The road stretched out before us, a long ribbon of cracked asphalt winding through the barren countryside. I walked side by side with Anil, his footsteps matching mine in rhythm, though neither of us had spoken a word in miles. There was something comforting about the silence, as if we both understood that no words were needed—at least not yet.
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the landscape. It was beautiful in a way that felt distant, like something from a dream I had long forgotten. But even in this beauty, there was a heaviness in the air. The kind of heaviness that comes when you're walking toward something you don't want to face.
Anil broke the silence first, his voice low and thoughtful. "Do you ever think about what happened back then?"
I didn't need to ask him what he meant. The past hung between us like a shadow that neither of us could shake, no matter how far we walked or how many years had passed.
"All the time," I said, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. "It's like it never really left, you know? Just… waiting."
Anil nodded, though he didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. We both knew what he was talking about—the night that had changed everything, the night we couldn't forget.
As we walked, the memories began to creep back in, as they always did. It had been years since that night, but the details were still as sharp as if it had happened yesterday. The cold wind that had cut through the air, the smell of rain on the ground, and the sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. But most of all, I remembered the fear—the kind of fear that grips you so tightly you can't breathe, can't think.
"I've been trying to forget," Anil said quietly, breaking into my thoughts. "But it's like the harder I try, the more it follows me."
I looked over at him, noticing the tension in his face. Anil had always been the strong one, the one who kept us grounded when everything around us was falling apart. But even he couldn't escape the past.
"Maybe it's because we never really dealt with it," I offered, my voice sounding strange in my own ears. "We just… ran."
Anil let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, we ran. But look where it got us."
I didn't respond. He was right, of course. We had run as far as we could, but the past had caught up with us anyway. It always did.
As the road stretched on, the silence between us grew heavier. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. And in those shadows, I could almost see it—the past, lurking just behind us, waiting for the right moment to catch up.
"You think we'll ever be free of it?" Anil asked suddenly, his voice soft but steady.
I didn't answer right away. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times, and I still didn't have an answer. Could you ever truly be free of something like that? Or did it become a part of you, something you carried with you forever, no matter how far you tried to run?
"I don't know," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe."
Anil didn't say anything after that, and the silence settled between us once more. But this time, it wasn't the comfortable silence we had shared before. This time, it was filled with the weight of everything we had left unsaid, everything we had tried to bury.
The road led us to a small, dilapidated house on the edge of the countryside. It looked exactly as it had all those years ago, though now it was even more weathered and broken down. The windows were cracked, the paint peeling, and the door hung loosely on its hinges, as if it had been left open for far too long.
I stopped in front of the house, my heart pounding in my chest. Anil stood beside me, his expression unreadable.
"This is where it all started," he said quietly.
I nodded, my throat tight. The memories rushed back in full force—the voices, the whispers in the dark, the way the shadows had seemed to move on their own. It had been a place of fear and confusion, a place where we had learned things we weren't supposed to know.
"I don't know why we came back here," I said, my voice shaking slightly.
Anil glanced at me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. "Because we had to."
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. He was right. We couldn't keep running from the past forever. At some point, we had to face it.
Without another word, Anil stepped forward and pushed open the creaky door. The sound echoed in the stillness, sending a shiver down my spine. I followed him inside, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
The house was just as I remembered—dark, cold, and empty. The air was thick with dust, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the corners. But there was something else, too. Something deeper. Something that sent a chill down my spine.
"We shouldn't be here," I said quietly, though I didn't make any move to leave.
Anil ignored me, his eyes scanning the room. "It's just a house."
But it wasn't. It had never been just a house. It was a place where the lines between reality and something darker had blurred, where we had seen things—felt things—that we couldn't explain.
Anil moved deeper into the house, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. I followed, though every instinct in me screamed to turn around and leave.
"Do you ever wonder if it was all real?" Anil asked suddenly, his voice barely audible.
I didn't answer right away. The question had haunted me for years. Had we really experienced what we thought we had? Or had it all been some kind of shared delusion, a trick of the mind?
"I don't know," I said finally. "But it felt real."
Anil stopped in front of a door at the back of the house. It was the same door we had stood in front of all those years ago, the same door that had led us to the truth—or at least, part of it.
"Do you think it's still there?" he asked, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought it might burst.
Anil hesitated for a moment longer before turning the knob and pushing the door open. The room beyond was dark, the air thick with dust. But as the light from the hallway spilled into the room, I could see it—the thing we had come back for.
It was just a small box, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. But it held the weight of everything we had tried to forget.
Anil stepped forward and picked up the box, his fingers trembling slightly. He didn't open it—he didn't need to. We both knew what was inside.
"This is it," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, my throat tight. The secret we had buried all those years ago. The truth we had been running from.