In a flat-lit, ordinary café bathed in midday overcast light, Gita sits motionless at a table, gripping her phone with trembling fingers. A medium-close frontal shot reveals her screen — a selfie camera view showing her own face, but it’s completely blank, blurred like a corrupted file. Her eyes widen in rising panic, and the camera slowly rotates over her shoulder as she lifts her gaze. Around...
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