The Vanishing Man of FC Road

Chapter 1

The man is gone. Just. . . gone.

My breath hitches, and I grip Asha’s arm, nails digging into her bicep. Above the sea of uncaring faces, her dark eyes meet mine, wide with a terror that mirrors my own. “Did you see that?” I whisper, even though I know she did. Asha always sees what I see, the flickers and glitches in the world that no one else seems to notice. I am just 5'1 feet tall and Asha 7'9 feet tall.

"Yes, Riya. Right in front of us." Her voice, a deep rumble that usually soothes me, vibrates with a tremor I’ve rarely heard before. The sounds of FC Road – the blare of horns, the hawkers’ cries, the chatter of students – seem to fade into a dull hum, the world holding its breath along with us.

The crowd jostles around us, oblivious. A woman bumps into Asha’s leg, muttering an apology as she hurries past, her eyes fixed on the glittering displays of bangles and earrings. A group of college kids laughs raucously, weaving through the throng with carefree abandon. It's jarring, how easily they ignore the impossible.

Asha shifts me slightly, shielding me from the press of bodies. "We need to move," she murmurs, her gaze sweeping the street, searching for… what? Another disappearing soul? An explanation?

I nod, my mind racing. This isn't the first time. Not even the tenth. It started subtly, a flicker in the corner of my eye, a momentary distortion of reality. But it’s escalating. People are vanishing now, not in shadowy alleys or during the dead of night, but here, in broad daylight, swallowed by… what?

"Where do we go?" I ask, the question hanging in the air. My psychology degree feels useless in the face of this impossible phenomenon. How do you analyze something that defies logic, something that exists outside the realm of human understanding?

Asha starts walking, her long strides eating up the distance. She doesn’t answer immediately, her focus sharp, scanning the faces around us. "We go somewhere safe," she says finally, her voice firm. "Somewhere we can think."

Safe. Our small flat above the spice shop in Kondhwa isn't exactly a fortress, but it’s home. It’s where we retreat when the world becomes too much, when the glitches threaten to overwhelm us.

As we walk, I can't shake the image of the man in the brown shirt, his face etched with confusion in the split second before he ceased to exist. He looked so ordinary, so utterly unremarkable. Like he didn’t matter. But he did. Every life matters.

And if we don’t figure out what’s happening, how many more will vanish, lost to these… cracks in reality? How long before one of us is next?

The aroma of cardamom and cloves hits me as we climb the narrow staircase to our flat. It’s a familiar scent, comforting in its predictability, a stark contrast to the unpredictable horrors we just witnessed. I lean into Asha, her warmth a solid anchor in a world that feels increasingly unstable.

Our flat is small, just two rooms and a tiny kitchenette, but it’s filled with our life. Books line the walls, spilling onto every surface. Maps of Pune, some old and faded, are tacked haphazardly above my desk. Asha says I’m obsessed, but I need to see the patterns, to find some kind of order in the chaos.

Asha closes the door behind us, the click echoing in the silence. She doesn’t speak, but her presence is reassuring. She moves to the window, her tall frame silhouetted against the afternoon light, watching the street below. I know she’s still on alert, her senses stretched taut, searching for any sign of the… whatever it is that’s causing people to disappear.

I walk to the small shrine in the corner of the room, a collection of deities representing different faiths. It’s a habit I picked up from my grandmother, a way of seeking solace and guidance in times of uncertainty. I light a small diya, the flame flickering, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"Do you think it's getting worse?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Asha turns from the window, her expression grim. "Yes, Riya. Much worse. Before, it was just… glimpses. Things out of place. Now… people are gone."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our knowledge pressing down on us. What can we do? We’re just two women, armed with nothing but our wits and a shared perception of a reality that no one else acknowledges.

I stand up and walk to my desk, pulling out my notebook. It’s filled with scribbled notes, sketches, and theories, a chaotic record of our observations over the past few months. Dates, times, locations… I try to find a pattern, a connection, anything that might give us a clue.

