The next morning didn't feel like morning.
There was sunlight, yes—but it felt pale. Distant. Like it was filtered through something cold and old.
The voices from last night still echoed somewhere deep inside. He hadn't told anyone—not even Rehan, who snored peacefully across the room. What would he say?
That he heard whispers behind his thoughts?
That something unseen felt close enough to breathe on his neck?
He shook his head and got up. Maybe he just needed fresh air.
Downstairs, the rest of the group was already stirring. Naira was making coffee, humming some old Bollywood tune under her breath. Danish scrolled through his phone, frowning.
"No network here either," he muttered. "What kind of blackhole is this place?"
"It's a village," Naira said. "Chill. Enjoy the detox."
Ayaan didn't speak. He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked out.
The house they'd rented stood alone at the edge of a forest—quaint, old, charming… and a little too quiet. The trees behind it stood unnaturally still. No rustling. No birds.
Just stillness.
He stepped onto the porch. The cold morning air wrapped around him.
And then he saw it.
A feather.
Not white. Not brown.
Black.
Lying on the wooden railing. It hadn't been there yesterday.
It wasn't dusty. Or wet.
It looked… placed. Like someone—or something—had left it there on purpose.
He picked it up.
It burned.
Not with fire, but with something deeper. A surge in his chest. A weight behind his eyes.
And a memory—except it wasn't his.
A flash. A road. A scream swallowed by wind. A feeling of being chased by something older than time itself.
He dropped the feather.
It vanished before it hit the ground.
Ayaan froze.
His breath fogged the air. He turned slowly, half-expecting someone to be standing behind him.
No one.
But the trees… they looked closer now.
___
Back inside, Naira called out, "Ayaan? You okay?"
He walked back in, forcing a nod.
But something in him had shifted. Like a door had been cracked open—just a little.
And now, whatever was on the other side… had seen him too.