The soft hum of the evening breeze drifted through the trees, brushing gently against the chimes that hung outside the porch. They sang a hollow, eerie tune as dusk stretched its arms over the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. The last traces of sunlight melted behind the treetops, painting the horizon in bruised hues of indigo and amber.
Arya sat quietly on the porch, her fingers curled around the edges of a thick shawl draped over her shoulders. The chill in the air clung to her skin, but it wasn't the cold that made her shiver. It was something else. Something deeper. Her eyes were fixed on the darkening line of the forest — that place where everything changed.
Her thoughts spiraled again — back to that night, to the betrayal, the wolf, the man with golden eyes… and to the unsettling pull she felt in her chest since then, like a string tugged by unseen hands from deep within her soul.
A sharp knock at the gate snapped her out of the spiral.
Startled, Arya stood up and peered into the dimness.
"Isha?" she called, her voice tight with disbelief — and relief.
The gate creaked open, and there stood her best friend, a sling bag across her shoulder and a mix of concern and exasperation on her face.
Isha came to meet Arya.
Before either could say more, Dadi stepped onto the porch, her presence like a calm flame in the dark. Her silver hair was tied back neatly, and in her hands, she carried two steaming glasses of turmeric milk.
"You must be Isha," she said, offering the girl a kind but observant smile. "Arya speaks highly of you."
Isha bowed slightly out of respect, taking the warm glass with a grateful nod. "She talks about you a lot too."
Dadi sat with them for a few moments, the air filled with casual conversation and the gentle sipping of warm milk. But Arya noticed how Dadi's eyes kept flicking , like she too could feel something stirring in the air.
Eventually, Dadi rose. "You girls talk," she said. "But don't stay up too late. Arya still needs rest."
"We won't," they chorused, though both knew sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.
Inside Arya's room, the scent of sandalwood and old pages immediately wrapped around them like a familiar embrace. The dim lamp cast golden hues across the walls lined with books and dried flowers.
Isha dropped her bag on the chair and sat cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes scanned Arya — the paleness of her face, the tension in her shoulders, the haunted flicker in her gaze.
"Okay," she said gently but firmly. "Tell me everything. Start from that night in the forest."
Arya hesitated, then moved to the drawer beside her bed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she retrieved a broken tape recorder. Its casing was cracked, the tape jammed inside, but she held it with care — as if it were a relic.
"This holds the truth," Arya whispered. "Or at least, it did."
She sat beside Isha and looked down at her lap. "I went to surprise Rihaan at midnight. You know how much effort we all put into that trip… I was so excited. But when I reached his tent, I saw him. With Meera. Together. Naked. Laughing."
"They did." Arya's voice broke. "I didn't say anything. I just… backed away. I had this recorder with me. I thought I could at least capture something — proof, I guess — but I ran blindly into the woods. I didn't know where I was going. Just… away."
Her breath hitched. "That's when I saw him. A man. Standing in the clearing under the moon. His back was to me. He was… nude. His muscles looked carved, but his skin — there was a mark etched across his back, like it had been burned into him. And in his hand, he held a pendant. It glowed like embers."
Arya's eyes unfocused, her voice growing more distant. "I tried to record it. But the moment I pressed play… he turned. His eyes weren't human. And then — he shifted."
Isha leaned forward. "Shifted? You mean like a…?"
"A wolf. But not just any wolf," Arya said. "He was huge. His fur shimmered silver under the moonlight, and his eyes… golden. Like fire trapped in ice. He didn't attack me. He… shielded me."
Isha stared, stunned. "What happened next?"
"I fell. I think I hit my head. Everything went dark. But before I blacked out, I felt something brush my skin. Gentle. Protective. I think it was him."
Arya slowly lifted her sleeve, revealing a faint, strange mark near her collarbone — a crescent shape surrounded by fine, branching lines. It shimmered faintly under the light.
"It glows sometimes," she said. "Only under moonlight. Or when I dream."
"Show me," Isha whispered, reaching out. Her fingertips brushed over the mark, and a strange warmth pulsed beneath them.
"In my dreams," Arya said softly, "I see a man. The same man. We're… close. Like lovers. But it feels older than that. Like we've known each other for lifetimes. He holds me, and he whispers things like, 'I lose you every time…' or 'I sacrifice you…' It's like he's mourning me… before I'm even gone."
Isha pulled her hand back, her face pale. "Arya… I don't think these are just dreams. They sound like memories. Like past lives bleeding through."
Arya looked away. "I feel it too. But I don't understand any of it. And Meera… Rihaan… they don't know I saw them. I haven't confronted them yet. I need that recorder fixed. I need to be sure before I destroy everything."
Isha nodded slowly, the weight of Arya's words sinking in. "And until then?"
"I wait," Arya whispered. "I heal. I let the memories come. And I listen to whatever this thing inside me is trying to tell me."
The room fell silent. Outside, the wind picked up, whispering through the trees like a language only the forest understood.
Midnight arrived. The clock's ticking was the only sound.
They lay back on the bed, shoulders brushing, eyes staring at the ceiling. The fan above them spun lazily, and the shadows around the room seemed to stretch just a little longer than they should have.
Unseen by them, just beyond the snowy forest line, miles away from Arya's house, golden eyes watched through the veil of trees.
A figure stood hidden in the darkness, his breath shallow, fists clenched at his sides.
"She's remembering…" he muttered, voice raw.
Behind him, footsteps approached softly.
Arya's sleep was anything but peaceful.
In her dreams, fire and snow clashed in a burning temple. She stood barefoot on the stone floor, heat licking her skin, while snowflakes fell from a torn sky above. A man's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, holding her like she might disappear.
His voice was a whisper against her ear.
"I waited… every lifetime… for you."
His fangs brushed her skin. Not to harm. But as part of something sacred.
And then, gently, he bit.
She gasped awake, breath heaving, her heart galloping in her chest.
Her hand flew to her collarbone. It was warm. Burning almost. She stumbled to the mirror, heart hammering.
Just above the glowing mark — a second one. Faint. Red. Fresh.
Her breath caught.
And then she heard it.
A voice.
Soft. Haunting. Male.
"Arya…"
She turned sharply toward the window. Nothing. Just the wind.
But outside, the forest swayed — not with the breeze, but with breath.
Like it too had been waiting.