"The man in the brown shirt," I say, flipping through the pages. "Did you notice anything about him? Anything at all?"

Asha frowns, her brow furrowed in concentration. "He seemed… ordinary. Unremarkable. But… there was something about his eyes. A kind of… emptiness. Like he wasn't really there."

I freeze, my heart pounding. "I saw it too," I whisper. "It’s like… like they’re already halfway gone before they disappear."

A chill runs down my spine. This isn’t just a random occurrence. Something is happening to these people, something that makes them vulnerable, that pulls them towards the… void.

"We need to find out who they are," I say, my voice gaining strength. "These people who vanished. Maybe there's a link."

Asha nods, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Then let's start looking."

The task seems impossible, like searching for a ghost in a city of millions. But we have to try. The fate of these people, and perhaps the fate of the world, may depend on it. I grab my bag, ready to venture back into the chaos of Pune. "Let's go to the police station. Maybe someone reported him missing"

Asha adjusts me on her hip, my legs dangling freely as we approach the police station. Being carried like this always feels a bit surreal, a mixture of comfort and vulnerability. The world is a different place from up here, the details sharper, the perspectives skewed. The air outside the police station is thick with the usual city smells: exhaust fumes, street food, and a faint undercurrent of sweat and desperation. Inside, the station is a hive of activity. Officers shout into phones, papers are shuffled, and the air crackles with a low-level tension. We approach the front desk, where a bored-looking constable sits behind a thick pane of glass. He barely glances up as we approach. "Help you?" he grunts, his eyes fixed on a game on his phone.

"We want to report a missing person," I say, my voice clear and firm. I learned long ago that you have to be assertive to be heard in this city. He sighs dramatically, finally looking up at us. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in Asha’s towering height. "Missing person? How long they been gone?" "We saw him disappear," I state, "Right on FC Road. Just vanished". The constable chuckles, shaking his head. "Vanish? What are you talking about, madam? People don't just vanish." I exchange a look with Asha, a silent acknowledgment of the disbelief we always encounter. "He did," I insist. "We saw it. A man in a brown shirt. Maybe 5'10, average build…" I describe the man as best as I can, trying to recall every detail. The constable scribbles something on a form, his expression skeptical. "And you say this happened… where exactly?" I point out the location on FC Road where the man disappeared. The constable raises an eyebrow. "And there were no witnesses? No one else saw anything?" "No," I say, "That’s the thing. No one else seems to notice."

The constable sighs again, louder this time. "Look, madam, I'll file a report, but I can't promise anything. People go missing all the time. Usually they turn up. Ran away with a lover, got drunk and passed out in a ditch…" He trails off, his attention already drifting back to his phone. "What's your name and contact information?" I give him our details, feeling a growing sense of frustration. This is pointless. They don't believe us. They think we're crazy. As we turn to leave, a voice calls out from across the room. "Hey, Patil! What's this about someone vanishing?" A man in a crisp uniform approaches, his face etched with weariness. He looks like he's seen too much. "Inspector Khan," the constable says, snapping to attention. "These ladies are reporting a missing person. Say he vanished on FC Road." Inspector Khan turns his gaze to us, his eyes sharp and assessing. "Vanished, you say?" There’s something in his voice, a hint of curiosity that gives me a glimmer of hope. "Tell me everything," he says. Asha sets me down gently. I look towards Asha, and start narrating the story from the beginning, including all the details. Inspector Khan listens intently, his expression unreadable. Maybe, just maybe, someone is finally listening.

