Priya moved to Meerut from Delhi after her divorce left her feeling empty and tired of city noise. She wanted a quiet place to start again, so when a distant relative offered her a small old bungalow in the GP Block area at very low rent, she said yes without thinking twice. The block was known as a quiet, empty part of the city near the cantonment, with big old buildings that no one had lived in for many years. Locals said the place felt strange after sunset, but Priya did not believe in such stories. She was a practical woman who had already faced enough real pain in her life.
The bungalow was large and old, with high ceilings, cracked walls, and wooden floors that creaked when she walked. Dust covered everything, and the air smelled of damp earth and old wood. In the main bedroom upstairs, there was a big mirror with a heavy wooden frame. When Priya first looked into it, she thought she saw something move behind her reflection, but she told herself it was only the light playing tricks. She cleaned the rooms slowly over the first few days, unpacked her clothes, and cooked simple meals. At night, the power often went out, so she used candles and an oil lamp. The silence felt heavy, but it also brought a strange kind of peace after the loud fights she had known in her marriage.
On the third night, as rain started falling softly outside, Priya sat in front of the mirror brushing her long black hair. The candle flame made shadows dance on the walls. Suddenly, the mirror surface looked different, as if a thin layer of fog had covered it. In the glass, she saw the shape of a man standing behind her. He was tall, with a strong face, wearing an old-style kurta and pajama like men used to wear many years ago. His eyes looked sad but kind. Priya turned around quickly, but the room was empty. Her heart beat fast. She looked back at the mirror, and the man was still there. He smiled a little and spoke in a soft voice with the local UP style.
“Arre Priya, itni raat ko akeli kya kar rahi ho? Yeh purana block bahut sunsaan hai, lekin ab se tum akeli nahi rahogi. Main hoon na yahan… mera naam Vikram hai.”
Priya felt scared, but something in his voice made her stay still. She whispered, “Kaun ho tum? Yeh sapna toh nahi hai?” Vikram shook his head slowly and answered, “Nahi jaan, yeh asli hai. Main is block ka purana malik tha, pachas saal pehle. Ek mohabbat ne mujhe yahan rok diya. Ab sirf tum jaise akeli rooh mujhe dikhti hai. Tumhari aankhon mein wohi dard hai jo mera tha jab meri biwi ne mujhe chhod diya tha.”
That night, Priya could not sleep well. She kept thinking about the man in the mirror. The next evening, she sat in front of the mirror again. Vikram appeared more clearly this time. He told her stories about the old days in Meerut when the GP Block had grand houses full of life. He spoke about parties, horse rides, and how he had loved deeply but lost everything because of jealousy and betrayal. Priya listened quietly and then shared her own story—how her husband had left her for someone else, how she felt empty inside, and how she came to this quiet place to heal. Vikram listened without judging. His words felt warm even though his image looked cold. He said things like, “Tum bahut strong ho re Priya… teri baatein sun kar lagta hai jaise mera dil phir se dhadak raha ho.”
Days passed, and their talks became longer. Priya started looking forward to the evenings. She would light a candle and sit by the mirror. Vikram would appear, and they would talk for hours. He made her laugh with old jokes from the village style, and he comforted her when she cried about her past. One night, when the rain was falling hard and thunder rolled in the sky, Vikram asked her a question. “Priya, agar main tumhe chhoo sakun toh kya tum darogi? Main bahut din se akela hoon, aur tum bhi. Sirf ek baar feel karna chahta hoon ki zindagi kaisi hoti hai.”
Priya’s heart beat fast. She was scared, but she also felt a pull toward him. She had not felt wanted in a long time. She nodded slowly and said, “Theek hai… lekin dheere se.” The mirror surface started to ripple like water. Vikram stepped out into the room. His body felt real but very cold, like touching ice on a winter morning. He stood close to her and gently touched her face with his fingers. The cold made her skin tingle, but inside she felt a strange warmth growing.
