Phantom Thread

[IronQuill]

Index

[IronQuill]

The First Thread

Savita’s Diary — 3rd May,2003

Today Ma scolded me again for staring at those glossy bridal magazines. I know we cannot afford such dresses, but still… I dream. Arun is kind, steady, but he cannot see me the way those brides shine on these pages. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever glow like that.

This evening, while returning from College, I passed a new shop. "Raghunath Master — Bridal Tailors." The signboard is plain, hand-painted. An old man sat inside, stitching quietly, as though the whole world was his thread. He looked up and smiled when I peeked in. I don’t know why, but I stepped inside.

Savita’s Diary — 14th May

I tried on the half-made lehenga today. When Raghunath Master dbangd it around me, I felt… oh, I cannot write it! It was an eerie feeling. My whole body flushed, as though someone touched me everywhere at once. He said nothing, only smiled, his fingers moving with impossible delicacy. My breath caught when the fabric brushed my hip. For a moment, I thought he had caressed me,but his hands were nowhere near.

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Arun’s Email to Ravi

Date: June 11, 2003

Subject: Just Married! Life Begins

Hey Ravi,

I hope this email finds you well. How is your life at New York? I missed having you at the wedding, man. it would have meant a lot to have you there. But I wanted to tell you how things went… it was absolutely perfect. Honestly, I’m still walking on air.

The wedding itself was something out of a dream. The mandap was decorated with marigolds and jasmine, every corner dbangd with bright silk and fairy lights. Savita looked… I don’t even have words. Her lehenga shimmered like morning sunlight, all gold embroidery and soft reds. She was radiant. I think everyone was struck silent the moment she walked in. I still remember the way her father gave her away, his eyes glistening and how she caught mine with that shy, nervous smile. I swear, Ravi, she looked like a princess from one of those films .

The ceremony went smoothly. The priests chanted, the fire crackled, and we circled the sacred flame, reciting our vows. I felt a strange surge of happiness, something I didn’t know I could feel in one moment. The crowd cheered as we finally became husband and wife. Our families were beaming, the band played, and the feast afterward… oh man, the food! I know you’d have loved the desserts.

Savita’s laughter… Ravi, it’s unforgettable. Every time she smiles, I feel like the luckiest man alive. We even strolled along the riverbank late at night. The lights were dancing on the water, and she squeezed my hand really tightly.ight. I could feel her warmth, her excitement. It’s like the whole city paused just for us.

I can’t wait for you to meet her when you come next. You’d love her. She is so kind, smart, and funny. We’re already planning a small honeymoon getaway, nothing fancy, just the two of us. I feel… complete, Ravi. Like everything I ever wanted has finally arrived.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I’ll send photos soon.

Talk soon,
Arun

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Ravi’s Email to Arun

Subject: You Guys Look Incredible

Hey Arun,

New York is a nonstop blur of skyscbangrs, late-night pizza, and the kind of chaos only the city that never sleeps can offer. Just got your email and the photos. Wow! You and Savita look absolutely stunning. I wish I could have been there to see it all in person; I can only imagine how magical it must have felt.I can tell how happy you are, Arun. You have that glow that only a new husband gets, like you are carrying around a secret joy in your chest. I am genuinely thrilled for you. It looks like everything went exactly as you dreamed. Savita seems so warm and radiant; I can see why you are head over heels.

Thanks for sharing the photos. Makes me really wish I could teleport over and meet her, maybe when I come to India next month. You better keep me updated on everything, honeymoon plans, little stories, even the boring stuff. I want to hear it all.

You two make a beautiful couple, truly. Sending big congrats again. Wishing you both endless happiness.

Cheers,
Ravi

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Arun’s Email to Ravi

Date: June 12, 2003

Subject: Settling In

Hey Ravi,

I hope you are doing well. Things have been wonderful here since the wedding . Savita and I are finally getting some quiet time after all the ceremonies and family gatherings. The house feels alive but peaceful, and every corner reminds me of that day.

Our first few days have been spent unpacking gifts, arranging flowers, and enjoying each other’s company. We took a short trip to a nearby hill station, nothing fancy, just a quiet retreat. It was lovely walking along the trails, sipping chai at little shops, and watching the sun set over the hills. Savita was radiant everywhere we went, laughing constantly, and I found myself grinning like a fool just watching her.

The evenings have been nice too. We cook together, play music, and sometimes watch old movies. It feels simple, but perfect. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that shy, radiant smile, and I swear I feel like the luckiest man alive. The wedding really felt like the beginning of something extraordinary.

That said, Ravi, there is one small thing I noticed recently. It’s hard to describe, and I might just be imagining it, but occasionally Savita seems… different for a moment. A little flushed, a little distracted, as if something unseen has her attention. It’s fleeting, nothing serious, but noticeable. I guess it’s just the excitement of being newly married, or maybe I am reading too much into it.

Anyway, I wanted to share this with you. I hope to hear from you soon, and I can’t wait for you to finally meet her.

Take care,
Arun
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Savita’s Diary Date: June 18, 2003

I had the strangest of dreams today. The dream felt so real. I was exhausted this afternoon, so I closed my eyes for a brief nap while wearing my new salwar.

 The room was quiet, the sunlight warm on my skin. As I dozed, a strange sensation ran through me. It felt like hands moving lightly across my body, gentle and deliberate, yet no one was there.

