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Anaya ek chhoti si jagah mein rehti thi, ek purani haveli jaisi dikhti building ke third floor par. She was a freelance graphic designer, mostly kaam raat mein karti thi, kyunki shaanti tabhi milti thi. Us raat bhi kuch aisa hi tha. Clock ne 2:00 AM strike kiya tha jab uske phone par ek unknown number ka call aaya.
Screen par likha tha: “Private Number.”
‘Spam hoga’, soch ke usne kaat diya. Lekin call turant wapas aaya. Is baar bhi usne ignore kiya. Dusri baar. Teesri baar. Jab chhoti chhoti der mein chhe baar same call aaya, uska gussa uthne laga. Lekin curiosity bhi thi.
She finally picked it up.
“Hello?”
Koi jawaab nahi aaya. Sirf ek bhootiya si saans lene ki awaaz sunayi di. Gehra, thanda saans. Jaise koi bohot kareeb se phone mein se saans le raha ho.
“Main police ko inform kar dungi!” Anaya dar ke maare chillai.
Tab ek halki si awaaz aayi, jaise koi kan ke bilkul paas kuch bol raha ho:
“Tu bacha nahi sakti kisi ko ab.”
Phone band ho gaya. Uske haath kaanp rahe the. Pariyon ki kahaniyan sunne wali Anaya, ab andar tak hil chuki thi. Usne apne bedroom ki lights jala di, sab khidkiyaan check ki, aur chaddar odh ke baith gayi.
Par call fir se aaya.
Anaya ne is baar phone ko off kar diya. Thodi der baad usne suna – darwaze ke paas kisi ke pair ghisne ki awaaz.
Scrraaatchhh. Scrraaatchhh.
Halka sa knock hua, lekin wo knock normal nahi tha. Jaise, ungliyon se darwaza khood te ho. Aur fir, kisi aurat ki cheekh… lekin woh sirf ek second ke liye thi. Fir sab kuch shaant.
Agli subah Anaya ne building ke guard se poocha ki raat mein koi aaya tha kya. Guard ne kaha us area mein koi nahi tha. Cameras bhi thik se kaam nahi karte.
Wapas ghar aake usne apna phone on kiya. 32 missed calls – sab ‘Private Number’. Sab ek hi time window mein: 2:00 AM se 2:30 AM tak.
Ek message bhi aaya tha:
“Waqt kam hai. Us se milne aa ja.”
Message ke neeche ek pin location thi. Address tha – “Purana kabristan, Sector 9.”
Anaya normally aisi batein ignore karti thi par is baar kuch ajib tha. Usay laga, agar usne ignore kiya toh kuch bura ho sakta hai. Shayad yeh kisi aurat ki help ki pukar thi.
Agli raat, dar ke bawajood, Anaya auto mein baith ke us location par gayi. Driver ne kaha:
“Yahan kaafi log disappear ho chuke hain madam. Aap sure ho?”
Anaya ne bas haan mein sir hilaya.
Kabristan purana aur bilkul sunsan tha. Wahan sirf hawa chalti thi, jo kabhi kabhi uske kaan mein kuch chupkaati jaise lagti thi.
Wo andar gayi. Wahan ek aurat ki moorti thi – chandi se bani hui. Aankhein nikal chuki thi, lekin haath mein ek chhoti si ghadi thi – aur ghadi ka time exactly 2:00 AM dikhata tha.
Us waqt uska phone fir se baja. Private Number.
Anaya ne phone uthaya:
“Aakhir aa gayi tu…”
Phir ek aurat rone lagti hai… fir cheekh… fir sirf static.
Aur usi moment uske phone ki flashlight automatic on ho gayi. Jahan usne light daali, wahan ek purani, jali hui diary mili.
Anaya ne diary uthai. Uspar likha tha: “Aaina kabhi jhoot nahi bolta.”
Jaisi hi wo us diary ko chhuti, uske chehre ke samne ek hi pal mein hazaar chehre aaye. Chehre – jo jale hue they, kuch ke gale katay hue, kuch ki aankhen nikal chuki thi. Ek chehra – Anaya ka khud ka chehra tha… lekin uska gala kaata hua tha.
Wo cheekh maari aur behek ke gir gayi.
Agli subah usay ek uncle mila road ke paas behoshi mein. Jab wo hosh mein aayi, usne batane ki koshish ki par koi uski baat par vishwas nahi kar raha tha.
Ek hafte baad, us raat ke sab recordings delete ho chuki thi.
Par ab har raat 2:00 AM par uska phone bajta hai. Private Number.
Aur jab wo phone nahi uthati, to uska chehra aaine mein dheere dheere badalne lagta hai… kuch aisa jaise uska gala kat gaya ho.
Aakhri page par diary mein likha tha:
“Jab sach samajh mein aata hai, waqt nikal chuka hota hai.”
Aur ab, Anaya kisi ko help nahi kar paati – kyunki wo khud ek kahani ban chuki hai.
