The rain had finally subsided, and only a faint pattering lingered in the silence.Grey clouds blanketed the sky like a fallen night, and the mist-laden air deepened the serenity surrounding her house, cradled in endless greenery.
A sudden clash of the window frames startled her awake.
The wind had picked up again.Monsoon never arrived gently in her village, tucked deep within the Khasi hills. The land was ancient there, rich with untamed greenery and old whispers, yet starved of the modern world’s intrusion.
Cold mist slipped through the open window, brushing against her skin and sending a quiet shiver down her spine. She rose slowly from the swing, setting the book aside, the same book she had been reading before fatigue clawed its way through her, lulling her into an unguarded sleep.
Her soft feet brushed against the cold floor, anklets chiming faintly with every step. She moved toward the window to shut it, but her gaze drifted, traitorous and curious, toward the forbidden land she had sworn never to dwell upon.
Nishivan loomed vast and formidable, flaunting a quiet, vicious strength, an arrogance rooted so deep it seemed to mock every storm that had tried and failed to bend it. It stood unshaken, ancient and proud. An eerie calm blanketed the woods; only the hushed whispers of leaves brushing against one another disturbed the stillness.
And then she felt it again. That pull. Sudden. Inevitable. As though every corner of the forest called out to her, from trembling leaves to brittle twigs, murmuring her name in a voice thick with agony. It sounded less like a call… and more like a plea. As if the woods had been suffering for a thousand years, waiting for her to come and release them from their endless misery.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the sudden intrusion of thoughts clawing at her mind. And then, those familiar dark, charcoal eyes surfaced again in her memory, vivid and inescapable, forcing her own eyes to snap open.
It had been four years since that incident. According to her family, she had started sleepwalking again, a habit she had supposedly outgrown in childhood. The night it happened, she had woken from a heavy slumber only to find herself lying on her own bed, her entire family gathered around her, their faces pale and watchful.
Panic had gripped her. She had braced herself for harsh words, for accusations, for the usual reprimands that followed even the smallest mistake. But to her utter surprise, nothing came. No scolding. No blame. The matter was dismissed in tense silence.
And before she could make sense of anything, before she could even gather the courage to ask, she was sent away the very next day to her maternal uncle’s house, nearly a hundred kilometers from her village.
When she finally questioned the sudden decision, she was told it had not been sudden at all. They had been planning to send her away for further studies once she came of age, once she began menstruating.
Nothing about it felt convincing. Nothing made sense. But she lacked the courage, or perhaps the permission, to question her elders any further.
But deep down she knew the truth. She had not been sleepwalking that night. She had been fully conscious, aware of every sound, every breath, every flicker of movement. And she remembered everything. She remembered HIM. Those dark, charcoal eyes that had followed her into every dream, every restless night, never once fading in the four years since.
That night, when the house had finally surrendered to sleep and silence wrapped around the walls, she alone remained awake. Unable to calm the storm inside her, her gaze had drifted toward the window that faced the woods and before she truly realized what she was doing, she was standing before it, staring straight into the forest.
Then she felt it. That call for the first time. Not loud. Not violent. But aching. As though the woods were pleading with her, begging her not to abandon them.
The air shifted. A shadow detached itself from the darkness, lingering as though it had always been there, waiting. It whispered her name , soft, intimate, almost tender. She froze.
The shadow moved closer and then she felt it. Warmth. A presence brushing against her cheek, gentle, impossibly gentle, followed by a whisper that ghosted against her ear. “Don’t go.”
Terror seized her breath. She stumbled backward, heart hammering violently against her ribs. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the shadow dissolved into the night.
Silence returned. For a long moment, she stood there trembling, unsure whether she had truly witnessed something… or whether her mind had conjured it out of longing and fear. Confused beyond reason, she concluded that sleep was the only sane escape.
And now, after four years, she was feeling the same pull again. It was confusing and thrilling at the same time. This unknown ache, this unnamed connection she had with the woods. These unanswered questions wouldn’t leave her alone, whispering their way into her dreams every night.
So she decided this would be the day she ended the confusion. Tonight, she would go into the woods, searching for every unanswered longing she had ever felt. And maybe, just maybe, along with the answers, she would find him… those charcoal eyes.
A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her determined yet thrilling thoughts. After finally closing the window, she strolled toward the door, only to find her mother standing at the threshold with a plate of food.
