Ahir drove quietly, glancing at Doona every so often. She sat still in the passenger seat, gazing out the window as if searching for something beyond the glass. She hadn't spoken a word the entire ride, lost in her thoughts, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
When they arrived, Doona hesitated, her hand lingering on the car door before she stepped out. Her movements were slow, her steps unsteady, like she was walking into something heavy, something she wasn't prepared to face. Ahir watched her carefully, wondering what memories this place might stir.
They reached the elevator, the hum of machinery filling the silence as they ascended. Doona's fingers tightened around the elevator railing, her eyes distant, focused on something he couldn't see. Ahir wanted to reassure her, but there was a weight around her—a quiet tension that made him hold back.
When they finally reached the apartment, she paused just outside the door, her breath shallow. She looked at the walls, her gaze scanning the hallway as if she recognized it, as if she'd walked this path before, even though he knew she hadn't. Her face was unreadable, a strange mixture of anticipation and unease.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting her go in first. She stepped inside slowly, taking in the room with wide eyes. Ahir followed, his eyes on her as she looked around. Everything about her felt on edge, and her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke.
"Whose house is this?" she asked, her voice unsteady.
"It's a friend's," he replied, watching the way her expression shifted, as if she were trying to connect the pieces of a half-forgotten puzzle.
A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead, and she walked to the sofa, lowering herself onto it as if she couldn't trust her legs to hold her up. Her head leaned back, eyes closing as she took a deep breath. Something was deeply unsettling her, that much was clear.
Ahir hesitated, then quietly made his way towards the other room, giving her a moment to collect herself.
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**Doona's POV**
The moment Ahir's footsteps faded, I opened my eyes, blinking in the dim light of the room. I sat up slowly, feeling the strange familiarity of this place settle heavily on my shoulders. I knew this apartment, or at least, I knew the person who lived here. The space felt like a shadow of memories that weren't my own yet still felt strangely intimate.
My eyes roamed over the details, the familiar arrangement of the furniture, the subtle scent that lingered in the air—a blend of coffee and something warm, earthy. There was a painting in the drawing room that felt oddly out of place, its presence familiar but slightly off, like a song you almost remember but can't quite place. It should have been behind the sofa, not where it was now.
Standing, I took a few hesitant steps, my fingers trailing over the arm of the sofa, tracing the worn fabric. I knew the person who had once arranged this room, the careful placement of each item. It was like walking through someone else's memories, memories I had only glimpsed from the outside.
I moved quietly to the kitchen. The shelves were lined with spices, some familiar, some new, but they were arranged in a way that felt uniquely like the person who lived here. The little details, the tiny habits I'd come to recognize—it all washed over me in a wave of unexpected nostalgia. This was their place, their world, and yet here I was, a stranger standing in the middle of someone else's memories.
Finally, my steps led me to a door on the other side of the room. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. This door—this room—it had held so much. I remembered the stories I'd heard, the glimpses I'd caught into this world. But as I tried to turn the handle, it didn't budge. Locked.
I sighed, resting my hand against the cool wood, feeling the weight of the memories, the moments I'd only ever heard about, now haunting the air around me. Beside the door, an old drawer stood quietly, its surface scratched and faded. I ran my fingers over its edges, feeling the history embedded within it, the secrets it had held for someone else.
The silence deepened, pressing in on all sides, each moment reminding me that this wasn't my life, wasn't my home. But somehow, I was standing here, caught between the pull of someone else's memories and the emptiness that had settled within me.