White walls. Faint beeping. The sterile scent of antiseptic.
Arya blinked slowly as consciousness crawled back into her body. Her limbs felt like they were dipped in concrete, and her mouth was dry as dust. She tried to sit up, but pain throbbed at the base of her spine and behind her skull. A low groan escaped her lips.
"Hey, hey! She's awake!" someone whispered with relief.
Voices swirled around her like mist. Familiar ones. Isha. Ayan. Rihaan… Meera.
Arya turned her face away, avoiding their eyes. The memory flashed—Rihaan's hands on Meera, their bodies intertwined like a cruel painting scorched into her brain. Her chest clenched.
But was it real?
"Are you okay?" Rihaan asked softly, stepping closer.
Arya stared at him blankly, her expression colder than the snow outside. "Fine," she said flatly, without looking.
"She hit her head hard," Meera chimed in, trying too hard to sound concerned.
Isha moved closer to hold her hand. "You scared the hell out of us. They said you were unconscious for almost two days."
"Where's my stuff?" Arya asked suddenly.
"Uhh… your coat was torn, shoes missing. The staff put whatever they found in that drawer," Ayan said, pointing.
Arya's fingers trembled as she reached into the drawer. Her breath caught. There it was—her tape recorder. Broken. Cracked in the middle, but still intact enough to recognize. Her heart skipped.
Was it real?
Her mind spiraled back to that night. Snow. Blood. A howl tearing through the silence. That... man. The pendant. The glowing eyes. The transformation. The pain. The voice whispering, "No, not again…"
But it couldn't be.
Could it?
The room filled with the warmth of fake laughter and meaningless chatter, but Arya couldn't hear any of it. She clutched the broken recorder to her chest, staring into a space only she could see.
A nurse entered. "She needs rest now."
The group murmured and shuffled out. Only one person stayed behind.
Dadi.
Her grandmother walked in slowly, her eyes sharp beneath her wrinkled brow. The moment the door clicked shut, the warmth in her face vanished.
"What happened?" she asked, voice low and piercing.
Arya opened her mouth to speak, but Dadi's voice cut sharper than a knife. "Don't tell me. I don't want to hear any foolishness."
"But Dadi, I saw—"
"No," she snapped. "You had an accident. That's it. Nothing more. No werewolves. No howls. No dreams. You need to stop letting that wild imagination eat you alive."
Arya's eyes stung. "Why are you always shutting me up? You know something. I can see it in your eyes."
Dadi's face trembled for a second, something unspoken caught between her lips. She leaned in closer. "If you value your life… forget that night. Bury it. Just like all the others."
Arya's eyes widened. All the others?
Before she could speak, her grandmother kissed her forehead. "Rest," she whispered. "And stop chasing shadows."
That night, Arya lay in bed, staring at the broken recorder in her hands. She replayed every memory she could scrape from the corners of her mind. The howl. The snow. The man with the mark. His voice echoing like thunder trapped in a cage: "Not again… not her…"
Her fingers brushed her neck.
Something burned.
She stood and went to the mirror. The hospital lights flickered slightly, as if unsure whether to reveal the truth.
And there it was.
A faint but undeniable bite mark on her shoulder. Two perfect crescent shapes sinking into her skin like a cruel signature.
Arya gasped and stumbled back, heart hammering. "No… no, it can't be…"
The window whistled with a sudden gust. Her breath caught as she turned. The curtains danced like shadows in the moonlight.
And then she heard it.
A whisper.
"Arya…"
Low. Seductive. Haunting.
She rushed to the window. The woods stood still, bathed in moonlight. But somewhere between the trees, she saw it. A glint. Two golden orbs peering from the darkness.
She staggered backward, trembling.
Far beyond, under the silent trees, an old woman stood facing the dark. Dadi.
"Stay away from her," Dadi whispered to the shadows. "Or this time… she'll suffer a fate worse than death."
From the bushes behind, a tall man stood half-shadowed. His eyes—burning gold—flickered like wild fire.
He didn't speak. He only turned and vanished into the forest.
That night, Arya dreamed again.
She was cradled in strong arms, surrounded by darkness. A deep voice whispered in agony, "Why do I have to sacrifice you every time? Why must this cycle never end?"
Then came the searing pain of teeth piercing her skin. Her scream echoed through the abyss.
She jolted awake, gasping, drenched in sweat. Her eyes flew to the mirror.
The bite mark still glowed faintly.
Her hands trembled.
She looked to the forest beyond the window. It stood still. Too still. Too quiet.
Her voice barely rose to a whisper.
"…Who are you?"