The rain had been falling over the village since afternoon, turning the narrow roads into quiet rivers of mud. By the time I reached the old house, night had already swallowed the sky.
The house looked exactly the same as it always had—peeling paint on the wooden walls, the crooked balcony, and the dim yellow light that flickered from the upstairs window.
That was his room.
My cousin Rahim used to sit there every evening, waving at people passing the road. Even when he became sick, he tried to smile. The doctors called it blood cancer, a disease that slowly drained the strength from his body.
But the last time I saw him… something felt wrong.
I stepped onto the wooden porch. The boards creaked beneath my feet as if the house remembered me. The front door was unlocked. It slowly pushed open with a long, tired groan.
Inside, the air smelled old and cold.
Rahim had passed away three days ago. The funeral was quiet. Everyone said the same things—
"He's finally free from suffering."
"He's in a better place."
But none of them had seen what I saw that night.
I walked toward the staircase. Every step echoed through the empty house.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard something.
A soft sound.
A cough.
I froze.
It came from upstairs… from Rahim's room.
My heart started beating faster. That was impossible. No one was supposed to be in that room anymore.
"Hello?" I called softly.
No answer.
Only silence.
Then the cough came again.
Slow… dry… and familiar.
The exact same cough Rahim had when he was sick.
The door to his room was slightly open. A faint light glowed inside, even though the electricity to the second floor had been cut earlier that day.
I pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
But the bed was not.
The blanket slowly moved… as if someone underneath it had just taken a breath.
My throat went dry.
Then I heard a whisper.
Right beside my ear.
"Why did you come back…?"
I turned around instantly.
No one was there.
But the blanket on the bed slowly sat upright.
And in the faint light from the window… I saw a shape forming beneath the cloth.
A thin arm lifted.
And a voice I knew better than my own spoke again.
"Cousin… I'm not finished yet."