A tall young man stood there. wearing a Black coat, He didn’t look surprised to see eight drenched college kids. If anything, he looked like he’d been expecting them.
“You all seem lost,” he said. His voice was calm, low, the kind that makes you stop shivering. “I’m Armaan.”
Aarav stepped forward, water dripping from his hair. “Sir, our car broke down on the road. The storm… could we maybe stay here tonight? Just till morning?”
Mr. Armaan studied them for a moment, then nodded and opened the door wider. Warm air and the smell of cinnamon and old books rushed out. “Of course. Come inside before you catch fever.”
The entry hall stole their breath. A golden chandelier threw light across a black-and-white marble floor. A fireplace roared on the left, big enough to stand in. The walls held oil paintings — stern men, women in pearls, all watching.
“Whoa…” Dev whispered, forgetting about his nausea.
Meera spun in a slow circle, grinning. “Okay, this is officially better than any hotel we booked.”
Mr. Armaan took their wet jackets without a word and disappeared. He returned with a silver tray: steaming tea in bone-china cups, biscuits, and pakoras that smelled like heaven.
“You live here alone?” Sameer asked around a mouthful of pakora. His mom-raised manners were gone.
“Yes,” Armaan replied, settling into a leather armchair. The fire lit half his face. “This mansion belonged to my grandfather. I take care of it now. And its stories.”
The rain hit the tall windows like someone throwing pebbles. But inside it was warm, dry, and safe. Ananya curled into the sofa, cup between her palms. “This is honestly turning into the coolest trip ever. The car breaking down was worth it.”
She looked at Armaan. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Armaan?”
Dev cut in, leaning forward: “Yeah, what kind of person lives in a place like this?”
Armaan smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m an author, actually.”
The room went still, then exploded.
“No way!” Ananya gasped.
“Dude, that’s so cool,” Rishi said. “What do you write?”
“Horror, mostly,” Armaan said simply. “Ghosts, old houses, things that happen when the lights go out.”
A shiver went through Meera that had nothing to do with being wet. But she was smiling.
Vikram rubbed his hands together. “Then we’re in the right place. We should do horror stories tonight. For entertainment.”
Ananya said, Mr. Arman, why don't you tell us any of your stories first, but as soon as Arman was about to speak, Kabir interrupted and said, Arman is a writer, so his stories must be better than ours, so why not tell them first our stories We told each other some stories and then Armaan told us a horror story from those stories. Everyone got excited about this and Armaan also said yes. Then Dev asked who will tell it first.
Aarav jumped up, already in drama mode. “I call first! I’ve got one. It’s called _The Nightmare_. And trust me, you’ll never sleep the same after.”
He moved to stand in front of the fireplace. The flames threw his shadow huge against the wall. The friends leaned in, tea forgotten. Outside, thunder rolled again.
...Aarav cleared his throat and started:...
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