Everybody close your eyes

Aanya Mehra had spent the entire evening pretending not to count how many times the conversation almost died. It happened less often than she had feared. That, she decided, was a good sign. Kabir had started insulting Rohan’s shoes within fifteen minutes of arriving. Tara had stolen food off Sameer’s plate without asking. Naina had already reminded everyone twice to drink water between cocktails. Ishaan had announced that adulthood was “mostly paying bills to maintain things you didn’t even want.” Somewhere between dinner and the second bottle of wine, they had started sounding like themselves again. Or at least like the people they used to be. Aanya stood near the dining table, watching them argue over whether their college canteen coffee had technically qualified as coffee. “It was brown,” Sameer said. “That was its only credential.” “It tasted like boiled regret,” Ishaan replied. “That’s actually better than your usual jokes.” “I wasn’t joking.” Aanya laughed and reached for another glass. This was exactly why she had wanted to celebrate here. Not at a restaurant where they would have to shout over music. Not at a bar where half the group would eventually disappear to smoke or take phone calls. The farmhouse was far enough outside the city to make everyone stay put. It belonged to her parents, though they rarely used it anymore. The place had changed over the years—new flooring, brighter lights, security cameras near the entrance—but the living room still looked almost exactly as Aanya remembered it. Wooden beams. Large windows opening onto the garden. A fireplace that nobody ever used. The same heavy sofa where Sameer had once fallen asleep during a college trip and woken up with toothpaste on his face. Outside, rain had begun to fall. Not enough to ruin the evening. Just a soft tapping against the windows. “Birthday girl.” Sameer’s voice dragged Aanya back. He was pointing his phone at her. “No.” “Too late.” “What are you doing?” “Documenting.” “Delete it.” “You’ll thank me when we’re seventy.” “I’ll be dead before I voluntarily rewatch this.” Kabir raised his glass. “Optimistic.” Sameer swung the camera towards him. Kabir immediately showed him his middle finger. “Excellent,” Sameer said. “Memories.” He turned slowly, recording everyone. Rohan ran a hand through his hair. Tara hid behind a cushion. Naina groaned. Mira smiled but did not look directly at the camera. When Sameer reached Arjun, he stopped. Only for a second. Arjun looked away. Aanya noticed. She had been noticing things about Arjun all evening. He had arrived last, carrying whisky and an awkwardness that no amount of smiling could hide. For years, he had been one of them. Then he had not been. There had never been a dramatic falling-out—not one anyone acknowledged, anyway. Just a series of silences after college, unanswered messages, separate lives. Arjun moved abroad. The rest of them stayed in touch badly but consistently enough to still call themselves friends. Aanya had invited him without knowing if he would come. He had. That felt important. Sameer lowered the phone. “Group photo later.” “No,” Tara said. “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “Take one when I’m drunk enough not to care.” “That can be arranged.” The rain grew heavier. By eleven, the garden had disappeared into darkness beyond the glass doors. Someone changed the playlist. Someone opened another packet of chips. Rohan had taken over the armchair and was now defending the fact that he had once owned three identical black shirts. “They were different.” “How?” Mira asked. “One was charcoal.” “That is still black.” “Spoken like someone without an eye for detail.” Kabir snorted. Aanya sat down on the rug. For the first time that night, nobody seemed in a hurry to leave. She liked that. Then the lights flickered. Sameer looked up. “Perfect.” “What?” Naina asked. “Ten people. Isolated farmhouse. Storm outside.” “It’s rain, not a storm.” “Give it time.” Tara threw a cushion at him. “Stop narrating our deaths.” Sameer caught it. “You people have no respect for foreshadowing.” “Can we play something?” Rohan asked. “No drinking games,” Naina said. “You say that like you’re our mother.” “Someone has to survive the night.” Kabir stretched his legs out. “Cards?” “Boring,” Ishaan said. “Charades?” “Worse.” “Truth or dare?” “We’re thirty-two.” “That has never stopped anyone from making bad decisions.” Sameer leaned back on his elbows. “We used to be more fun.” “We used to have fewer consequences,” Mira said. That made Aanya laugh. There was a brief silence after that. