Later that day, Riya asked the lady at the homestay, "Are there other tourists staying nearby?"
The woman shook her head. "Not many people come this time of year. Too cold. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Riya replied, hiding her confusion.
That night, as she transferred photos to her laptop, one image stood out.
A blurry figure on the bridge. The same man. Watching her.
Goosebumps.
The next day, she went to the same trail, hoping it was just her imagination. But halfway through, she felt it again — the presence. Not fear, not danger… but something that made her skin tingle. She turned.
He was there again.
This time, closer.
"You shouldn't wander here alone," he said in a deep, quiet voice.
"Why not?"
"There are stories," he replied. "Some paths shouldn't be followed."
"And you? Do you always stand silently and watch people?" she challenged, trying to sound braver than she felt.
A faint smile appeared. "Only when they don't belong here."
Before she could reply, he turned and disappeared into the woods.
His name, she later learned from the local tea seller, was Aarav. No one knew much about him — just that he'd arrived in the valley a year ago, bought an old cottage near the river, and barely spoke to anyone.
Some said he was a writer. Others whispered he was hiding.