The morning air felt heavier than usual. Arya stood near the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she stared at the distant snow-covered skyline. Her dreams had returned—more vivid, more unsettling. A woman, drenched in blood, screaming his name. A voice begging for forgiveness. Her name echoing through the silence. And then, silence. Eternal and unforgiving.
She hadn't told anyone. Not yet.
"Lost again?" her grandmother's voice came from the kitchen, gentle yet edged with something unspoken.
Arya turned, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
Her grandmother didn't look up from the tea she was brewing, but her hands paused mid-movement. "Dreams?"
Arya nodded slightly.
A long silence followed. The kettle hissed softly. The sound of the clock ticking on the wall seemed louder than ever.
Finally, her grandmother spoke, her voice quieter than before. "Some dreams… they're not meant to be remembered."
Arya frowned. "But what if they're memories? What if—"
"No." The interruption was sharp, sudden. Her grandmother finally looked at her, eyes dark and knowing. "Forget them, Arya. Like you always do."
That last sentence pierced through her like cold wind against bare skin.
Before she could respond, her grandmother sighed and reached into the drawer, handing her a folded paper. "Your friend called so you're going for the trip, right?"
Arya unfolded the paper. A location printed in cursive script. The same place discussed before snowy forest and silence.
"I don't like it," she whispered. "That forest... it's too quiet. And not all silence is peace."
Arya blinked, unsettled. "It's just snow, Granny."
"No, Arya," her grandmother murmured. "It's a memory waiting to awaken."
Before Arya could question her further, the old woman smiled as if nothing had been said. "Go. Enjoy. But if you feel it, even for a moment—leave."
By the afternoon, the group gathered outside the station: Arya, Meera, Rihan, and two other colleagues from her office—Kavya and Vihaan. Meera was her usual bubbly self, swinging her duffel over her shoulder while tossing flirty glances at Rihan. Arya tried not to notice how closely they stood.
Rihan was magnetic. Tall, clean-cut, with an effortless charm that made even strangers smile at him. He leaned against the jeep, scrolling his phone, his smirk as perfect as ever. When Arya approached, he looked up with practiced warmth.
"You look tired," he said, voice smooth.
Arya managed a smile. "Didn't sleep well."
"Don't worry," he grinned. "This trip will take your breath away."
If only he knew how true that might be.
The journey was long. Snow flurries danced outside as the road grew narrower and less traveled. Forests lined the path, thick and towering. The light dimmed slowly, blanketing the world in silvery hush.
Kavya played music, Meera kept chatting, and Rihan slid a hand over Arya's shoulder, whispering something that made Meera giggle oddly.
Arya laughed, but it didn't reach her eyes. The cold outside seeped into her chest, as if she carried winter in her lungs. She stared out the window. The snow reminded her of her own silence—beautiful on the surface but unbearably cold underneath.
They reached the cottage just as night kissed the sky. It sat like a secret in the heart of the forest, surrounded by pines dusted with white.
As she stepped out of the car, a sudden chill ran down Arya's spine.
"Arya..."
Her name. Whispered.
She whipped around. No one near.
She clutched her coat tighter. "Did anyone… hear that?"
"Nope," said Vihaan, unloading bags. "What?"
"Nothing," she muttered.
Meera was already posing for selfies with the cottage behind her, while Rihan pretended to yawn from the long trip.
But Arya… Arya couldn't shake it. Something about the forest made her feel as though she'd been here before. A vague pain pressed behind her eyes, like déjà vu wrapped in dread.
Later that night, everyone went to their rooms. Soft laughter faded behind doors. Silence crept in.
Arya couldn't sleep.
She walked to the window. The full moon hung impossibly large, bathing the snow in silver-blue light. Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
And then she heard it.
A howl.
Long, mournful… and close.
She stepped back instinctively, her heart racing. A flicker of a memory flashed—blood on snow. A man's voice calling her name. A promise broken.
She touched the windowpane, breath hitching. The forest stared back, deep and ancient.
Somewhere out there… something was waiting.
And she was already too close.