The tape recorder hadn't left my table since I played it.
That voice — "You shouldn't be here" — echoed in my head even when the room was silent.
I didn't know if it was a warning, or a plea.
Sunday morning, rain dripped lazily outside the window.
I sat near the sill, sipping tea, trying to read, but my eyes kept shifting toward the cupboard. Toward the place that had hidden the tape, the notes — and secrets.
I traced the inside of the back panel again, hoping to find more. Nothing.
Then, as I leaned closer to the window, I noticed something strange on the wooden frame near the paint-chipped edge.
At first glance, it looked like a scratch.
But the more I stared, the more it looked deliberate.
I dug my nail into the dry paint and gently peeled it off.
There it was.
Etched faintly into the wood, just below the glass:
"Ruhani"
The name sent shivers down my spine.
It was small, almost hidden, like it didn't want to be found. Like someone carved it there quietly… desperately.
I wrote it down and Googled it.
No full names came up. No articles. But something about it felt familiar.
Later that day, when the cook uncle brought my evening tea, I asked casually:
"Uncle, do you know if someone named Ruhani lived here before me?"
His hands stopped mid-motion.
He looked up slowly, eyes unreadable.
"Why you asking?"
I shrugged. "Found the name somewhere."
He looked around, lowered his voice.
"Yes. Years ago. Girl from a small town. Sweet. Quiet, like you."
"What happened to her?"
He hesitated.
"She left suddenly. No one knows why. Owners don't talk about her."
"Was she in this room?"
He gave me a long look… and nodded.
Then he picked up his tea tray and left, muttering: "Better not ask too much, beta. Not all stories are for telling."
That night, I stared at the name under my window until I fell asleep.
I dreamt of a girl sitting on the same bed I now sleep in. She was writing something, crying quietly.
And then, in the dream, she turned to me and whispered:
"Please finish what I couldn't."
I woke up breathless.
And under my pillow, there was a new note.
Written in the same handwriting as before:
"Find the red book."