Inspector Khan leads us to a small, cluttered office. The walls are covered with maps, crime scene photos, and newspaper clippings. It smells of stale cigarettes and desperation, a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the front desk. He gestures for us to sit, then perches on the edge of his desk, his eyes never leaving ours. "So," he says, his voice low and thoughtful, "you saw him vanish. Just like that?" I nod, my heart pounding with a mixture of hope and anxiety. "Yes, Inspector. One moment he was there, the next… gone. No struggle, no noise. Just… nothing." Asha stands behind me, her presence a silent reassurance. I can feel her gaze fixed on Inspector Khan, assessing him, trying to gauge his sincerity. "And you're sure about this? You weren't… mistaken?" I bristle at the implication. "We know what we saw, Inspector.

We're not crazy." He holds up a hand, a gesture of appeasement. "I didn't mean to offend. It's just… this isn't exactly a common occurrence." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me about these… glitches you mentioned. The things that no one else notices." I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But there's something about Inspector Khan, a weariness in his eyes that suggests he's seen things he can't explain. "It started small," I say, "Flickers in the corner of my eye. Objects out of place. A sense that something isn't quite right." "And Asha sees these things too?" he asks, turning his gaze to her. Asha nods. "Since we were children. We always thought… we were just different." Inspector Khan leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Different," he repeats, his voice barely a whisper. He stands up and walks to a large map of Pune, his fingers tracing the lines of the streets.

"Tell me where this man vanished, exactly." I point to the spot on FC Road, my finger hovering over the map. Inspector Khan studies the location for a moment, then turns back to us, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "There have been other reports," he says, "People disappearing without a trace. Always in crowded places, always in broad daylight. We thought they were runaways, kidnapping victims… cases that would eventually solve themselves." He pauses, his gaze hardening. "But maybe… maybe there's something more to it." He walks to his desk and pulls out a file, flipping through the pages. "A few weeks ago, a street vendor disappeared near the railway station. No witnesses, no sign of a struggle. Just… gone." He looks up at us, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. "I'm going to need your help," he says. "If what you're saying is true… if there really are cracks in reality… we need to understand them. Before more people disappear." He hands me a card with his contact information. "Call me if you see anything else. Anything at all.

And be careful," he adds, his voice low and urgent. "Whatever is happening out there… it's dangerous." As we leave the police station, I feel a surge of adrenaline. Finally, someone believes us. Finally, we're not alone. But the relief is tempered with fear. We've opened a door to something unknown, something terrifying. And there's no turning back now. Asha takes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "What do we do now?" I ask, my voice barely audible. "We find the vendor," Asha says, her eyes narrowed. "We find out what he saw." The hunt begins.

The hunt begins with the railway station. The air is thick with the smells of diesel, sweat, and street food. The cacophony of sounds—train whistles, hawkers yelling, the endless chatter of commuters—is almost deafening. I try to focus, to see the 'glitches' that might lead us to the missing vendor. Asha scans the crowd, her height giving her a better vantage point. Inspector Khan has given us a description: a middle-aged man, slightly built, with a nervous demeanor and a distinctive limp. He sold chai and vada pav from a small cart near platform number four.

We start our search there, weaving through the throng of people. I concentrate, trying to perceive the subtle distortions, the visual anomalies that hint at something amiss. A flicker in the corner of my eye – a momentary displacement of a nearby wall, a shimmering heat haze that isn't quite heat – but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. Frustration mounts. These glitches are so fleeting, so elusive.

"Anything?" Asha asks, her voice barely audible above the din.

I shake my head. "Just… glimpses. Nothing concrete."

We continue our search, questioning other vendors, platform workers, anyone who might have seen the missing man. Most shrug us off, too busy to care. But one elderly woman, selling flowers near the entrance, pauses when I show her the photo Inspector Khan provided.

"Ah, Govind," she says, her voice raspy. "Poor man. Always kind, always smiling. Gone, just like that."

"Did you see anything unusual?" I ask, my voice filled with anticipation. "Anything at all?"

She shakes her head. "Just… one moment he was there, serving chai. The next, his cart was empty. His belongings were still there. The chai was still hot."

Asha steps forward. "Did you notice any… disturbances? Anything that seemed out of place?"