 My heart raced, my skin felt alive in a way I could not explain. A tickle, almost a featherlight brush, began at my breasts, circling them slowly, as if cupping an invisible handful. 

Then, a more insistent pressure moved lower, tracing the curve beneath, sending shivers down my spine. The sensation intensified, moving to the sensitive skin of my armpit, a playful exploration that made me gasp softly. 

It was a phantom touch, teasing and arousing. My breath hitched as the focus shifted downwards, a delicate pressure against my lower back, circling my… my bottom. 
Then, a shocking, thrilling awareness bloomed between my legs. A gentle, persistent pressure, as if fingertips were brushing against me, exploring the very core of my being. It was intoxicating, confusing, and thrilling all at once, leaving me breathless and damp. 

When I woke, flushed and dazed, I felt a mix of guilt and fascination. I am married to Arun, and yet this strange, compelling awareness lingered, leaving me restless and aware of feelings I had never known. My body thrummed with a low, insistent ache.




Savita’s Diary

Date: June 19, 2003

I couldn’t sleep properly at last night. The memory of yesterday's…experience…kept replaying in my mind . Was it just playing in my mind? Or I was experiencing the same sensations during my sleep last night? I don't know.  Each caress, each shiver, the feeling of being utterly possessed by something unseen. It was wrong, so terribly wrong, and yet… a part of me craved it.

This morning, I tried to dismiss it as a dream, a figment of my overwrought imagination. But the lingering sensitivity, the heightened awareness of my own body, told me it was more than that.

I decided to wear the new salwar again today. A foolish decision, perhaps, a test of my own sanity. I told myself it was simply the most comfortable thing to wear on a hot day, but deep down, I knew I was curious, wanting to see if it would happen again.

Arun left for work as usual. As soon as I was alone, a familiar warmth began to spread through me. It started subtly, a light tingling on my skin, easily dismissed as the fabric against me. I began to do some chores.

But then, the sensation sharpened. The same phantom touch returned, initially light and teasing. It started at my neck, ghosting down my collarbone, a whisper of pressure that made me gasp. I stopped, frozen, clutching a dishrag in my hand.

The "hands" grew bolder. They traced the outline of my breasts, lingering on the nipples, making them tighten and ache. I closed my eyes, shame warring with an undeniable pleasure. My breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Lower and lower they went, down my stomach, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. A delicious agony bloomed as the pressure intensified, finding the tender flesh between my legs. It was insistent, demanding, stroking with an invisible hand. My hips began to move involuntarily, a slow, rhythmic sway.

"No," I whispered, but the sound was lost in the rising tide of sensation. I pressed my knees together, trying to fight it, but it was no use. The phantom touch knew exactly what it was doing, where to caress, where to tease. I was lost, adrift in a sea of forbidden pleasure.

My breathing turned ragged, almost sobs. My body clenched, a building crescendo of sensation that threatened to overwhelm me. Guilt twisted in my stomach, a painful counterpoint to the exquisite pleasure. Arun… how could I be doing this?

And yet, I couldn't stop. The phantom touch was in control, leading me on a path of pure, unadulterated desire.

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Email 1: Arun to Professor Sharma

Date: 10th July , 2003

Subject: Congratulations on your new paper

Dear Professor Sharma,

I hope this message finds you well. I recently read about your latest publication in the Journal of Applied Psychology and wanted to congratulate you. Your work on cognitive behavioral interventions is remarkable, and it is inspiring to see your research continue to advance.

It feels strange to write and not have a campus around me. The wedding was three months ago now, and life has changed so much. I often think back to our classes and the lessons I learned from you.

Warm regards,
Arun

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Email 2: Professor Sharma to Arun

Date: July 11, 2003

Subject: Re: Congratulations on your new paper

Dear Arun,

Thank you for your kind note. It means a great deal to hear from former students, especially on such personal occasions. I am glad my work reaches interested minds like yours.

How have you been adjusting to married life? Savita is a wonderful addition to your life, I am sure.

Best regards,
Professor Sharma

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Email 3: Arun to Professor Sharma

Date: July 12, 2003

Subject: Settling in

Dear Professor Sharma,

Life has been both joyful and exhausting. Savita and I are gradually settling into our routines, discovering small joys in the daily household. The home feels alive with our laughter, but I sometimes feel the responsibility of marriage weigh heavier than I expected.

Your presence at the wedding is still fresh in my memory. It was comforting to see a familiar face.

Warm regards,
Arun

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Email 4: Professor Sharma to Arun

Date: July 13, 2003

Subject: Re: Settling in

Dear Arun,

I am glad to hear that. These early months are always full of adjustments and surprises. Make sure you take time to enjoy each other’s company, even in the smallest ways.

Have you and Savita managed any little excursions or trips yet? Sometimes a brief change of scenery works wonders.

Best,
Professor Sharma

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Email 5: Arun to Professor Sharma

Date: June 19, 2003

Subject: Something concerning

Dear Professor Sharma,

I hesitate to trouble you, but I feel I should share something I have noticed. Savita has recently shown behaviors that seem unusual, almost as if something was hidden before our marriage. I cannot shake the thought that her family might have withheld information about a possible mental condition.

I am not sure what to make of it and would greatly value your advice.

Sincerely,
Arun

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Email 6: Professor Sharma to Arun

Date: June 19, 2003
Subject: Re: Something concerning

Dear Arun,

I appreciate your candor. Please provide some specific examples of these behaviors. It is difficult to comment without knowing what you have observed.

