The forest didn't blink.
Its darkness stared back at her—cold, knowing, patient. Arya stood at the window, pulse racing, breath shallow, trying to convince herself that the echo of her name carried by the wind was just her imagination. But the glowing bite mark on her shoulder told a different story.
A chill crept down her spine. She pulled her cardigan tighter, but it wasn't the cold that unsettled her—it was the sense that something ancient was watching her. Breathing with her. Waiting.
She turned from the window to look at the mirror above her dresser. Just a glance.
Her breath caught.
The mark glowed faintly under the moonlight, and for a fraction of a second—barely more than a blink—her reflection moved on its own. It stared back with eyes not hers: gold-flecked, primal, sad.
She stumbled backward, hitting the edge of her bed. "What the hell is happening to me...?"
No one answered. Only the silence did—and it wasn't peaceful.
The next morning came like a heavy sigh—slow, reluctant, and overcast. Arya looked pale in the mirror, her eyes sunken but sharp. The bite mark was gone. No trace. Just skin. Normal skin.
Was it a hallucination? A dream?
But when she saw her old tape recorder—cracked open with the reel inside mangled—her heart dropped. That wasn't a dream. Something had happened that night.
Someone… had found her.
And saved her.
Later that morning, the room filled with fake concern.
Meera walked in first, plastering a sugary smile, her voice louder than needed. "Oh my God, Arya! You scared us so much! I thought I'd lose my best friend forever!"
Rihaan followed, not meeting her gaze. "Yeah… glad you're in safe zone now."
But Isha sensed something different like she feeled arya experienced something different but she remained quiet thought this should be talked about later.
Arya looked at Rihaan and meera, expression calm, too calm. "Thank you both. I'm... lucky, I guess."
But her words tasted like ash.
Lucky?
To find her boyfriend tangled with her best friend while she was preparing a surprise for him?
To almost die alone in the woods?
To now carry a secret even she didn't understand?
Their guilt wasn't visible, but their awkwardness screamed. Meera kept stealing glances at Rihaan. Rihaan's hand brushed Meera's once—just a second too long.
She noticed everything.
And said nothing.
Isha said "Now, Rest and the doctors told they will discharge you after reviewing the reports which could take one or two days." Also she added "And there is strange good news doctors are saying arya is healing fastly than a normal human could."
By afternoon, the hospital room cleared.
Only her grandmother remained.
Arya sipped warm water, watching the way her grandmother stood by the window—too still.
"Daadi," she began, hesitating. "I… think something strange happened that night. I saw… someone. A man. He—he wasn't human. I mean, I don't know what he was. And the forest—"
Her grandmother turned, sharply.
"That was an accident," she said, voice sharper than Arya had ever heard. "You lost control. You imagined things. And no more stories. You hear me?"
"But—"
"No buts, Arya!, Yesterday we had already talked on this" Her eyes trembled. "You survived. That's enough."
Arya froze. "You're hiding something."
The old woman's gaze softened with pain. "Some truths are best buried, child. Especially when they bite back."
And with that, she left.
But Arya knew—her grandmother wasn't just scared. She was warning her.
That night, Arya tried to sleep.
She couldn't.
Not because of pain, but because of the pull she felt—something ancient and deep, blooming under her skin. Her fingertips tingled. Her breath synced strangely with the wind outside.
Then the vision came.
A flash.
She stood in a dimly lit stone chamber. Her wrists were bound, but she wasn't scared—because in front of her knelt a man. Naked. Beautiful. Eyes golden as the cursed moon. His voice broke as he whispered:
"Why do I always have to lose you…? Every. Time."
He reached for her cheek, and as his fingers touched her skin, she gasped.
His fangs lengthened.
And then… he bit her.
Pain. Pleasure. Fear. Longing.
Arya shot up in bed, soaked in sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
A burning sensation flared on her neck. She ran to the mirror.
The mark.
It was back.
Glowing.
She stumbled to the window, opened it, letting the wind crash against her like a wave.
From the woods, a howl rose—low, primal, longing.
And she heard her name again. This time it was not on the wind.
It was whispered into her very soul.
"Arya…"