The flower seller frowns, thinking hard. "Now that you mention it… there was a strange… shimmer in the air, near his cart. Like heat rising off the tracks, but… different. Thicker, somehow."

My heart leaps. "Can you show us where?"

She leads us to the spot where Govind's cart once stood. It's just empty pavement now, worn and stained. I close my eyes, trying to recreate the scene in my mind, to sense the residual energy of the glitch.

Suddenly, I feel it: a faint tingling sensation in my fingertips, a subtle vibration in the air. It's strongest in one particular spot, a few feet from where the cart would have been. I open my eyes and point.

"Here," I say, my voice trembling. "I think… I think something happened here."

Chapter 2

Asha kneels, examining the pavement closely. ´There´s something here,´ she says, her brow furrowed. ´Almost imperceptible.´ She pulls out a small magnifying glass from her bag – a habit from our early days of investigating these glitches – and studies the surface. ´The concrete is… different here. Smoother, like it´s been melted and reformed.´ I kneel beside her, running my hand over the pavement. It does feel different, subtly altered. It´s as if a tiny patch of reality has been smoothed over, erasing any imperfections. A chilling thought occurs to me: is this where Govind vanished? Did the glitch somehow… consume him, leaving behind only this faint trace? I stand up, a sense of urgency washing over me. ´We need to find out what caused this,´ I say. ´There has to be a pattern, a connection.´ Asha nods, her expression grim. ´Let´s talk to more vendors,´ she says. ´See if anyone else noticed anything unusual that day.´ We spend the next few hours questioning everyone in the vicinity. Most are unhelpful, either unwilling or unable to remember anything specific.

But one young man, selling phone chargers, offers a glimmer of hope. ´I remember something,´ he says, his voice hesitant. ´The day Govind disappeared… I saw a man near his cart. He was wearing a suit, which is weird for this area, and he was… staring at Govind. Like he was studying him.´ ´Did you see where he went?´ I ask, my heart pounding. The young man shakes his head. ´He just… disappeared into the crowd. I didn´t think much of it at the time.´ ´Can you describe him?´ Asha asks, her voice sharp. ´Tall, thin, with a pale face. He had… strange eyes. Like they were too bright, too intense.´ The description sends a shiver down my spine. It sounds… otherworldly. Could this be connected to the glitches? Was this man somehow responsible for Govind´s disappearance? I exchange a look with Asha.

We both know that we need to find this man. He´s the key to understanding what´s happening. ´Did anyone else see him?´ I ask the young vendor. He looks around, then points to a tea stall across the platform. ´Maybe Raju saw him. He´s always watching everything.´ We head to the tea stall and find Raju, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a quick wit. He listens to our description, then nods slowly. ´I saw him,´ he says. ´Standing near Govind´s cart, like a vulture waiting for its prey. He was… unsettling.´ ´Did you see where he went?´ I ask again, my voice pleading. Raju takes a long sip of tea, then points towards the main entrance of the station. ´He went that way, towards the city. But… he didn´t walk like everyone else. He seemed to… glide. Like he wasn´t quite touching the ground.´ Gliding.

It´s another unsettling detail, another hint that this man isn´t what he seems. We thank Raju and rush towards the main entrance, our minds racing. The city stretches before us, a vast and chaotic maze. Finding this man will be like finding a needle in a haystack. But we have to try. Govind´s life – and perhaps many others – depends on it. Asha grabs my hand, her grip firm. ´Where do we start?´ she asks, her eyes filled with determination. I look out at the bustling city, my mind searching for a clue, a direction. Then, an idea sparks in my mind. ´Let´s go back to FC Road,´ I say. ´That´s where it started. Maybe there´s something there that we missed.´

Asha doesn't even blink at my suggestion. Without a word, she scoops me up effortlessly, tucking me securely against her side. It's a familiar sensation, a comforting reminder of her strength and unwavering support. The crowds part around us, a mix of curiosity and annoyance on their faces. Asha navigates the throng with ease, her long strides eating up the distance. The journey to FC Road is swift. The familiar sights and sounds of the street – the vibrant colors of the clothing stalls, the enticing aromas of street food, the relentless buzz of conversation – wash over me. But today, they feel different, tainted by the shadow of the disappearances. Asha sets me down gently near the spot where we first saw the man vanish. It's as ordinary as can be: a patch of pavement, a lamppost, a bustling crowd. But I know that something extraordinary – and terrifying – happened here. I close my eyes, trying to recreate the moment in my mind. The man, the glitch, the sudden absence.

