The rain tapped gently on the window panes as Aarya stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the ancestral mansion. Dust hung in the air like forgotten memories, and every step echoed as if the house was exhaling after years of silence.
The lawyer's words still played in her ears: "It's yours now, Ms. Aarya Malhotra. Everything your grandmother left behind—including the land."
The mansion stood on the edge of Vardha, a village abandoned by time. Its only claim to fame was the weeping willow that stood alone in the backyard—its gnarled branches twisted like fingers pointing to the sky.
That night, Aarya couldn't sleep. Not because of the thunderstorm. Not because of the creaks and groans of the old house. But because of the voice that whispered her name—soft, breathless, right beside her bed.
When she turned, no one was there.
But the window was open.
And beneath the moonlight, the willow tree swayed… even though the wind had stopped.