The morning sky was pale and washed clean after the rain. Aarya decided to walk into the village — partly to clear her mind, partly to convince herself that last night had been a nightmare, nothing more.
The village of Vardha was smaller than she remembered. Mud-brick homes, faded paint, clay pots stacked neatly outside doorsteps. The smell of wet earth lingered in the air.
People stared when she passed.
Not with curiosity.
With recognition.
And fear.
At the tea stall, the old owner looked up and his ladle stopped mid-air.
"You're Rajjo's granddaughter," he said quietly.
Aarya nodded. "Yes. I'm Aarya."
The man didn't smile. His eyes flicked to the willow forest line behind her.
"Why have you returned?"
Aarya hesitated. "I… inherited the house. I'm planning to restore it."
The ladle clattered into the pot. A few villagers gasped.
A woman beside her leaned in, eyes wide.
"You shouldn't stay in that house, beti. Not alone."
"Why?" Aarya forced a light laugh. "Don't tell me even now you believe in the ghost stories my grandmother used to tell."
Silence.
No one laughed.
The woman swallowed.
"You think it is just a tree? That willow has taken more brides than any mandir or court ever has."
Aarya froze.
"What do you mean?"
An elderly man — hair white, eyes clouded — spoke from his charpai nearby.
"A bride waited there once," he said. "A long time ago. Her groom never came. They say she died under that tree, wearing her wedding veil, tears still warm on her cheeks."
The villagers listened, silent.
"But love does not rest, child."
His voice trembled.
"Her spirit remained. And every woman who falls in love after entering that house… the tree calls her. It calls her to take the Bride's place."
Aarya's stomach dropped.
"That's just a superstition."
The old man's gaze held hers — unblinking, knowing.
"Ask yourself, beti… why did your grandmother live alone all these years? Why did she never remarry after your grandfather passed?"
Aarya's breath caught.
She had never thought about that.
Never questioned.
Another villager leaned in and whispered:
"And the man you saw? The one near the willow?"
Her voice shook.
"He is the reason the Bride still waits."
Aarya's blood ran cold.
She hadn't told anyone she saw someone.
No one should have known.
The villagers looked away — some in pity, some in fear — but none in disbelief.
Because here, the curse was not a story.
It was memory.
When Aarya walked back to the mansion, the sky had begun to dim.
The willow tree swayed gently, though the wind was still.
Something moved beneath it.
Not a person.
Not a shadow.
Something in between.
The branches stirred like fingers.
Like they had seen her.
Recognized her.
Welcomed her back.