Ahsan's college was the largest in the entire city—a sprawling, timeworn structure that had stood since the city's earliest days. Its walls carried the weight of generations, layered with stories, laughter, and whispers long forgotten. The tall arches and shadowed hallways gave it a kind of quiet majesty, but also... a sense of something watching.
Every year, thousands of students came through its gates—some from distant towns, others born and raised nearby—all chasing dreams of a brighter future. Yet, no matter how new the faces or how modern the classes became, one rule never changed.
An unwritten rule, passed from senior to junior in hushed tones.
Never go near Room 309.
Ahsan stepped onto the college grounds for the first time since the incident. The familiar noise of morning classes, students chatting, and the rustle of notebooks felt strangely distant—like a world he no longer belonged to.
He wore the glasses the exorcist had given him. Most of the demons—especially the Djinns that hovered above people—had vanished from sight. But not all. A few remained. They lingered at the edges of his vision, silent and still, their hollow eyes locked on him as he walked. Ahsan ignored them, pretending they weren't there.
Inside the college building, however, everything felt... clean. Clear. The air was lighter here, untouched by those dark entities. It gave him a rare moment of peace—something he hadn't felt since seeing the night sky crawling with demons.
His friends were gathered in their usual corner, laughing about something. When they noticed him approaching, their chatter halted.
Kaiser was the first to speak. "Damn, bro, since when did you start wearing glasses? They kinda suit ya."
Ahsan gave an awkward laugh. "Thanks. I needed them—my vision's been giving me trouble lately."
He couldn't tell them the truth. How could he? They'd either mock him or think he'd lost his mind.
Ornob's gaze lingered longer than the others. "Did you play the game?" he asked quietly.
Ahsan froze for a second before forcing a casual smile. "Yeah. I didn't really see any ghosts or anything."
Junayed laughed, clapping his shoulder. "See? Told you it wouldn't work."
Maruf grinned. "At least he had the guts to do it—unlike you, scaredy cat."
The group burst into laughter, the easy kind that fills the air with warmth. But Ornob didn't laugh. His eyes stayed fixed on Ahsan, sharp and uneasy.
Something about him felt... different.
He couldn't tell what.
Ahsan roamed through the entire building, each step echoing faintly against the old tiled floor. The glasses were working their magic — the demons and Djinns were gone, the air clear for once. For the first time in days, he felt almost normal.
He climbed to the third floor. Like the others, it had nine classrooms and a single toilet at the end. The corridor was silent, lit by flickering tube lights that buzzed weakly overhead. Ahsan exhaled slowly, relieved to see nothing unusual.
Then he saw her.
At the far end of the hallway stood a girl. Hair black as the night sky. Skin pale like porcelain. Her college uniform hung loosely, smeared with dust and something darker. Her head was bowed, long hair covering her face completely.
Ahsan froze. Something about her stillness felt... wrong.
Before he could take a step forward, a hand yanked him back. It was Ornob. His face was pale.
"Are you insane?" Ornob hissed. "Do you even know where you're heading?"
Ahsan turned, startled. When he glanced back down the hall, the girl was gone.
Ornob shook him by the shoulders. "Don't you know? No one goes near Room 309. No one."
And then Ahsan remembered.
On his first day of college, the seniors had gathered the newcomers and warned them all about a single rule — stay away from Room 309.
The story was as old as the building itself. Thirty years ago, a girl had been bullied mercilessly by her classmates. Humiliated, taunted, pushed to the edge of sanity. One morning, she came to college carrying a box cutter. She found her tormentors in Room 309 — and killed every single one of them. Then, she slit her own throat.
No one had used that room ever since.
Ahsan's gaze drifted back to the spot where the girl had stood. She had been standing directly in front of Room 309. A chill crept down his spine.
Ornob watched him closely. "What's wrong with you? You seem... off. Did you see something from that game?"
Ahsan forced a laugh, shaking his head. "No, no. I just forgot about the room, that's all."
He turned away before Ornob could question further and made his way back to his classroom. But as soon as he stepped inside, something felt wrong. The air was thick, heavy.
Then he saw her again.
The girl. Standing in the corner of the classroom. Still as stone. Watching him.
Ahsan's heart began to pound. Slowly, her face became visible beneath the curtain of black hair—
and his breath caught in his throat.
She looked exactly like Raida.
