The cold wind howled through the narrow alley as Haider and Abrish stepped cautiously forward. The dim glow of the streetlights flickered, casting eerie shadows on the worn-out walls. The city felt alive in the dead of night—watching, listening, whispering secrets neither of them was prepared to face.
"We shouldn't be here," Abrish muttered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
Haider's jaw tightened. "We have no choice."
They had followed a trail—clues buried deep in the past, leading them to a hidden truth. The truth that could finally unravel the mystery of their intertwined lives.
Abrish hesitated before stepping into the darkness of the abandoned building. The scent of dust and old wood filled the air, memories pressing down on her like a weight she couldn't shake. Haider walked beside her, his presence both a shield and a reminder of the past that refused to let go.
A single envelope lay on the table, aged and yellowed with time.
Haider picked it up, recognizing the handwriting instantly. His fingers trembled as he opened it, eyes scanning the words that changed everything.
"You were never supposed to know the truth. But if you are reading this, it means I failed to keep it hidden."
The words blurred as his past collided with his present. Abrish reached for the letter, but Haider pulled it back, his expression unreadable.
"Haider... What does it say?"
He met her gaze, haunted. "It says... we were never meant to survive this."
A loud crash echoed from outside. Someone was watching them.
The mystery was far from over.
•The Moment She Knew
"People always say time heals everything. But some wounds never close—they just become a part of who you are."
Three years ago.
The university corridors buzzed with life—students chatting, laughing, running to their next classes. But for Abrish, the world had never felt more silent. She sat alone on the library steps, the crisp autumn wind brushing against her face. Her fingers gripped the edge of her book, but her mind was elsewhere.
Somewhere behind her, she could hear Zayan laughing. His voice was unmistakable—deep, confident, with a touch of arrogance that made him impossible to ignore. He had a way of making people orbit around him, drawn to his presence like moths to a flame.
But that day, something was different.
"Abrish!" His voice cut through her thoughts. She turned, startled, as he jogged up to her, hands in his pockets, a teasing smirk on his lips.
"What?" she asked, feigning disinterest.
"You always look so serious. Do you ever stop thinking?" He plopped down beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers.
She sighed, closing her book. "Some people actually care about their studies, Zayan."
He grinned. "And some people know there's more to life than books."
A moment of silence passed. She could feel his gaze on her, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Do you believe in fate?"
Abrish frowned. "What kind of question is that?"
"I don't know. Just... do you think people meet for a reason?" His voice had lost its usual playful edge. There was something deeper in his tone—something real.
She hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe we just look for meaning where there isn't any."
Zayan chuckled softly. "Typical Abrish answer."
She rolled her eyes. "And what's the 'Zayan answer'?"
He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. "I think... some people are meant to find each other. Whether they stay together or fall apart, that's a different story."
Abrish didn't reply. She didn't know how to. Because a part of her had always felt the same way.
And in that moment, sitting beside him in the golden light of the setting sun, she knew.
She knew Zayan was going to be someone unforgettable.
She just never thought he'd be the one to shatter her.
• The Message in the Dark
The dim glow of the city stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Haider's penthouse, a sprawling maze of lights flickering against the ink-black sky. The world outside never slept, but within these walls, silence reigned—cold, suffocating, and absolute.
He stood near the window, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand, though he had long abandoned the habit of drinking. It was a force of habit more than anything—a distraction, something to hold onto when thoughts clawed at his sanity.
His phone buzzed on the sleek marble counter, slicing through the quiet.
A message.
At this hour?
Haider frowned, placing the glass down and picking up his phone. The screen cast a pale glow against his sharp features.
Unknown Number:
"You are not who you pretend to be . You are who you are when you stand alone, staring into the mirror at 3 AM."
His grip on the phone tightened.
For a long moment, he just stared. The words were simple, but they sliced through his carefully built walls like a dagger.
It wasn't just a random text. It felt personal. Like a whisper from the past, a voice he had buried long ago.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he typed back.
Haider: "Who is this?"
Delivered. No response.
The weight in his chest pressed harder. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. A joke? A mistake? Or… a warning?
His gaze flickered to the drawer in the far corner of the room. Locked. Untouched for years.
Inside, buried beneath stacks of old letters and forgotten photographs, was a diary. A faded, worn-out diary with a name scribbled inside.
The phone buzzed again. Another message.
Unknown Number:
"The past never forgets, Haider. And neither does she."
His blood ran cold.