What did we miss? What subtle detail escaped our notice? I focus on the feeling, the sense of unease that permeated the air before the disappearance. It was like… a dissonance, a disharmony in the fabric of reality. I open my eyes and scan the surroundings, searching for anything that might trigger that feeling again. A shop sign that seems slightly out of focus, a flickering street light, a shadow that stretches too long. But nothing stands out. Frustration mounts. We're running in circles, chasing shadows. ´Anything?´ Asha asks, her voice laced with concern. I shake my head. ´Just the same… vague sense of unease. Nothing concrete.´ I walk slowly along the pavement, retracing the man's last steps.

Maybe if I can put myself in his place, I can see what he saw. I reach the spot where he vanished and pause. I look around, trying to see the world through his eyes. And then, I notice it. A subtle distortion in the reflection of a shop window across the street. It's barely perceptible, a slight wavering of the image. But it's there. I point it out to Asha, and she squints, trying to see what I see. ´I think… there's something wrong with that reflection,´ I say. ´It's like… the reality behind the glass is different from the reality in front of it.´ Asha nods slowly. ´I see it,´ she says. ´It's faint, but it's there. Let's check it out.´ We cross the street and approach the shop window.

It's a clothing store, displaying mannequins in brightly colored outfits. But as I get closer, the distortion becomes more pronounced. The reflection is… wrong. The mannequins seem to be moving slightly, their poses shifting subtly. And the clothes they're wearing… they're not the same as the clothes on the actual mannequins. They're older, more… archaic. A wave of dizziness washes over me. It's as if I'm looking into another dimension, a parallel reality that's bleeding into our own. I take a step back, my heart pounding. This is more than just a glitch. It's a gateway. And something is using it to enter our world.

Asha grips my arm tightly, her knuckles white. ´What do you see?´ she asks, her voice barely a whisper. ´Tell me everything.´ I describe the distorted reflection, the shifting mannequins, the archaic clothes. As I speak, the distortion intensifies. The reflection becomes clearer, more vivid. I can now see the details of the other reality: a dimly lit street, cobblestone pavement, buildings with ornate carvings. And people. People dressed in strange, antiquated clothes, moving with an unnatural grace. They seem to be aware of us, staring directly at us through the reflection. Their eyes are cold, devoid of emotion. One of them, a tall, thin man with a pale face and intense eyes, steps forward. He’s the same man the vendor described seeing near Govind’s cart. He raises a hand, as if to touch the glass.

A wave of nausea washes over me. I feel like I´m being pulled, drawn into the reflection. Asha pulls me back, away from the window. ´We need to get out of here,´ she says, her voice urgent. ´Now.´ We turn and run, pushing our way through the crowd. The street seems to tilt and sway, the sounds of the city fading into a dull roar. I glance back at the shop window. The reflection is still there, the man still staring at us. But now, he´s smiling. We reach a side street and collapse against a wall, gasping for breath. The world slowly comes back into focus. Asha checks me over, her eyes filled with concern. ´Are you okay?´ she asks.

I nod, trying to regain my composure. ´I think so. But… I don´t know what that was.´ ´It was a gateway,´ Asha says, her voice grim. ´A way for them to cross over.´ ´Them?´ I ask. ´Who are they?´ Asha shakes her head. ´I don´t know. But they´re dangerous. We need to tell Inspector Khan.´ I pull out my phone and dial Inspector Khan´s number. He answers on the third ring, his voice gruff. ´Khan,´ he says. ´Inspector, it´s Riya,´ I say, my voice trembling. ´We found something. A gateway.