Best regards,
Professor Sharma

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Email 7: Arun to Professor Sharma

Date: June 20, 2003
Subject: Examples of the concerning behavior

Dear Professor Sharma,

Thank you for your reply. Yesterday morning I witnessed something that I cannot easily explain. I found Savita standing in front of the mirror, completely still, eyes glazed, as though in a trance. Her movements were slow and deliberate, almost hypnotic. It reminded me strangely of those perfume commercials, where a scent seems to overwhelm the senses, leaving the subject intoxicated.

When I called her name, she reacted immediately, blinking rapidly, avoiding my eyes, and blushing as if caught doing something she should not. She stammered that she had felt dizzy from the sunlight and apologized for not being careful, saying she had merely been daydreaming.

I am deeply concerned about what might be causing such behavior. Could this indicate a psychological episode or an underlying condition? Your guidance would be invaluable.

Sincerely,
Arun

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Savita’s Diary

Date: 3rd August, 2003

How could I let it happen again? Worse, how could I...enjoy it? The guilt is a heavy stone in my chest, crushing me. I barely spoke to Arun this evening. How could I look him in the eye, knowing what I’ve done, what I allow to be done to me?

This morning, I vowed to wear a different sari. A simple cotton one, old and worn, anything to avoid that cursed salwar. But the heat was oppressive, clinging to me like a shroud. And, if I am truly honest with myself, a seed of perverse curiosity had taken root. I wanted to know if it would happen again, if the phantom touch was specific to the salwar, or if… if I was simply losing my mind.

Foolishly, I put it on. Telling myself it was a scientific experiment, a test. God forgive me.

The sensation started almost immediately. A tremor, barely perceptible, deep within my core. This time, I didn't even try to fight it. I went to the mirror, drawn by a morbid fascination. I wanted to see what was happening to me, to witness the corruption of my own body.

As the phantom hands began their insidious work, I watched my reflection. My eyes, wide and dilated, reflecting a mixture of shame and desire. My lips, parted in a silent plea. My hands, clenching and unclenching at my sides.

The hands were everywhere, teasing, caressing, demanding. They lifted the salwar, baring my skin to the non-existent air. My breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath, the nipples hard and aching. The touch grew more intense, more intimate, focusing on the throbbing heat between my legs.

My head fell back against the cool glass of the mirror. My body writhed, a puppet dancing to a silent, sinful tune. And then, I saw it.

A fleeting glimpse in the periphery of my vision. A face, shrouded in mist, hovering behind my reflection. A man’s face, gaunt and lined, with eyes that seemed to burn with an unsettling intensity. For a split second, I thought it was Arun, but no… this face was older, weathered, familiar in a way I couldn’t quite grasp.

Raghunath Master. The realization hit me like a physical blow. My tailor. The man who crafted the salwar, the man whose hands had touched the fabric as he sewed it, was somehow here, in my room, touching me.

And then, I felt it. A warm breath on my neck, a whisper in my ear, too faint to understand, but laced with possessive intent. A pressure, light as a feather, on the nape of my neck, a lingering kiss that sent shivers down my spine.

I screamed, pulling away from the mirror, stumbling backwards. I spun around, frantically searching the room, but there was nothing. Only the lingering warmth on my neck, the phantom echo of a kiss, and the overwhelming stench of guilt.

I ripped the salwar off, throwing it to the floor as if it were a poisonous snake. I need to burn it. No, I need to figure out what is happening or else this will keep torturing me. I feel dirty, violated, but also…strangely, frighteningly aroused. I don’t understand any of this. I am terrified. I am going mad.

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Savita’s Diary

Date: 4th August, 2003

This morning, I examined the new salwar with a wary eye. It looked innocent enough, a cheerful yellow cotton with delicate embroidery around the neckline. But yesterday’s experience cast a sinister light on its beauty. Could it be possible? Could a garment, sewn with thread and imbued with the will of its creator, possess such power? The thought was absurd, fantastical, yet the memory of that intense, disembodied touch felt undeniably real. I will burn it. I swear I will. I must.

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Email 9: Arun to Professor Sharma

Date: August 4th, 2003

Subject: Another concerning incident

Dear Professor Sharma,

I am afraid I must report another incident that has left me deeply unsettled. Yesterday afternoon, my mother heard Savita screaming from our bedroom. She rushed in and found Savita in tears, holding a torn salwar in her hands. The garment had been ripped completely, and her fingers were raw from the force she had used.

At first, Savita refused to explain why she had done it. She simply cried, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. After some time, she managed to stammer an explanation: she claimed that bugs, or even a scorpion, had been crawling inside the salwar. I cannot reconcile her explanation with what I saw. The intensity of her reaction, the violence of her actions, and the raw distress on her face seemed far beyond what could be caused by a mere insect.

I fear she may have undergone some sort of psychotic episode. Her behavior is alarming, and I am unsure how to approach it without causing further distress. I wanted to inform you, as I feel your advice could help me navigate this delicate situation.

Sincerely,
Arun
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Shivnagar Gazette

Date: 5th August , 2003

Headline: Midnight Robbery at Rathi Jewellery: Thieves Escape With Valuables

Byline: R. K. DAS

Shivnagar: Residents were shaken Thursday night after a daring robbery at Rathi Jewellery on Main Street. Around 11:30 p.m., masked intruders entered the store, fired shots, and escaped with jewellery and cash estimated at nearly 15 lakh rupees.

security officer confirmed that the operation was executed with alarming precision, leaving few immediate witnesses. “It was over before anyone could intervene,” a security officer spokesperson said, adding that investigations are ongoing.

