Najar
Part II – The Shadow of the Evil Eye (Najar)
That night, Aman couldn’t sleep.
The image of Jaya’s arm replayed endlessly in his head—the bulging scratches, the way her skin seemed to move as if alive. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again, sharper, closer, until it felt like the skin was his own.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead. The shadows it cast on the walls seemed to twist unnaturally, stretching long and thin. Somewhere in the stillness, his grandmother’s voice rose from memory, words she used to whisper to him when he was a child.
“Najar lagti hai, Aman… The evil eye. When someone looks at you with envy, with poison in their heart, it clings to your body like smoke. It feeds on beauty, on joy, on youth. And once it finds a way inside, it eats you from within.”
She had warned him of signs: milk curdling for no reason, plants withering in days, mirrors reflecting things not there. He remembered laughing at those stories once. Now, they no longer felt like stories.
The next day
The next day, Aman went back to Jaya’s house. He told himself it was just to check in, but the truth was darker—he needed to see her again, to know if what he’d witnessed was real.
She opened the door slowly. Her smile was weaker than before, her skin pale like paper. He noticed her wrists trembling as she held the door open.
“You look… tired,” he said cautiously.
“I don’t sleep much these days.” Her eyes flicked to the side, toward the hallway mirror—still covered with a black cloth.
Inside, the air was heavy. A sour smell lingered, faint but unmistakable, like spoiled milk. Aman’s gaze drifted to the dining table, where a jug of milk sat untouched. The surface had split into clumps, yellowed and thick.
“Why don’t you throw that out?” he asked.
“It spoils no matter what,” Jaya murmured. “Fresh milk, boiled milk, doesn’t matter. By morning, it turns.”
Aman felt a chill run through him.
He tried to distract himself, but everywhere he looked, the house carried signs of decay. A potted tulsi plant in the corner had wilted completely, its leaves crumbling to dust when he touched them. The lemons and chilies hanging near the door had blackened unnaturally fast. Even the walls seemed darker, as if soot had seeped into the paint.
And Jaya—she looked weaker. She spoke slowly, often pausing mid-sentence as though she’d forgotten what she was going to say. Sometimes her eyes drifted toward corners of the room where there was nothing, lingering too long, as if something invisible stood there.
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Najar Reflection
As evening fell, Aman found himself staring at a mirror in the living room, half-covered by the same black cloth. He pulled the fabric aside, just a little.
At first, it showed only him—pale, nervous, clutching his knees. Then, in the reflection behind him, Jaya walked past.
But it wasn’t her.
Her reflection was smiling too widely, her teeth sharp, her skin stretched unnaturally. The scratches he had seen before now clawed across her entire arm, raw and bleeding.
Aman spun around. Jaya was just standing there, quietly sipping tea, her skin clear, her smile faint but ordinary.
His chest tightened. He pulled the cloth back over the mirror.
Later, as they sat in silence, Jaya finally spoke. Her voice was low, broken, as though admitting a sin.
“Mother thinks it’s najar.”
Aman froze.
“She said it started after the new housewarming ceremony. Too many people came. Too many eyes.” Jaya’s gaze dropped to her lap. “She thinks someone… didn’t come with good intentions. That they left something behind.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Aman remembered his grandmother again. The evil eye is not always an accident. Sometimes, it’s planted. Sometimes it’s called.
Jaya’s hands trembled as she clutched her cup. “At night… I feel it. Something under my skin. Like it’s moving.”
Aman wanted to tell her it was all in her head. But when she looked at him, her eyes glassy with terror, he couldn’t lie.
Because he felt it too.
In that moment, in the stillness of her cursed home, it seemed as though something unseen had already turned its gaze on him.
👉 Next, in Part III – The Descent, we’ll deepen the horror: failed rituals, stronger manifestations, and Aman witnessing Jaya’s terrifying half-trance.
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