Asylum's Ardour

Chapter 1: The Final Unit

He leaned back in his chair, thinking.

"You'll find no shortage of case studies here," he said quietly, almost bitterly. "But if you want a challenge, a real one... then go to the third floor. Room C-91."

He paused, then looked at me directly.

"There's a girl there. Be careful, boy."

His tone was calm, but there was something weighted in it. Not a warning. A history.

I thanked him and left the office, my heart beginning to thump a little faster.

Climbing to the third floor felt longer than it should've. The steps were narrow, the lighting dim. As I passed the second floor, the hallway buzzed faintly with the distant murmurs of patients-some laughing, some muttering, some simply staring into space.

I wasn't scared, but I could feel the silence pressing on me. It wasn't the kind of silence you find in libraries or empty streets. This was different. It was loaded, like the air knew more than it could say.

I walked slowly, peering at room numbers, trying to spot C-91.

I saw patients along the hallway-some pacing, some sitting still, their eyes heavy with things I couldn't understand. Every now and then, a nurse or orderly passed by with a clipboard or a tray of meds. Most didn't acknowledge me.

Then I spotted a janitor mopping the floor near a hallway bend.

"Bhaiya," I asked, "C-91 kahan hai?"

He paused, leaned on his mop, and looked at me for a long time. His eyes were sunken, tired.

"Beta," he said slowly, "you *really* want to meet that girl?"

I blinked. "Yes... what's wrong?"

He didn't answer right away. Just gave a sigh and pointed down the corridor.

"Bas seedha jao. Last room left mein hai. But... just be careful."

He resumed mopping, muttering something under his breath. I caught a word: *paagalpan.*

I gave him a small smile, as if to brush off his concern, but inside, I felt a flicker of something-uncertainty? Dread? I wasn't sure.

I walked toward the last room.

C-91.

The door was half-open. The light inside was dim, a soft yellow glow that barely reached the corners. I stepped in gently.

She was there.

A girl-barely more than a silhouette at first-sitting cross-legged in the far corner of the room. Her hair was long and tangled, her posture still and strange, like a statue abandoned mid-prayer. She wore a simple hospital gown, pale blue, and her arms were wrapped around her knees.

I took a few steps closer.

The air in the room felt thicker. Like I had crossed some invisible boundary.

"Hello," I said, keeping my voice soft.

No response.

I tried again. "Hello?"

Then, slowly, she turned her face toward me.

Our eyes met.

It was like time cracked for a moment.

Her eyes-dark, haunted, beautiful-were oceans of something I couldn't name. Pain. Confusion. Something else. There was a flicker of recognition in them, though we had never met before.

She didn't move.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and slightly hoarse. "What do you want from me?"

I introduced myself, said I was here to talk, to understand.

She blinked slowly.

"I'm Hitisha Sharma," she said after a pause. "But you can call me Saraswati. That's what I really am."

Saraswati. Goddess of knowledge. Her voice had a peculiar clarity when she said it.

"I'm twenty years old," she added.

I stared, surprised. She didn't look twenty. She looked younger. Not in appearance, but in her manner-like time had frayed around her.

I didn't question it. I just nodded and sat on the floor, not too close, not too far.

She watched me with the quiet intensity of someone who didn't trust the world-but was willing to give it one more chance.

We talked.

For hours.

And that was only the beginning.