Memories flooded his mind in a rush that nearly made him dizzy. Raida—his friend, his confidant. Two years his senior, yet always with time for him. They would talk for hours—about music, movies, and dreams too big for their small city.
Then she went off to college. Their chats became fewer. The distance grew. And one day, out of nowhere, the news came.
Raida had killed herself.
Ahsan hadn't believed it. She was the happiest person he knew—vibrant, laughing, full of light. How could she have done that? What had happened to her?
He never went to her funeral. Everyone else did, but not him. He couldn't bring himself to see her lifeless face. The guilt had haunted him for years. Even now, the thought of her last moments made his stomach twist.
And now, she was here—standing in the corner of his classroom, eyes cold and accusing.
Ahsan's body went numb. Was it her ghost? His guilt? Or something far darker wearing her face?
Raida was still there—standing in the corner, staring at him with those lifeless eyes.
He kept his eyes on his book, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Don't look. Don't look.
But no matter how hard he tried, his eyes kept drifting toward the corner.
When the lunch bell finally rang, he stood up and hurried out of the classroom. The hallway was crowded with noise and laughter, but Ahsan felt utterly alone. Something made him glance back—
Raida was following him.
When he stopped, she stopped.
When he walked again, she mirrored every step.
Panic shot through him. His heartbeat quickened as he began walking faster. Then faster still. And finally, he ran.
He sprinted down the corridor and darted into the washroom, slamming a stall door shut behind him. His hands trembled as he locked it. He sat down, buried his face in his arms, and broke down in tears.
He didn't know what to do anymore. He knew Raida probably wanted him at her funeral. He should've been there. But he hadn't gone—he was too afraid.
Now she was here.
He spent the entire lunch break hiding in the stall, the muffled sounds of the school fading away until the bell rang again. Slowly, he stepped out, wiping his face. The corridor was quiet.
He forced himself to walk back to the classroom.
She wasn't there.
Ahsan exhaled shakily and sat down at his desk. Maybe it was over. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.
Then Junayed's voice came from his left.
"What is it, Ahsan? You okay, dude?"
Relieved, Ahsan turned to answer—
—but froze.
It wasn't Junayed.
It was Raida.
His breath caught. He turned to his right—Raida again.
He looked around in horror. Every single face in the classroom... was Raida.
Dozens of them, all identical, all staring at him with empty eyes.
Even the teacher at the blackboard—Raida. She was writing something, over and over, her hand twitching as the chalk squealed against the surface.
Why did you not come?
Why did you not come?
Why did you not come?
The words repeated endlessly, filling the room with a scratching, maddening sound.
Ahsan clutched his head and screamed.
Ahsan burst out of the classroom, his chest heaving, vision blurred with panic.
But the hallway was worse.
Dozens of Raidas stood waiting for him. All of them—identical. Pale faces, dead eyes, hair swaying as if in a slow wind that didn't exist. They stared at him with the same hollow expression of sorrow and rage.
Ahsan stumbled backward, gasping for air. He turned to look for an exit—
—and froze.
The sign above the door read: Room 309.
His stomach dropped.
No... that couldn't be.
He was on the fifth floor. He knew he was on the fifth floor. How had he ended up here?
He looked around wildly, but the corridor was gone—replaced by an endless stretch of darkness, and the Raidas closing in.
Ahsan bolted back into the classroom and slammed the door shut.
The Raidas were already inside.
Their voices rose together, echoing like a storm of grief and accusation:
"Why did you not come?"
Ahsan's voice cracked.
"I was scared! I couldn't see your dead face—it would've killed me from the inside!"
The chorus of Raidas advanced. Their tones twisted into fury and pain.
"Then why weren't you there for me?"
"Why weren't you there when I needed you?"
"Why didn't you comfort me?"
Their faces distorted—eyes bleeding shadows, smiles trembling in rage.
"I thought you were my friend!"
"I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!"
Ahsan dropped to his knees, sobbing.
"I did love you! I'm sorry I wasn't there for you! I'm sorry I didn't come to your funeral! I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'M SORRY!"
The room began to twist around him, the air thick with the sound of whispering voices and the scratching of fingernails on the floor. Behind him, the window stood open—cold wind pouring in, calling to him like a dark invitation.
It was either them or the fall.
Maybe he deserved it. Maybe this was justice.
He took one last trembling breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the end.
Then—
Bang!
The door burst open.
And there he stood—calm, composed, eyes glowing faintly blue.
The Exorcist.