The Mehta home stood quietly on the periphery of the city, covered in ivy and shadow.
It was nearly 3 a.m. when Priya Mehta, Ava's mother, awoke from a restless sleep. Her hand instinctively reached for the nightstand to grab her phone, but something held it back.
A sound.
Quiet.
Like breathing.
She stood stock still.
The home was supposed to be empty—her husband away, her daughter missing, her sister overseas and her son....God knows where.
But that sound… it was close. In here.
Gingerly, Priya sat up.
The air was chill. The quiet wasn't night-time hush—it felt watched.
Then the knock came.
𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗿𝗮𝗽𝘀.
She didn't move.
No one should be ringing at this hour. No one should even know she hadn't left already.
But her legs got ahead of her brain, and she moved toward the front door. Looked through the peephole.
No one.
Just the vacant porch. Tricks of the wind.
She waited. Counted to five.
Then turned away—
Another knock.
This one at the back door.
Priya gasped, hand to chest. Her breathing quickened.
She spun around to the kitchen, heart racing, and then—
The phone rang.
She almost screamed.
Hands shaking, she answered. No caller ID.
"Hello?"
No response. Only the soft thrum.
Then a voice. Recognizable. Wrong.
"She's remembering, Priya. You should've warned her."
Click.
The line was dead.
Her legs let her down, and she fell into the nearest chair.
.....
𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝟏𝟕 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎:
The hospital room was small. Sterile.
Neelam sat by herself, cradling her newborn daughter as a man in a white coat leaned over and whispered something to her.
"Your husband doesn't need to know. But this child… she's not ordinary. She was born in the storm, and—"
Neelam cut him off. "Don't say another thing."
The doctor continued. "You have to realize. We believe she's related to—"
"I said enough."
She departed that night, never returned to that hospital.
And never spoke with Ava.
...
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘:
The wind rattled the windows. A picture frame fell from the shelf behind her, the glass shattering.
Priya turned around—and froze.
There was a drawing on the kitchen table.
Charcoal. Rough. Smudged.
It hadn't been there before.
A tunnel.
A chair.
A stitched mouth.
And standing behind the chair—Ava.
With no eyes.
Priya's mouth fell open. Her heart racing in her chest.
And suddenly, her instincts kicked in.
She pulled out her old box from the pantry, moved the cans of rice aside, and pried open the rusted lid. Inside: a phone—one that had not been used in over 15 years.
She turned it on.
No signal.
Then—
A message appeared.
"𝗧𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗼."
....
𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐇𝐈𝐓:
Ava flinched, hand flying to her chest. "Did you hear that?"
Rohit's eyes blinked. "What?"
"Like. my name. I could swear I—"
A loud crash overhead cut her off.
And somewhere, very far away, a lullaby was still being sung.
In her voice.
But neither of them was singing.
........
𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀? 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑶 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮. 𝑰𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑾...!
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨.