags? See you from Silk Road.”
I pulled the phone away and was so disturbed after that.

To Be Continued....