Suresh Mehta, a night security guard of ATM nearby, said, “I heard shots and saw some movement in the shadows, but I couldn’t make out anyone clearly.”


Ramesh Verma, owner of the shop to the left of Rathi Jewellery who lives above his store, said, “I heard the shots, but I was too scared to check. I stayed inside and waited for the security officer to arrive.”

Raghunath Master, the tailor on the opposite side of Rathi Jewellery, added, “I heard loud noises too, but I didn’t dare step out. It was terrifying. When I looked later, the street was already cordoned off by security officer.”

Some locals reported unusual sightings near the scene during the robbery.

Arjun Singh, a milkman, “One of my cows was ill, so I was checking on her in the shed around 11:45 p.m. I saw a woman carrying a dress in one hand and what appeared to be a drum in the other. She disappeared into the woods before I could get closer. She seemed to be wearing a saree, but I couldn’t see her face.”

Dev Anand, a retired railway ticket checker who suffers from insomnia, offered a conflicting account. “I saw a woman as well, but she was not in a saree. She was wearing a nightie. Her face was hidden, and she vanished into the trees quickly,” he said.

security officer have noted the mysterious woman as a person of interest in the investigation. “We are looking into the sightings. It’s possible she was an accessory, though nothing is confirmed,” a spokesperson said.

Authorities urge anyone with information about the robbery or the unusual sightings to come forward.

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Magnum Health & Lifestyle ,September edition – Page 42

Section: Sex Solutions with Dr. Meera Nair

Dr. Meera Nair, renowned sexual health specialist and columnist, has been the anchor of this advice page for over five years. Readers write in anonymously with their intimate questions, and she provides professional, discreet guidance. Her column is considered one of the most trusted in the magazine for candid and non-judgmental advice.

Letter from a Reader (Anonymous):
Dear Dr. Nair,

I am a newly married man .Recently I have noticed something unusual regarding my wife that troubles me. On a few occasions at night, while lying beside her in the dark, I have felt her body responding in ways that confuse me. It seems as though she is aroused, though I am not involved at all. She moves subtly, her reactions are intense, and it happens even when she is half-asleep or napping.

What troubles me most is the thought that I may not be able to satisfy her sexually. I worry that even when she is awake and we are together, I might be failing her, and that these involuntary reactions are a sign that she is seeking something I cannot provide. I feel frustrated and helpless, as I love her deeply but I cannot control or understand these experiences.

We’ve been married such a short time, and I thought I knew her, but the other night… well, I’m not sure what to make of it. I don’t want to overreact, but I also can’t shake this feeling that something is off.

I will tell you the most recent episode. My wife got herself a new nightie.On of those silky one, almost like a slip.She wore it to bed last night. We made sweet love and she seemed happy after that.I was already pretty tired, had a long day at work, and I drifted off pretty quickly.

I woke up a couple of hours later, and I was lying beside her. It was completely dark, so I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear her. She wasn’t asleep. She was… well, she was breathing heavily, almost like she was… aroused.

At first, I thought maybe she was dreaming, having some kind of… you know. But then I heard her whisper something. Just a little “no,” barely audible. And then she started moaning, very softly and said a prolonged hushed "yessss".

I was completely still, pretending to sleep. I didn't want to embarrass her if it was just a dream. But then... her hips started moving. A slow, rhythmic sway. Like she was pleasuring herself. My eyes were adjusted to the dark by then.

it was the strangest thing. I was lying right next to her, completely still, and she was getting… really into it. The moans got louder, more intense. Her breathing was ragged. I could feel the heat radiating from her body.

I was so confused and, honestly, a little turned on myself. I mean, lying next to your wife, hearing her like that… But the whole situation felt so… off. She didn’t know I was awake, and that made it feel wrong, like I was intruding on something private, something I shouldn’t be seeing… or rather, hearing.

The whole thing lasted for maybe ten -fifteen minutes. Then it stopped as abruptly as it started. She was silent again, her breathing gradually returning to normal. I stayed still, pretending to be asleep, until the morning.

This morning, she seemed perfectly normal. No sign of anything having happened. I tried to bring it up subtly, but she just changed the subject.
I am hesitant to discuss this with anyone I know personally. I hope you can help me understand whether these reactions are natural, and how I might ensure that she is happy and fulfilled.

—Concerned Husband

Dr. Meera Nair – Reply:

Dear Concerned Husband,

Thank you for your honest and thoughtful letter. What you’ve described is intense, involuntary arousal during sleep or a semi-conscious state. This phenomenon can arise from various factors and is frequently a normal physiological response.It does not necessarily indicate dissatisfaction with a partner.

Your feelings of frustration and worry are natural. The best approach is communication and mutual exploration. Encourage conversations with your wife about what she enjoys and what makes her feel fulfilled, without pressure or judgment. Focusing on intimacy beyond intercourse.Touch, connection, and understanding can strengthen both emotional and sexual bonds.

If these experiences continue to cause distress for either of you, consulting a sexual health specialist or therapist together may help you both navigate and understand them safely.

