What never made it into any official record were the aftershocks—the quiet, human consequences that followed once the door to Room 412-C was sealed.
The nurses who became pregnant were placed on immediate administrative leave.
Publicly, the hospital cited “stress-related health concerns.” Privately, nondisclosure agreements were signed, counseling arranged, and transfers quietly approved.
None of the women were willing to speak on record. A few refused to speak at all.
But one did.
Months later, Ananya Rao broke her silence in a sworn statement submitted anonymously to a magistrate who never acted on it.
In the document, she wrote that after her night shifts in Room 412-C, she experienced recurring dreams—always the same.
A man standing beside her bed, watching her sleep. Not touching. Not speaking. Just present.
“I never felt afraid,” she wrote. “That’s what scares me now.”
Medical examinations deepened the mystery rather than resolving it.
The pregnancies were biologically normal in every measurable way—normal gestation, normal fetal development, normal DNA markers. Except for one anomaly the obstetricians could not explain: no detectable paternal DNA profile.
The genetic material existed, but it did not match any known human reference database.
The reports were quietly buried.
As for the police investigation, it never progressed beyond internal review.
The footage from the hidden camera was confiscated, logged, and classified under hospital–law enforcement cooperation statutes. Officers who viewed it were reassigned.
One requested a transfer out of Mumbai altogether. Another took early retirement within six months.
Officially, the recordings were deemed “inconclusive due to electrical interference and video artifacting.”
Unofficially, one detective was overheard saying, “Whatever that was, it wasn’t a crime scene. It was a warning.”
Rohan Mehta himself was never questioned.
