Najar
Najar Part I – The Unease
The house was too quiet.
Aman stood in the narrow doorway of Jaya’s old home, balancing his backpack on one shoulder. Usually, when he visited, the house buzzed with sound—her father’s television blaring news from the other room, her mother clattering pots in the kitchen. But today, nothing. Just the muffled hum of a ceiling fan and the distant bark of a stray dog outside.
“Come in,” Jaya said softly, stepping aside.
She looked the same as always, yet not quite. Her face was paler, lips dry, hair loosely tied as if she hadn’t bothered to comb it. She gave a faint smile, but it was too thin, as though it were stitched in place.
Jaya’s house
Aman followed her inside. The living room was dim despite the afternoon sun. Heavy curtains swallowed the light. For the first time, he noticed strange things hanging near the doorframe—strings of lemons and chilies, slightly shriveled, dangling like dead ornaments. A small pot of water sat in the corner, untouched, with a thin layer of dust around it.
“Your parents?” Aman asked, trying to break the silence.
“Office,” she replied, sinking into the sofa. “They’ll be back late.”
That should have been normal. They often worked long hours. Yet her tone carried something heavy beneath it, a resignation he couldn’t place.
They talked for a while—about exams, friends, music—but something about Jaya was off. She laughed a second too late, her eyes darting away as if distracted by something he couldn’t see. More than once, she shifted slightly, avoiding the mirror that hung on the wall behind him, as though it carried something she didn’t want to face.
After an hour, Aman asked for tea. Jaya nodded without a word and drifted into the kitchen.
He sat alone. The silence pressed harder now, a weight that grew with each passing second. The ticking of the wall clock drilled into his ears. He tried scrolling on his phone, but the screen’s glow felt intrusive in the darkened room.
Finally, unable to resist, he rose and walked toward the kitchen.
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Something Unnatural
What he saw stopped him cold.
Jaya stood at the stove, stirring the bubbling tea. The sleeve of her kurta had slipped, revealing her arm. There were scratches there—long, jagged marks running down her skin. At first, Aman thought she had hurt herself. But when he squinted, his breath caught.
They weren’t scratches at all. They bulged beneath her skin, red and swollen, like something inside her flesh had clawed to get out.
The sight turned his stomach.
Jaya hummed softly, unaware of him watching. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to feel the pain.
Aman stumbled back, his heart hammering, and rushed to the sofa. By the time she returned with the tray—tea steaming, biscuits neatly stacked—her skin was flawless. Smooth, untouched.
He tried to speak, but no words came.
“Why are you so quiet?” Jaya asked, setting his cup down. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes… her eyes were hollow, as if something behind them was staring out.
Aman forced a laugh. “Nothing. Just… tired.”
But he knew what he had seen.
And as he raised the cup to his lips, he noticed the reflection in the glass surface of the tea. For a split second, Jaya’s face wasn’t her own—it was darker, her smile wider, stretching into something unnatural. Then the ripples broke it apart.
He blinked, and she looked normal again.
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👉 Next, in Part II – The Shadow of the Evil Eye, we’ll weave in najar folklore through Aman’s memories of his grandmother, and let Jaya’s condition worsen through unsettling supernatural signs. Subscribe to get latest update