—Dr. Meera Nair

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First Information Report (FIR)

security officer Station: Shivnagar Central

FIR No.: 117/2003

Date of Report: 15th September 2003

Time of Report: 08:55 AM

Complainant: Arun Kumar Singh
Address: 16, Laxmi Nagar, Shivnagar
Phone: [redacted]

Nature of Complaint: Breaking and Entering, Theft

Details of Incident:
The complainant, Arun Kumar Singh, reported that between the night of 14th September 2003 and the early hours of 15th September 2003, an unknown person unlawfully entered his residence at 16, Laxmi Nagar. The intruder specifically targeted items belonging to the complainant’s wife, Savita Singh, including clothing and personal wedding belongings, along with other valuables.

The stolen items reported include:

Bridal and formal clothing: one lehenga, two sarees, three salwar suits, and assorted dupattas.

Gold jewelry: one mangalsutra, two pairs of earrings, three bangles, and one gold chain.

Cash gifts and envelopes totaling approximately ₹45,000 received during the wedding.

Wedding keepsakes: embroidered handkerchiefs, a set of silver utensils gifted by relatives, and a decorative bridal clutch.

Personal diary of Savita Singh.

The complainant noted that the theft appears highly selective, targeting items used or worn during the wedding, suggesting prior knowledge of the household and its possessions. The incident was discovered early on 15th September 2003 when the complainant noticed multiple items missing and signs of disturbance in the house.

Description of Suspect:
The complainant did not see the intruder. He suspects that the thief may be familiar with the household due to the targeted nature of the stolen items.

Action Taken:

Complaint recorded under Sections 454 (Lurking House Trespass or House-breaking) and 380 (Theft in Dwelling House) of the Indian Penal Code.

Investigation initiated by Officer-in-Charge.

Neighbors advised to report any suspicious activity.

Signature of Complainant: Arun Kumar Singh
Signature of security officer Officer: [Officer Name]

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The Times of India

Date: 17th October 2003

Headline: Newlywed Woman Disappears Without a Trace

Byline: Staff Reporter

Shivnagar: Savita Singh, 23, a newlywed resident of Laxmi Nagar, has mysteriously vanished, leaving family and local residents shocked. She was last seen leaving her home on the evening of 16th September and has not been heard from since.

Her husband, Arun Kumar Singh, reported her disappearance to the Shivnagar Central security officer Station early this morning. security officer officials have confirmed that a missing person investigation has been initiated. Authorities are reviewing possible leads, questioning neighbors, and inspecting the area for any signs of foul play.

“This is an unusual case,” said an officer at the station. “There is no evidence of forced entry at the residence, and neighbors report no suspicious activity. All avenues are being explored, including the possibility of voluntary disappearance or third-party involvement.”

Local residents expressed concern and bewilderment at her sudden disappearance.
security officer have urged anyone with information regarding Savita Singh’s whereabouts to come forward. Meanwhile, her family remains anxious and is appealing for any leads that could help locate her.

Contact: Shivnagar Central security officer Station – Tel: [redacted]

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Shivnagar Gazette  – October 18, 2003

Headline: Newlywed Mystery: Husband’s Family Member Hints at Secret Lover?

Byline: Local Correspondent

Shivnagar : The recent disappearance of 23-year-old Savita Singh has left the town abuzz, and new, eyebrow-raising claims suggest the story may be more tangled than previously thought. While the security officer continue their search, a close relative of Arun Kumar Singh, the husband, has reportedly hinted at “strange and secretive behavior” by Savita since the wedding.

According to the source, who refused to be named,claimed that the husband told him a while ago "Brother, I must tell you something. Savita is changed since the wedding. At night she calls out a name which is not mine. When I touched her, she trembled as if someone else was already holding her. She slips away at night, claiming to pray or to air herself. Sometimes I wake and find her standing before the mirror in her bridal dress, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips whispering. Brother, I fear my wife belongs to another, but who, I cannot say.”

Adding fuel to the speculation is the recent burglary at the Singh residence, where bridal clothes, jewelry,diary and wedding gifts were stolen. Town gossip suggests a connection between the theft and Savita’s sudden disappearance, with some wondering if the items were stolen by a secret lover planning an elopement. Others question why anyone would steal the possessions if they were simply planning to run away with them.

While the security officer have yet to confirm any leads regarding a third party, locals are closely watching the case, and murmurs of intrigue and scandal fill the streets of Shivnagar.

The Gazette continues to follow this story and will provide updates as the investigation progresses.

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PRESENT DAY  : A New thread

Priya flopped onto the bed, holding a thin, crumpled newspaper. 

"Look at this, Didi," she said with a mischievous grin. "Your favorite Shivnagar Gazette. Grandpa’s the only person in the world still paying for it, and now I see why,they print ghost stories to keep themselves alive.'

Tulip was at her dressing table, trying on earrings for the wedding. "Not interested,” she muttered.

"Too late," Priya declared, snapping the paper open. "You have to hear this. It’s practically written for you." She cleared her throat in mock drama and began to read aloud:

"A chilling pattern haunts Shivnagar and its surrounding towns. Since June 2003, fifty-two newlywed women,aged twenty one to thirty,have disappeared within weeks or months of their weddings. security officer records across two decades show these vanishings, scattered across municipalities and 
connected to this area.

Tulip turned, frowning. 'That’s rubbish."

"Wait, it gets better!” Priya’s eyes danced as she scanned the lines.