They moved to the old bed in the room. The candle light was soft and the rain sounded like music outside. Vikram was careful and slow. He opened the top buttons of her kurti with gentle hands. His touch was cool, but it sent waves of feeling through her body. Priya touched his chest under his kurta. She could feel a faint heartbeat, weak and far away, but it was there. Their lips met in a long kiss that tasted of rain and old memories. Their bodies came close together in a slow, emotional way. His cool skin against her warm body created a mix of thrill and comfort. They held each other tightly, moving in a gentle rhythm. Priya whispered his name again and again, and Vikram kept saying soft words in his local style, “Tum meri ho jaao re… yeh pyaar hamesha rahega.”
The moment felt deep and connecting. It was not just physical; it felt like two lonely souls finding each other after many years. When it ended, they lay together. Priya felt peaceful for the first time in months. She said, “Vikram, main tumse pyaar karne lagi hoon.” He smiled, but his smile looked a little sad.
After that night, things started changing slowly. Priya began to feel tired all the time. Her skin looked pale in the mirror, and she had less energy for daily work. She stopped going out much and spent more time in the bungalow. Vikram came to her every night now. Their meetings became more frequent and intense. Each time, his touch felt a little colder, and Priya felt a little weaker afterward. But the feeling of being loved was so strong that she ignored the signs. She told herself it was just the change of weather or the old house affecting her health.
One evening, when she was feeling very weak, Priya decided to walk around the GP Block to get some fresh air. The sun was setting, and the empty buildings looked dark and silent. She remembered the local stories she had heard before moving here—how people said they saw four men sitting inside one of the abandoned houses drinking by candlelight, talking and laughing as if they were still alive. Others claimed to see a woman in a red dress walking on the rooftops or disappearing into the shadows. Priya had laughed at those tales earlier, but now they made her nervous.
As she walked past one of the ruined buildings, she saw a faint light flickering inside. She stopped and looked closer. There were four shadowy figures sitting around a small candle. They looked like men from old times, raising glasses and talking in low voices. One of them turned his head toward her, and for a moment, she thought she saw Vikram’s face among them. Fear rose in her chest. She turned and walked back home quickly.
That night, when Vikram appeared in the mirror, Priya asked him about what she had seen. He looked away for a moment and then said, “Arre Priya, yeh block ka purana raaz hai. Main akela nahi hoon yahan. Kai aur roohen hain jo apni zindagi ke adhure hisse poora karne ke liye intezaar kar rahe hain. Lekin tum sirf meri ho. Baaki sab se door raho.”
Priya wanted to believe him, but doubt had started growing. She felt weaker every day. Her friends from Delhi called her, and they said her voice sounded different, as if she was fading away. One old woman in the nearby village warned her when she went to buy vegetables. The woman said, “Beta, us block mein mat raho. Log kehte hain wahan ek mard ki rooh hai jo auraton ko apna bana leti hai. Woh unka pyaar leti hai aur dheere dheere unki jaan bhi le leti hai. Kai ladkiyan wahan gayi aur kabhi wapas nahi aayi. Unka chehra sheeshe mein muskurata rehta hai, lekin aankhein khali hoti hain.”
Priya laughed nervously and came back home. But that night, when she looked in the mirror, she saw not only Vikram but faint images of other women standing behind him. They looked pale and sad, wearing old clothes, with marks on their necks like someone had held them too tightly for too long. Vikram noticed her fear and tried to comfort her. “Dar mat jaan. Woh sirf yaadein hain. Tum alag ho. Main tumhe hamesha ke liye apna banaunga.”
The next full moon night, the power went out again, and the bungalow was filled with moonlight. Vikram stepped out of the mirror once more. This time, his eyes looked hungrier. He pulled her close and said, “Aaj raat poora ho jaaye humara pyaar.” Their bodies came together again in the same slow, passionate way. His hands felt even colder now, and as they moved together, Priya felt her strength leaving her body. The pleasure mixed with a deep chill that spread from her chest to her arms and legs. She held him tight, whispering, “Vikram… mat chhodo mujhe.” He replied in his soft voice, “Main kabhi nahi chhodunga… tum ab meri ho.”