On FC Road.´ I quickly explain what we saw, the distorted reflection, the man in the other reality. Inspector Khan is silent for a moment, then his voice comes back, sharp and urgent. ´Stay where you are,´ he says. ´I´m on my way. And don´t touch anything. Don´t go near that window again.´ We wait for Inspector Khan, our nerves on edge. The city seems to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation. I can´t shake the feeling that we´re being watched, that the man in the reflection is still observing us, waiting for his opportunity. The sky darkens, the sun obscured by a thick layer of clouds. A storm is brewing. And I have a feeling that it´s not just the weather that´s about to break.

Asha stands guard, her tall frame a reassuring presence against the growing unease. The side street feels narrower now, the buildings leaning in, as if the very city is holding its breath. The wind picks up, swirling dust and debris around our feet. I can taste the electricity in the air, the ozone tang preceding a downpour.

"He knows we can see him," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's why he smiled."

Asha nods grimly. "He wanted us to know he's in control."

We fall silent, each lost in our thoughts, until the screech of tires announces Inspector Khan's arrival. He jumps out of his jeep, his face etched with concern. Two uniformed officers follow him, their hands resting on their weapons.

"Show me," Khan barks, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Quickly."

We lead him back to the shop window, the crowd parting respectfully before the police presence. The reflection is still there, the distorted image of the other reality shimmering like heat haze. The cobblestone street, the archaic buildings, the strangely dressed people – all are visible, but the tall, thin man is gone.

Khan stares at the reflection, his expression unreadable. He circles the window, examining it closely. "Can you see the…glitch?" he asks me, his voice low.

I nod. "It's strongest here," I say, pointing to a specific spot on the glass. "It feels…thicker. Like a membrane."

Khan reaches out and touches the glass, his fingers tracing the outline of the distortion. He pulls back quickly, as if burned. "I felt something," he says, his eyes wide. "Like a static shock."

He turns to the officers. "Seal off this area," he orders. "No one goes near this window. I want a perimeter of fifty feet. And call forensics. Tell them to bring everything they have."

The officers move to carry out his orders, stringing yellow tape around the shop window. The crowd murmurs, their curiosity piqued by the police activity.

Khan turns back to us, his gaze intense. "What do we know about these people?" he asks. "What do they want?"

I shake my head, feeling a sense of dread creeping into my heart. "I don't know, Inspector. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning."

A raindrop falls, then another, and soon the sky opens up, unleashing a torrential downpour. The rain washes over FC Road, blurring the already distorted reflection. As the city is consumed by the storm, I can´t shake the feeling we are running out of time.

The downpour intensifies, turning the streets into rivers. The yellow tape surrounding the shop window flaps wildly in the wind, a futile barrier against the forces at play. Inspector Khan pulls us under the awning of a nearby shop, his face grim. "We need to understand what we are dealing with," he says, his voice barely audible above the roar of the rain. "Riya, you are the only one who can perceive the 'glitch'. What does it tell you?" I close my eyes, focusing on the residual energy emanating from the shop window. The distorted reflection flickers behind my eyelids, the cobblestone street and archaic buildings imprinted on my mind. I reach out with my senses, trying to grasp the essence of the other reality. "It's old," I say, my voice strained. "Very old. And…cold. There's a sense of…wrongness. Like something that shouldn't exist." Asha nods, her brow furrowed.

"I felt it too," she says. "When we were close to the window. A sense of dread. Like we were trespassing." Khan listens intently, his eyes fixed on my face. "Can you sense anything about the people?" he asks. "The man we saw in the reflection?" I concentrate, pushing past the initial sense of coldness and wrongness. The image of the tall, thin man appears in my mind, his pale face and intense eyes piercing through the darkness. "He's…patient," I say. "Very patient. He's been waiting for a long time. And he's…hungry." "Hungry?" Khan asks, his voice laced with disbelief. "What do you mean, hungry?" I struggle to find the right words. "Not for food," I say.