"The first case on record was Savita Singh, age 23, married only three months before she was last seen on 16th October, 2003. In 2007, Anjali Yadav, a collegeteacher, 24, vanished from her husband’s home in Rajapur. In 2011, Leela Sharma, 21, a college student turned bride, disappeared during the festival season. The latest case is from February 2025—Meenakshi Verma, 25, newlywed from Shivnagar itself."

Tulip’s earrings slipped from her fingers. "That’s just… creepy."

Priya, enjoying herself, pressed on. "Sources claim that in very few cases, there were reports of the women acting strangely before their disappearance standing at mirrors for long stretches, acting absent minded, wandering at night, or claiming to hear voices. security officer never solved a single case. Families moved away in shame or silence."

Tulip hugged herself, suddenly aware of the quiet air in the room. "Enough, Priya."

But Priya wasn’t finished. She folded the paper dramatically and said, "So you see, Didi, if you go missing, you’ll just be number fifty-three on the Shivnagar list!" She giggled, then tossed the Gazette aside. "Seriously, don’t look so pale. This paper is desperate. No one reads vernacular rags anymore in the age of internet,except old people like Grandpa. They’ll print anything juicy to stay alive. Probably all nonsense, recycled ghost tales. Soon they’ll shut down anyway.”

Tulip tried to laugh, but the unease lingered. The bold black headline of the Gazette, half-crumpled on the floor, seemed to leer back at her.

[IronQuill]

It is Ramesh’s first week at Masterji’s shop. The small tailor shop sits quietly between a paan stall and a shuttered pharmacy, its wooden sign swinging slightly in the morning breeze.


Ramesh steps inside. The front desk is empty; Masterji is nowhere in sight. The faint clatter of a sewing machine hums from the back room. He knows Masterji must be there.

Ramesh’s fingers brush the polished counter as he moves forward, then he pushes open the narrow door leading to the back. The machine’s rhythm grows louder, steady, almost alive, and the rich scent of silk and thread drifts toward him. The room beyond is dim, but he can just make out the tall, hunched figure of Masterji bent over a piece of crimson fabric, hands moving with practiced precision.

Ramesh’s eyes sweep over the shelves of neatly folded fabrics, the threads glinting in the sunlight. The air smells faintly of cotton, silk, and machine oil. He notices how Masterji’s fingers brush the fabric with care, coaxing it, lifting it, letting it fall naturally.

Masterji glances up briefly, eyes sharp and bright, then returns to his work. Ramesh opens his mouth to speak, but Masterji already anticipates him somehow.

“Hush… don’t rush the silk… like some people, it has a temper,” Masterji says, his eyes never leaving the fabric.

Ramesh swallows, caught off guard. He steps back slightly, giving Masterji space, and watches as the needle pierces the deep crimson silk with a steady, almost musical rhythm.

“Must be careful with this edge,” Masterji murmurs softly, almost to the cloth itself. “It remembers everything.”

Ramesh swallows again and finally blurts out, “Masterji… what should I do first?”

Masterji glances at him briefly, then nods toward a stack of neatly folded silks. “Take these to the cutting table. Lay them out flat, smooth every fold.”

Ramesh steps forward and begins lifting the bolts of silk. The fabric is soft under his fingers, almost warm, and he can’t help but watch Masterji’s hands move with effortless precision over the crimson lehenga.

“Keep them in order,” Masterji adds without looking up. “Each one has its place. Don’t mix the shades.”

Ramesh nods, arranging the bolts as instructed. The hum of the sewing machine fills the room, steady and hypnotic, as he works.

They work until 11 a.m., then it’s time for chai. Ramesh steps out and walks to the nearby tea stall, ordering two cups. While Chotu prepares them, he wanders across to the paan stall. Babu, the wiry stall owner with stained teeth perpetually bared in a mischievous grin, eyes him hungrily.

Ramesh chuckles, swatting playfully. “Babu bhai, stop it! Masterji will hear you. And those are our customers,have some respect.”


Babu just winked, expertly folding a betel leaf. "Respect? For those apsaras who come to get their blouses stitched? Arre, Ramesh, you're young. You see the measurements Masterji takes, eh? That Rekha Rani, the one with the… cough, generous figure... he needs a ladder to measure her! And that tight salwar kameez she wore last week? Showed off her… gestures suggestively… assets quite nicely, wouldn't you say?"
 He popped the paan into his mouth, chewing with gusto. "And what about that young Meena, always fluttering her eyelashes and asking for the blouse to be just so? Hmmm, she knows exactly what she's doing, showing off her… makes a cupping motion with his hands… youthful charms."


Ramesh shifts  uncomfortably. He is getting used to Babu's crude jokes; it was just Babu being Babu. 

He tried to steer the conversation away. "Tea should be ready soon, Babu bhai. Looks like Chotu is bringing it over. You want one?"

Babu, unfazed, spat a stream of red juice into a nearby drain. "Nah, I'll stick to my paan for now. But let me tell you, Ramesh, Masterji is a lucky man. Surrounded by such… gestures again… inspiration all day long. Though, between you and me," he leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "I wouldn't mind taking some measurements myself!" He punctuates the statement with a wet, smacking sound.

Ramesh feels trapped in the conversation, just wanting his tea and to get back to the shop. Before he can respond, Chotu arrives, balancing two steaming glasses. 

Relief washes over him. “Ah, perfect timing! Here, Chotu, let me take those.” 

He pays and turns to Babu, forcing a smile. “Gotta go, Babu bhai. See you later.”

He hurries back to the tailor shop with the two cups. In the back room, Raghunath Master stands in front of the mirror caressing the crimson lehenga.