Smiling gently, not too much, not too little, she stepped aside to give her space to enter. Mridula returned the smile before walking in, but her expression faltered when she noticed the curtains drawn back from the windows.
Placing the tray on the small centre table, she hurried to pull the curtains shut, especially the one facing the uphill forest. She let out a quiet sigh of relief before her gaze settled on her daughter, who had grown into a beautiful woman.
A sudden protectiveness enveloped her as she noticed the prying, confused look in her daughter’s eyes ,her gaze shifting from her mother to the tightly drawn curtains.
“Come here, dear,” she cooed gently, moving toward the bed. She sat down and patted the space beside her.
Aarini followed timidly. Affectionate gestures terrified her, they were always fleeting, arriving in small doses and disappearing just as quickly, leaving behind a hollow craving in her chest.
Mridula gently caressed her cheeks, admiring the beauty of her only daughter among three sons. Her eyes drifted to Aarini’s bare neck, and she frowned before noticing the dupatta tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking it up, she carefully draped it around her daughter’s neck.
“The daughters of big families always remain covered, no matter what. Always remember that,” she said softly, though the warning laced in her tone did not go unnoticed by Aarini. She nodded once.
“Parde laga kar rakhiye,” Mridula added.
“Itni upar koi nahi dikhta, isliye hi…” Aarini tried to explain gently, but when she sensed there would be no acknowledgement, only silent expectations of obedience, she lowered her gaze and murmured, “Ji, aage se dhyan rakhenge.”
Her mother smiled in satisfaction. “You are very precious to us, like a pearl. Our honour rests in your hands. Every decision you make, every action you take, should remember that. Always.”
She patted her head gently before standing up, reminding her to eat her food. Just as she reached the door, Aarini called softly, “Maa…”
Mridula turned back, her smile still in place, one eyebrow lifting in a silent gesture for her to continue.
“That forest behind our house… who does it belong to?” Aarini asked.
For a fleeting moment, Mridula’s smile slipped, but she quickly composed herself.
“Aapko kyun jaanna hai?” she asked carefully.
Aarini shrugged, trying to make it seem like mere curiosity, but worry had already begun to settle in Mridula’s eyes.
“Aarini, humari baat suniye,” she said gently, taking her daughter’s hands into hers. “Chahe kuch bhi ho jaye, aap Nishivan nahi jayengi. That jungle… it is not safe.”
Her voice lowered. “It is the dwelling of evil. It lures people for its own amusement and strangles them with misery. I cannot let my daughter’s fate become like those unfortunate souls.” She placed Aarini’s hands on her own head, as if sealing the promise with something sacred and unbreakable.
Aarini’s hands rested on her mother’s head, the weight of the gesture heavier than it appeared. Her lips parted to speak but before the words could form, a sudden, furious gust of wind burst the windows open, startling them both.
The curtains thrashed wildly. Aarini’s gaze was pulled toward the window once more and then she felt it. The echo of the woods. The angry whispering of the wind. The same pull. The same misery-laced call of her name.
Aarini…
“Aarini!” Mridula called sharply. Her eyes were wide with worry, her skin drained of colour. “Promise me,” she urged, her voice trembling now.
Aarini hesitated. For a brief moment, she searched her mother’s eyes, fear, desperation, something unspoken lurking beneath.
Slowly, she nodded once. “I promise.” But as she did, her other hand slipped quietly behind her back, her index finger crossing over her middle finger. A small, childish loophole and somewhere beyond the open window, the wind stilled as if satisfied.
Once Mridula left, Aarini shut the door to her room and leaned back against it, her shoulders sagging as she let out a quiet sigh. She didn’t like lying to her mother but she couldn’t take it anymore. She needed answers.
And she would only find them if she did what she had already decided. So when night finally settled over the house, she took the largest torch she could find. Clutching it tightly to her chest, she climbed out through her window, where the huge peepal tree stood, ancient and strong.
Carefully, she climbed down its rough trunk, slightly out of breath by the time her feet touched the ground. It had been years since she had climbed a tree, though once upon a time she had been fearless at it.
Her anklets chimed softly in the heavy silence of the night, the moon her only companion.
Step by step, she walked toward the whispering woods.
The warning board stood crooked at the edge, tilted, rust-eaten, nearly swallowed by wild vines. She didn’t spare it a second glance.
She kept walking. Until she reached the very place where she had found him.
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