"For something else. For…life. He's feeding on something. Taking something." A shiver runs down my spine. I suddenly understand. "The missing people," I say, my voice trembling. "He's taking their life force. Using them to…to sustain himself." Khan pales. "That's insane," he says, shaking his head. "But…it fits. No bodies, no trace evidence. They just vanish. As if they were never here." He pulls out his phone and dials a number.

"Get me everything we have on missing persons cases in the last six months," he barks into the phone. "Focus on cases with no leads, no witnesses, no physical evidence. And flag any cases near areas with reported…anomalies." He hangs up the phone and turns back to us. "We need to find a way to close that gateway," he says, his voice resolute. "Before anyone else disappears. Riya, can you do it? Can you somehow disrupt the 'glitch'?" I look at the shop window, the distorted reflection shimmering in the rain. The task seems impossible, like trying to mend a tear in the fabric of reality. But I know we have no choice. "I don't know," I say, my voice filled with uncertainty. "But I have to try." The rain continues to fall, washing over the city, as we prepare to face the unknown. The storm within me is mirroring the storm outside.

Chapter 3

The rain drums against the awning, a relentless rhythm accompanying my thoughts. I close my eyes again, focusing on the shop window, trying to understand the nature of the ´glitch´. It feels like a tear, a rip in the fabric of reality, but also something more… deliberate. Like someone, or something, intentionally created it. I take a deep breath and step out from under the awning, ignoring Asha´s protests. I walk towards the shop window, the rain plastering my hair to my face. I reach out and touch the glass, my fingers tracing the outline of the distortion. The coldness is intense, seeping into my bones. I can feel the pull, the tug towards the other reality. But this time, I resist. I focus my mind, channeling my energy, trying to disrupt the flow.

I imagine the tear mending, the fabric of reality knitting back together. But it´s no use. The ´glitch´ remains, mocking my efforts. I step back, defeated. ´It´s too strong,´ I say, my voice hoarse. ´I can´t do it alone.´ Khan steps forward, his brow furrowed. ´What do you need?´ he asks. ´What can we do to help?´ I think for a moment, trying to recall everything I know about the ´glitches´. They are distortions in reality, yes, but they also seem to be connected to energy. Residual energy from events, emotions, even thoughts. Maybe…maybe I can use that.

´I need something to focus on,´ I say. ´Something that resonates with the other reality. Something…old.´ Khan nods. ´I´ll see what I can find,´ he says. He turns to one of the officers. ´Contact the local museums, the historical societies. See if they have any artifacts, anything that dates back a few centuries. And tell them it´s urgent.´ The officer nods and hurries off. Asha puts a hand on my shoulder, her touch grounding me. ´Don´t give up, Riya,´ she says. ´We´ll figure this out.´ I look at her, her unwavering faith a source of strength.

´I know,´ I say. ´We will.´ We wait under the awning, the rain continuing to fall, the city shrouded in a grey mist. Time seems to stretch, each moment an eternity. Finally, the officer returns, his face excited. ´Inspector, I have something,´ he says. ´The Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum has an exhibit of artifacts from the Maratha period. They have several items that might be of interest.´ Khan nods. ´Let´s go,´ he says. We pile into the jeep, the tires splashing through the flooded streets. The museum is only a short drive away, but it feels like an endless journey. As we arrive, I can´t shake the feeling we are one step closer to the precipice.