A new one is bound. Her pulse beats in my cloth, her soul sewn into my seams. Tomorrow she will shine, and they will all come. The town does not yet know it, but every bride shall wear me. Every husband shall share his wife with my threads. I do not cut fabric. I carve vessels. A sleeve to cradle a wrist, a bodice to breathe upon her chest, a hem to kiss her ankles. They think they pay for silk, for zari, for the shimmer of borrowed luxury. But what they buy is entry. What they carry home is me. Last night, I listened as the new one sighed in her sleep. She whispered a name. Not his. Mine. With her lips, wrapped with the rustle of the garment, the creak of the threads tightening around her body. The husband turned beside her, ignorant. It was I who held her. The town believes the shop is a place of commerce. They do not see the loom behind the curtain. My clothes are only the messengers. It is me that devours. One by one, they shall come to me. One by one, I will bind them. They all will kneel for measurements, and I will measure their futures.

“Masterji… chai,” Ramesh calls, breaking him from his thoughts.

[IronQuill]

Priya sits cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, while Tulip leans against the dresser, fiddling with her bangles.


“Priya… I don’t know,” Tulip laments. “I keep looking at these designer lehengas online, and they’re gorgeous, like dreams. But the prices…” She trails off, biting her lip.

Priya glances up, smirking. “Dreams come at a price, Dee. You knew that the day you started pinning those Sabyasachi looks to your Pinterest board.”

Tulip flushes. “Don’t tease. I just… I can’t imagine walking into the wedding hall in anything less. But Dad will have a fit if he knows I’m even considering something that expensive. And Mom will just say, ‘What’s wrong with the local tailor? He stitched mine and it lasted a thousand years."

“But look at the zari work, the flare, the hand embroidery. Can you imagine walking into the hall in this?” Priya says, her eyes glued to the screen.

Tulip sinks onto the bed beside her, sighing. “Everyone will stop breathing.”

Priya sprawls on the bed with her plaits undone and rolls her eyes. “Everyone will stop breathing anyway. You’re the bride.”

Tulip gets up impatiently and paces the room, her dupatta slipping from one shoulder as she speaks in a rush. “Priya, I don’t care, I want a designer lehenga. Nothing else will do. I’ve seen the pictures, the embroidery, the way the skirts move. How can I wear something ordinary after that?”

Priya sits on the bed, chin propped on her hand, watching her elder sister spiral. She giggles. “So what’s your grand plan? You’ll sell your jewellery in secret?”

Tulip smirks, though worry lingers in her eyes. “Maybe I will. All I know is, I can’t settle. This is my wedding. I want to feel like I’m wearing my dream dress.”

Then Tulip flops back on the bed and clutches a bridal magazine. “Priya, if Dad refuses, I swear I’ll just run away and get married in jeans and a top. At least then no one will complain about the cost.”

Priya giggles, then suddenly pauses, her expression shifting. “Wait… Dee you just remind me of something.”

Tulip turns her head. “What?”

“Remember Rachna’s sister’s wedding last winter? The one in Jhansi where we stayed two nights?”

Tulip’s eyes light up. “Of course! Ruchi is glowing. Her lehenga is unreal. I thought it was straight out of Delhi Fashion Week.”

Priya nods quickly, leaning in. “That’s what I thought too! But when I tell Rachna, she laughs and says, ‘Designer? Ha! It’s from some tailor in Shivnagar.
I didn't believe her at first, but she swears it. She says her jiju’s cousin gets everything made there too. Apparently this tailor makes bridal pieces that look like designer at a dirt cheap price.”

She continues ,“I’m not joking! Ask Rachna yourself. She says the stitching, the fit, the way the fabric shimmers. No one in the baraat guesses it isn’t designer. Even the photographers keep asking who the label is.”

Tulip presses her fingers to her lips, eyes narrowing in thought. “A tailor in Shivnagar…? And we’re right here. How have we never heard of him?”

Priya shrugs, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. “Maybe because we spend more time on Pinterest.”

Tulip’s excitement comes rushing back, brighter than before. “Then we’ll insist on going there. If he can make something like Ruchi wore…” She trails off, her voice full of awe. “Priya, maybe this could actually work.”

A week later, Tulip and Priya convince Rachna to take them to Ruchi’s house. The excuse is simple enough. Tulip wants to see the bridal outfit again, to judge if it truly holds up outside the glitter of the wedding night she keeps replaying in her mind.

Ruchi welcomes them warmly. Tea is poured, plates of mathri and kaju barfi laid out, and soon the living room fills with laughter and chatter.

“Ruchi,” Tulip says between sips, “I can’t stop thinking about your lehenga from the wedding. Honestly, it looks like it belongs to some top Delhi designer. You must tell me where it comes from.”

Ruchi laughs, her bangles clinking as she adjusts her dupatta. “Ah, that’s what everyone keeps asking. But no, no label, no showroom. Just a small shop in Shivnagar. The tailor is an old man who stitches it for me.”

She also reveals the making and material charges when asked.

Tulip and Priya’s jaws drop.

“No way.”

“Yes,” Ruchi says with pride. “Raghunath Master. People underestimate him because he doesn’t advertise, no glossy billboards. But once you wear his work, you understand. The fabric… it almost feels alive.” She smooths the folds of her dupatta absentmindedly.

Priya leans forward eagerly. “Alive? How so?”

