"The wheel does not choose its turn,nor the flesh its hour to burn.Some falls are heavy, some are slight—but every fall rewrites the night."
The road had been smooth for miles, a ribbon of cracked asphalt unraveling through endless green. The van hummed, laughter buzzed, arguments flared and died, and the forest pressed close on either side like it had been stitched there just for them.
No one expected it to end in a heartbeat.
The squirrel appeared first—an impossible flash of silver darting from the underbrush. The driver cursed and wrenched the wheel left.
"WHAT THE FU—"
The rest never came.
The van shrieked as tires scraped gravel, the weight of eight bodies slamming sideways at once. Someone's head cracked glass, someone else's ribs met a seat edge. The world spun in a blur of leaves and metal. They hit something—wood, stone, earth—and the tempo traveler folded, rolled once, twice, then landed with a final bone-deep crunch.
Then came silence.
Not just silence, but that ringing silence that presses against the skull, heavier than noise.
Abhay opened his eyes first.
The smell of iron and petrol flooded his nose, sharp and raw. He blinked once, twice. The van's roof leaned sideways like a crushed tin, glass glittered across the floor, and blood dripped steadily from a torn upholstery seam.
He was standing outside already.
It hadn't registered how he'd moved, how he'd crawled, or even if he'd fallen. One moment the crash was swallowing him, and the next he was simply standing on the damp earth, the van behind him groaning as it settled into its broken angle.
He raised his hands. Not a cut. Not a bruise. His clothes, spotless. His breath, steady.
He might as well have walked out of a dream.
Inside, the dream was messier.
"Uhh—ahh—" Kabir groaned, dragging himself up from a twisted seat. His forehead split open in a shallow cut, blood mingling with dust. He tried to laugh but it broke into a cough. "We… we didn't… holy shit."
"Help me—my leg—" Saanvi clutched her ankle, teeth gritted as she tried to move.
Priya leaned against a shattered window frame, her lipstick smudged and a thin cut tracing her cheek. She stared at her trembling hands, whispering, "No, no, no…" over and over until Rohit grabbed her arm and shook her.
"Oi! You're alive! We're alive, damn it!" He wheezed as he spoke, clutching his ribs.
Meghna coughed, hair tangled with leaves, her diary half-torn and pressed to her chest like a lifeline. "Someone elbowed me. Who elbowed me?"
"I think it was me," Yashpal muttered, blood dripping from his split lip. He spat red into the dirt and tried to grin. "At least I didn't die."
The laughter that followed was broken, fragile, like glass about to give way.
Abhay turned back once, his eyes falling on the driver. The man's chest had folded against the steering wheel, eyes wide, lips parted. No breath rose from him. Blood ran down the wheel spokes in tiny rivulets.
He was gone.
"Driver's dead," Abhay said flatly, though no one had asked.
The words shut them all up for a second. Priya looked away quickly. Rohit muttered something under his breath. Saanvi closed her eyes and whispered a small prayer.
Only Kabir dared break it. "We… we survived that. We actually survived that." His laugh came out shaky, but it was laughter still. "Holy hell, we're… lucky."
The word hung in the air. Lucky.
No one wanted to ask why. Why the driver hadn't made it when they had. Why their injuries—bloody, painful, but not life-ending—felt almost staged in their uniform mildness.
They climbed out one by one. Saanvi leaned on Diya, wincing as her ankle protested. Priya limped beside Rohit. Yashpal swore under his breath as he straightened his back. Meghna kept scribbling shaky words in the corner of her torn diary, as though writing it down would make it less real.
Abhay walked ahead. His shadow stretched unnaturally long in the fading light.
The forest waited.
It wasn't like any of them had pictured it. No sound of birds. No insect hum. Even the wind had stilled, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath. A mist curled low around their ankles, pale and reluctant, creeping forward with them as they stepped into the clearing.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their own breaths and shuffling feet louder than anything else. The crash had stolen their energy, leaving behind only disbelief and the faint, raw edge of survival.
Then, through the mist, something appeared.
At first it was just stone. A cracked arch standing alone, draped in moss, Sanskrit letters etched deep across its face. Small bells dangled from each side, unmoving though the air was heavy enough to sway them.
And beyond it—light.
"Look," Saanvi whispered, almost forgetting her pain.
Through the arch stretched Bhairavpur. A village alive in the dying day.
Smoke rose from distant chimneys. Clay lamps glowed in windows. Children ran laughing down a dirt path. A woman balanced a basket of grain against her hip as she smiled at a shrine. Voices drifted, warm and kind, carrying the cadence of a home long loved.
Priya gasped, hand rising to her mouth. "It's beautiful."
Meghna's eyes shone despite the bruises darkening her cheek. "I didn't expect it to feel so… warm."
Kabir grinned through his bloodied face, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Told you. Told you we'd make it."
They were still laughing when they stepped through the arch. Still smiling when villagers greeted them with nods and offers of water. Still believing when a turbaned man gave them directions to a schoolhouse where travelers usually stayed.
Relief poured over them like sunlight after a storm.
All except Abhay.
He looked once, just once, over his shoulder. Back at the arch, where the mist swirled thicker than before.
There, half-hidden in shadow, stood a figure.
Not one of them. Not the driver. Not a villager.
A man-shaped silhouette.
Watching.
And then it was gone.
Abhay blinked. His friends were still laughing, still relieved, still clinging to their fragile "luck."
He said nothing.
But deep inside, under all the noise and smiles, he knew—
The warzone hadn't ended.
It had only just opened.
"Not every survivor is spared.Not every village breathes.Sometimes what welcomes you with warmthis only the silence teaching you how to grieve."