The museum looms before us, a grand colonial-era building amidst the modern chaos of Pune. Rain streaks down its sandstone facade, giving it an almost ethereal glow. Inside, the air is cool and still, a stark contrast to the tempest raging outside. A harried-looking curator greets us, his eyes darting nervously between Inspector Khan's stern face and the uniformed officers flanking him. He leads us through echoing halls, past glass cases filled with ancient pottery and faded textiles, to a dimly lit room at the back. "These are some of our most significant artifacts from the Maratha period," the curator says, his voice hushed with reverence. "Swords, shields, religious icons…objects that offer a glimpse into the lives of our ancestors." I scan the room, my senses heightened, searching for something that resonates with the other reality. My gaze falls upon a intricately carved wooden chest, its surface covered in depictions of battles and mythical creatures. I feel a faint pull, a flicker of recognition.

I walk towards the chest, drawn by an invisible force. As I get closer, the pull intensifies. I can feel the energy emanating from the chest, a faint hum that vibrates through my body. It's old, powerful, and…tainted. "What's inside?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The curator hesitates. "It's…complicated," he says. "The chest was found in the ruins of an ancient temple, along with other ritualistic objects. Local legends say it contains…dark magic." Khan raises an eyebrow.

"Dark magic?" he asks, his voice skeptical. "Do you believe in that, Inspector?" the curator replies, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just say I've seen things that can't be explained by science," Khan says, his gaze fixed on the chest. "Open it." The curator fumbles with the lock, his hands trembling slightly. With a click, the chest swings open, revealing its contents. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lies a small, obsidian statue. It depicts a grotesque figure with elongated limbs, a skull-like face, and eyes that seem to glow with an inner light. As soon as I see the statue, I feel a jolt, like a lightning strike. The energy in the room crackles, the air thick with anticipation.

The statue resonates with the other reality, its presence amplifying the distortion in my mind. I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, that this is the key. This is what we need to close the gateway. But I also know that this object is dangerous, that it holds a power we may not be able to control. As I stare into the obsidian eyes of the statue, I feel a presence, a consciousness reaching out to me. And I hear a voice, a whisper in the darkness, promising power, promising knowledge, promising…everything.

The obsidian statue feels cool and smooth in my hands. Its grotesque features seem to shift in the dim light, as if the thing is alive. The air around me crackles with an energy that both excites and terrifies me. I can feel its power thrumming through my veins, a dark symphony of potential and peril.

Khan watches me, his expression a mixture of apprehension and trust. Asha stands beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, a silent source of strength. The curator cowers in the corner, his eyes wide with fear. I take a deep breath, focusing all my will on the task ahead. I have to close the gateway, to stop the disappearances. But the statue…it whispers temptations, visions of a world reshaped by its power.

I close my eyes, blocking out the distractions, and focus on the 'glitch' I perceive in the world, the tear in reality that has become the gateway. I picture the man in the reflection, his hungry eyes, his insatiable desire. I will not let him win. With a surge of resolve, I raise the statue above my head. The room fills with a blinding light. The air shimmers, and the distortions in my vision intensify. I feel a push and pull, a struggle between the power of the statue and the fabric of reality.

I concentrate, channeling all my energy into the statue. Images flash through my mind: the missing people, their faces filled with fear and confusion; the railway station, the shimmer in the air above the vendor's cart; the shop window on FC Road, the gateway to another world. I see it all, and I understand. The statue is not merely a key; it is a conduit, a bridge between worlds.

With a final surge of power, I thrust the statue forward, aiming it at the point where the two realities intersect. The light intensifies, becoming almost unbearable. A wave of energy washes over me, knocking me to my knees. I can hear a sound, a high-pitched whine that seems to pierce my very soul. Then, silence. The light fades, and the air stills. The distortions in my vision recede, and the room returns to normal. The obsidian statue feels heavy in my hand, its power spent.

I look around. Khan rushes to my side, his face etched with concern. Asha helps me to my feet, her grip firm and reassuring. The curator remains huddled in the corner, still trembling with fear. "Did it work?" Khan asks, his voice hoarse. I take a deep breath, focusing my senses. The 'glitch' is gone. The gateway is closed. "Yes," I say, my voice weak but firm. "It's done."