Ruchi tilts her head, hesitating, then laughs it off. “Oh, maybe it’s just my nerves. But whenever I wear a dress made by Masterji, it feels like it’s embracing me. As though it’s made not just for my size, but for me. I feel beautiful in a way I never feel with other dresses.”

Tulip sighs dreamily. “That’s exactly what I want.”

As the laughter and chatter carry on, Tulip notices Ruchi fidgeting with her kurta. At first, it seems ordinary, just adjusting the dupatta, smoothing a crease. But she does it again, and again, as though her fingers can’t leave the fabric alone.

“This?” Ruchi smiles when Tulip comments on it. “Oh, yes, Masterji stitches this too. He says he has extra fabric from a bigger order and thinks it will suit me.” She runs her hand down the sleeve absentmindedly. “Honestly, I feel odd wearing anything else now. His dresses just… fit differently.”

Priya watches her more closely. Ruchi’s cheeks are flushed, though the afternoon isn’t particularly warm. Her voice carries a faint breathlessness when she speaks about the clothes, as though remembering something private, something scandalous. Every now and then, while pouring more tea, she stops mid-sentence and just stares at her reflection in the shiny steel tray. Then she shakes it off and laughs like it’s nothing.

“You girls should definitely go,” Ruchi says finally, her tone firm, almost insistent. “For your wedding, Tulip, there’s no one better. The way he takes measurements… it’s like he knows what you’ll look like before you even do. When I wear his dresses, it feels like…” She trails off, searching for words, her fingers tracing the embroidery at her neckline. “…like the dress is guiding me, not the other way around.”

Rachna chuckles lightly at her sister’s words. “Such dramatics. It’s only a tailor.”

But Tulip and Priya exchange a glance. Neither says it aloud, but both notice the same thing. Ruchi’s hand doesn’t stop stroking the fabric, as though she is soothing it, or it is soothing her.

[IronQuill]

Ramesh leans against the counter, pretending to arrange a tray of zippers when in truth his eyes follow the women who drift in and out of the workshop. The work feels boring at times but it has its perks.

Like the young college girl who comes in for blouse fittings. She always laughs too loudly at his silly jokes, and once, when Ramesh measured a sleeve for her, she teased, “Careful, Masterji, don’t stitch me tighter than my exam schedule.” Her wink lingered with him all day.

Or the married woman who drops by with her neighbor, carrying half-finished pieces tucked under her arm. She leans a little too close when showing where the seam needs fixing, her dupatta brushing his hand. “You have good eyes, Ramesh,” she says, smiling knowingly. He pretends to focus on the stitching, but her perfume clings to him long after she leaves.

Then there’s Mrs. Patel, the formidable matriarch of her family, who only speaks in commands and criticisms. Yet, even she offered a sliver of interest one day, commenting on the neatness of his work. “Your stitches are straighter than my son-in-law’s spine,” she’d declared, leaving Ramesh both amused and slightly intimidated.

He sighs, pushing the tray of zippers a little further down the counter. It’s not that he’s actively pursuing anything. It’s just... the workshop is a small oasis of connection.

A bell above the door jingles, announcing a new customer. Ramesh straightens up, ready with his smile. A woman enters, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced air of assessment. She is in her late thirties, a silk sari dbanging her with effortless grace. She doesn’t look like anyone who usually frequents a tailor shop.

“I have a rather delicate task,” she says, her voice a low, melodious hum. She approaches the counter and unfolds a piece of fabric, revealing a fragile, antique lace. “It’s torn. Can you repair it, Masterji? Without leaving a trace?”

The request is beyond Ramesh’s skill. Before he can reply, Raghunath Master steps forward.He takes the lace, his fingers tracing the delicate weave. He can feel the history woven into the fabric, the stories it could tell. He looks up at the woman, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are sharp, intelligent, and hold a depth that intrigues him.

“Definitely,” he says, his voice suddenly steadier. “But it will take time, and a lot of patience.”

The woman smiles, a genuine, warm smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Time is something I have plenty of,” she replies. “Patience, perhaps a little less. But I trust you will do your best, Masterji?”

Raghunath nods. This isn’t just about stitching lace. This is about earning the trust of a woman who sees him as a craftsman capable of preserving something precious.

He feels the familiar, almost primal hum of attraction stir within him.The instinctive allure he feels towards women. The itch to test his power, to weave a spell of lust and surrender with the very threads he uses, rises in his chest. But then, he takes a breath, forcing it down.

He scans her again. The way her sari dbangs, the subtle intelligence in her eyes, the quiet confidence in her posture. Too sharp. Too aware. He couldn’t risk exposing his other self, the weaver of desires, with her. She’s a woman who would see through his illusions, question his motives, and unravel his carefully constructed façade. 

“I will treat it with the utmost care,” Raghunath says, his tone professional and devoid of the usual undercurrent. He feels a strange sense of relief washing over him as the temptation recedes. He actively suppresses the urge, and the clarity of his mind is almost startling now.

“May I ask your name, Masterji?” the woman asks, breaking his train of thought.

“Raghunath,” he replies. “And yours?”

“Anjali.” She pauses, then adds, “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Raghunath ji. I’ll check in next week.” She leaves a small, intricately carved wooden box with him, presumably to store the lace.

He carefully examines the lace again, pulling out his magnifying glass. “I’ll need a few days,” he says. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Beside him, Ramesh silently notes down the phone number and gives the woman a receipt before she leaves.