When it was over, Priya lay on the bed feeling very cold and weak. She could hardly move. Vikram stood up and looked at her with a mix of love and sadness. “Yeh mera shraap hai Priya. Main ek zamaney mein bahut pyar karta tha, lekin dhokha khane ke baad maine kuch galat cheezen ki. Ek tantrik ne mujhe curse de diya. Ab main jo bhi aurat se pyaar karta hoon, uska zinda hissaa apne andar le leta hoon taaki main yahan se na jaa sakun. Tum bhi ab is block ki hissa ban chuki ho.”
Priya tried to get up, but her body would not listen. She saw the mirror glowing with a strange light. Inside it, she could see the four men from the abandoned building watching quietly, and the woman in the red dress standing near them, looking at her with pity. Vikram’s face started changing. His kind look became more like hunger. He took her hand and started pulling her toward the mirror. “Aa jaao mere saath. Hamesha ke liye. Koi dard nahi rahega.”
Priya screamed weakly and tried to fight, but she had no strength left. The cold from his touch had spread through her whole body. As she was pulled closer to the glass, she saw her own reflection changing. Her eyes looked empty, and a small smile appeared on her face even though she was terrified inside. The mirror swallowed her like water taking in a stone.
The next morning, some local people who passed by the GP Block noticed that the old bungalow looked the same, but something felt different. No one saw Priya for many days. When her relatives from Delhi came looking for her after she stopped answering calls, they found the bungalow clean and quiet. The bed was made neatly, and the big mirror in the bedroom showed a new reflection. It was Priya, standing there with a calm smile, wearing a simple red dress. Her eyes looked peaceful but completely empty, as if the real her had gone somewhere far away.
From that day on, people who walked past the GP Block at night started seeing one more figure. Sometimes, late in the evening, they would see a woman in a red dress standing near the window of the old bungalow, looking out with a gentle smile. And if they looked carefully, they could see a tall man standing behind her in the shadows, his hand resting on her shoulder. On some nights, when the candle light flickered in the abandoned buildings, the four men were seen drinking and talking, and now a fifth figure joined them sometimes—a woman who sat quietly, listening.
Priya’s friends and family searched for her for months, but no one found any trace. The bungalow was locked again, and the rent offers stopped coming. Locals added one more story to the many tales of the GP Block. They said a new lonely soul had come to the area, fallen in love with the wrong presence, and become part of the shadows forever.
On quiet full moon nights, if you stand near the old block and listen carefully, you might hear a soft voice carrying on the wind. It speaks in simple words with the local style, “Arre… koi naya aayega kya yahan? Bahut din se intezaar hai re… koi aur akeli ladki jo is tanhai ko pyar se bhar de.”
The empty buildings of GP Block still stand in Meerut, silent during the day but alive with whispers after dark. People avoid the area when the sun sets. They say the ghosts there are not angry or violent. They are just lonely, looking for warmth and love that they lost long ago. And sometimes, that search pulls in new souls who are also lonely, turning their fear into a dark kind of romance that never ends.
The old mirror in the bungalow still hangs on the wall. If anyone ever moves in again, they might see a smiling woman in red looking back at them. And behind her, a tall man with sad but hungry eyes will be waiting, ready to offer the same promises of love that once felt so real and so warm, even as the cold truth slowly takes everything away.
This is how the red shadow became part of the GP Block stories, just like the other figures that people claim to see. Love and fear mixed together in the old buildings, creating a bond that is hard to break. And the block waits quietly for the next person who feels too alone to notice the danger hiding behind the gentle words and soft touches.
.
.
.
The End
Comments
Post a Comment