Neha stepped out of the auto-rickshaw, her backpack slung over one shoulder, as the humid evening air of the deserted college campus enveloped her. The vacations weren't over for another week, but she'd returned early from her hometown, eager to escape the family drama and catch up on some reading in the quiet hostel. The sprawling building loomed ahead, its gates slightly ajar, with no signs of life except for the faint glow from the guard room near the entrance. She pushed the gate open, her flip-flops echoing on the concrete path. "Hello? Koi hai?" (Anyone there?) she called out, but only silence greeted her.

As she approached the main door, four burly figures emerged from the shadows of the guard room. The hostel guards—Raj, Vikram, Manoj, and Suraj—men in their late thirties and forties, all muscular from years of manual labor and security duties. They were the only ones on shift during the break, rotating in pairs to keep watch over the empty premises. Their eyes lit up at the sight of her, a young college girl in a simple tank top and shorts, her long hair tied in a ponytail, sweat glistening on her skin from the journey.