I still remember the day we left for the mountains, Aarushi beside me, her window down, face kissed by the wind, smiling like she always did when freedom tasted fresh. It was meant to be a retreat before we parted for good, two best friends who had grown up like sisters, now walking separate paths.
We’d booked a cottage far from the town, nestled in pine trees and silence. There was no cell signal, no street lights, only the distant rustle of the forest, and a small handwritten note from the caretaker:
“Do not go into the woods after sundown.
And if your friend calls from the trees…
Check first if she’s still inside.”
I chuckled, folded the paper, and tossed it on the table. Aarushi raised an eyebrow but said nothing; that was her way of intuitive silence. The first few days were perfect. We cooked, reread our favorite poems, and shared memories of the childhood we were outgrowing. But something changed on the third night.
Aarushi began speaking in her sleep, numbers in random sequences. Her voice was low, almost… borrowed, I shook her awake. She blinked at me with a hollow stare and whispered, “I saw you. In the woods. But it wasn’t you.”
I laughed nervously. She didn’t.
The house began to change. Or perhaps it was me. Reflections lingered longer in mirrors. A second teacup was always full, even when I hadn’t poured it. Once, I passed by the bedroom and saw two Aarushis sitting on the bed.
I screamed. One turned to look.
The other did not.
When I blinked, only one remained.
That night, I found an old photograph tucked into a drawer beneath the bed. Two girls, almost identical to us, were standing at the same window.
The back read: “Aarushi & Meher – 1993”
My name. Her name. But that was thirty years ago.
I ran to Aarushi. I showed her the photo.
She looked at it calmly and said,
“We’ve been here before. We always come back.”
Then she smiled, and for the first time in twelve years of knowing her, I saw no warmth behind it.
I tried to leave the next morning. My bags were packed. But the forest had changed. The road I came from no longer existed.
Only the path to the woods remained.
I followed it.
Deeper and deeper, as if I had no choice. My feet were my own, yet not.
I reached the clearing with the old twisted tree, and there I saw it:
A shallow grave.
My name carved into wood.
A single red scarf, I thought I lost years ago.
Behind me, Aarushi spoke softly:
“We made a promise, remember? No matter what happens… we stay together.”
I turned.
Her eyes were black.
Her voice was mine.
They say no one lives in that cottage now. Just empty tea cups and footsteps in the dust.
But every year, two girls visit that house in winter.
One laughs softly. The other watches the mirror.
Only one casts a reflection.
Article 19 