In Safdarjung Enclave, Delhi, a doctor, a graphic designer, and a football player confront a chilling mystery that ties their fates to a sinister curse.
It began on a humid summer evening in Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi. Dr. Karan Mehta, a seasoned physician, received a frantic call from his childhood friend, Aradhaya, a graphic designer. She had discovered strange symbols on her apartment walls—symbols that weren’t there the night before.
Karan arrived to find Aradhaya pale and trembling. “I didn’t paint these,” she whispered. The symbols, sharp and angular, seemed to pulse under the dim light. “They appeared after I completed a project for a football tournament. Something feels… wrong.”
Enter Raghav Kapoor, a rising football star and Ananya’s neighbour. He joined the conversation reluctantly, admitting he’d experienced unexplainable shadows darting across his walls at night. “I thought it was exhaustion,” he muttered.
Determined to find answers, the trio retraced Aradhaya’s steps. The project that started it all was a logo design for an old, defunct team called The Cursed Eleven. The team’s players had perished in a freak stadium collapse decades ago.
Their search led them to a forgotten storage room beneath a dilapidated sports club in the neighborhood. Dust and decay coated everything. In a corner, an unmarked box contained old jerseys, torn photographs, and a diary.
The diary, written in erratic handwriting, spoke of a pact the team had made. “We pledged our souls for victory,” one entry read. “But the curse claimed us all.”
As they read, an unearthly chill swept through the room. The shadows on the walls began to shift and coalesce, forming humanoid shapes. “Run!” Raghav yelled, grabbing Aradhaya and Karan.
They barely made it outside before the door slammed shut behind them, trapping the darkness inside. For a moment, silence reigned.
In the following days, the symbols on Aradhaya’s walls faded, and the shadows in Raghav’s apartment ceased. But Karan couldn’t shake the feeling they had merely escaped, not ended, the curse.
Weeks later, Raghav collapsed during a match, his heart inexplicably stopping. Aradhaya’s designs began to show symbols she hadn’t drawn. And Karan started seeing flickers of shadows in his clinic late at night.
Safdarjung Enclave’s quiet streets hold their secrets well. Yet, beneath its bustling exterior, a curse still lingers, waiting to claim its next victim.