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Then someone said, “Mafia.” Later, none of them would remember who. That became strange only afterwards. At the time, the suggestion fit so naturally into the conversation that nobody questioned it. Sameer sat up immediately. “Yes.” Tara groaned. “Absolutely not.” “Why not?” “Because you become unbearable.” “I am unbearable all the time. That’s not game-specific.” Rohan grinned. “We haven’t played in years.” “That’s exactly why we should.” Even Arjun smiled at that. Mafia had once been their default answer to boredom. College trips. Hostel rooms. Long train journeys. Power cuts. They had played so often that everyone had developed a style. Kabir accused people aggressively. Tara trusted nobody. Sameer talked too much and died early. Rohan was suspicious even when innocent. Aanya was terrible at lying. Dev rarely spoke, which somehow made him dangerous regardless of his role. “Fine,” Aanya said. “One game.” “One game always becomes five,” Naina warned. “Then stop us.” “I will.” Leena, who had been sitting near the fireplace with her legs tucked under her, put down her glass. “I’ll be God.” Kabir turned towards her. “Volunteering to know everyone’s secrets?” “I already know most of them.” “That sounded threatening.” Leena smiled. “Maybe it was.” Aanya found a notepad in the sideboard drawer. They worked out the roles quickly. Two Mafia. Two Detectives. Two Doctors. Three Villagers. One God. “Too many useful people,” Sameer said. “You’re assuming you’ll get one of those roles,” Tara replied. Leena tore the paper into squares and wrote each role separately. She folded them twice and dropped them into an empty ice bucket. “Very professional,” Ishaan said. “I take murder seriously.” Sameer pointed at her. “That should concern everyone.” One by one, they drew. Aanya opened hers beneath the table. Villager. “Useless,” she muttered. Mira looked at her. “What?” “Nothing.” Across the room, Kabir read his chit and immediately looked smug. Tara narrowed her eyes. “You’re Mafia.” “I literally haven’t spoken.” “Exactly.” Rohan opened his and smiled before folding it quickly. Sameer noticed. “Oh, he’s evil.” “You say that every round.” “Eventually I’ll be right.” Dev opened his chit. His expression did not change. It rarely did. Arjun was last. He unfolded the paper slowly, read it, and tucked it into his pocket. “All right,” Leena said. “Sit properly.” They formed a loose circle on the rug. Sameer dimmed one of the lamps. Naina immediately objected. “We’re closing our eyes anyway.” “It’s atmosphere.” “It’s annoying.” “Atmosphere is often annoying.” “Phones away,” Leena said. That caused more protest. “No cheating. No distractions.” Sameer put his phone face down near the fireplace. The others followed. Aanya sat between Mira and Rohan. Across from her were Arjun and Dev. Kabir leaned against the sofa. Tara already looked as though she was building a case against everyone. Leena settled into the armchair above them. She looked around once. “Ready?” Aanya nodded. “Village goes to sleep.” Everyone closed their eyes. The room changed immediately. Without sight, the ordinary sounds became louder. Rain against glass. The hum of the air conditioner. Someone shifting on the carpet. Somebody’s bracelet clicking softly. Aanya almost opened her eyes out of instinct. She stopped herself. Leena waited. Then said quietly, “Mafia, wake up.” Two people opened their eyes. Rohan. Dev. They looked at each other. Rohan’s smile disappeared. Dev glanced around the circle. For a few seconds, neither moved. Then Rohan pointed. At Sameer. Dev considered it. Then nodded. Leena followed their gaze. Sameer sat with his eyes shut, head tilted slightly forward. Completely unaware. “Mafia, sleep.” Rohan and Dev closed their eyes. “Detectives, wake up.” Kabir opened his eyes. So did Arjun. Kabir looked around slowly, enjoying himself already. His gaze stopped on Dev. He pointed. Leena nodded. Kabir’s eyebrows lifted. Across from him, Arjun was watching Rohan. He pointed too. Leena nodded again. Arjun’s face tightened slightly. “Detectives, sleep.” Their eyes closed. “Doctors, wake up.” Mira and Naina opened their eyes. Mira chose Tara. Naina hesitated, then pointed to herself. Leena nodded. “Doctors, sleep.” Silence again. Aanya could hear Sameer breathing beside Tara. Someone coughed. Then Leena spoke. “Village, wake up.” Eyes opened around the circle. Sameer stretched. “Did I survive?” Leena looked directly at him. “No.” Everyone burst out laughing. Sameer grabbed his chest. “Why am I always the victim?” “Because you’re annoying,” Ishaan said. “I died for your sins.” “You died because two people silently pointed at you.” “Even worse.” He fell dramatically onto the carpet. Aanya laughed until her stomach hurt. Kabir was already scanning faces. Tara accused Rohan. Rohan accused Ishaan. Naina told everyone they had no evidence. Dev said almost nothing. Arjun watched him. For those few minutes, it was exactly what Aanya had wanted. Old friends. Old jokes. One stupid game. Nobody noticed Sameer’s phone light up near the fireplace. Nobody noticed the small symbol appear briefly at the top of the screen. And nobody in the circle knew that somewhere, outside their game, someone else had just learned who died first.