"Some ears are doors, some hearts are keys,
Some whispers cling like a wasting disease.
Not all who hear will walk away,
For echoes choose the ones they stay."
Diya hadn't spoken much since the accident.
Where the others filled silence with nervous jokes, complaints, or theories, she lingered at the edge of the group—watching, listening, her eyes constantly scanning corners no one else thought to check.
Abhay noticed it. He always noticed things. But unlike the others, Diya wasn't avoiding him. If anything, she seemed to gravitate toward his quiet spaces, as though she found them safer than the noise.
That night, while the others slept in fractured bursts, Diya remained awake.
She heard it again.
The breathing in the walls.
But unlike the rest, she didn't panic. She leaned closer.
And the breathing changed.
It matched hers, beat for beat, like a mirror.
Morning
When dawn broke, Diya looked pale but steady. The group sat in a crooked circle around their dwindling supplies.
"We need a plan," Yashpal said. "This place is not right. Whatever's in that well, whatever's in these houses—it's not safe. We should head back to the main road."
"There is no road," Rohit muttered, rubbing his temples. "I tried yesterday. It loops back. You can walk for hours and end up where you started."
"That's just because you don't know the terrain," Yashpal snapped.
"No," Abhay interrupted softly. "He's right."
Meghna threw her hands up. "Oh, perfect. We're stuck in a ghost loop."
Saanvi groaned. "I told you we should've stayed away from that well."
Through all of this, Diya sat silently, her gaze fixed on the wall. When Kabir asked her if she was okay, she finally spoke.
"It talked to me."
The circle went dead quiet.
"What do you mean it?" Priya asked.
"The wall. Last night. When everyone was asleep." Her voice didn't shake, though her hands clenched her dupatta tight. "It told me not to let anyone else go near the well again."
Abhay leaned forward, intent. "What else did it say?"
Diya hesitated, then shook her head. "That's all I'll repeat."
The Old Notebook
To distract themselves, the group decided to search another abandoned house, hoping for answers—or at least something to prove Bhairavpur wasn't just swallowing their sanity.
The house they chose was small, its roof sagging but intact. In the corner, half-buried beneath debris, they found a trunk. Inside: brittle clothes, rusted utensils, and a thin leather-bound notebook.
Priya carefully opened it, brushing off dust. The writing was shaky, smudged.
"They said the walls remember. I didn't believe it. But last night, I heard my wife humming though she has been dead for three years. I begged her to stop. The wall didn't."
Another entry, a few pages later:
"The well is full now. We should never have fed it so much. It hums because it is heavy with names. Our children's names. Our neighbors. Our own."
The last page was ripped clean, as if someone had torn it out violently.
Everyone stared, cold creeping into their bones.
"What the hell does that mean?" Meghna whispered.
Diya, almost to herself, said: "It means it doesn't forget."
The Whispers Choose
That evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Diya wandered outside alone.
The well loomed, quiet for now. The banyan tree stretched its roots toward it like crooked fingers.
She knelt beside the stones, pressing her ear to the rim.
And this time, the well didn't hum.
It spoke.
Not a whisper. Not an echo. A voice, clear and cruel.
"Why do you listen when they laugh? Why do you follow when they never lead you? You are already mine, little one. I chose you long before you came."
Her chest tightened. Her first instinct was to scream—but she didn't. She stayed still, breathing slow, forcing herself to listen.
The voice chuckled, like water dripping on metal.
"Good girl. You know how to keep secrets. That's why you'll last the longest."
Her hands trembled, but she pulled back, forcing her face to calm before she returned to the house.
When she stepped in, Kabir caught her eye immediately.
"You okay?"
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just needed air."
But Abhay saw the tremor in her fingers. He said nothing, only scribbled something quickly in his notepad.
Nightfall Again
The house was quieter than before. No jokes, no arguments. Just uneasy breathing.
But when Diya finally lay down, the wall beside her bed pulsed softly—like a heartbeat.
She pressed her palm against it.
And this time, it wasn't breathing with her.
It was breathing for her.
"Some walls speak,
some walls keep.
And when they choose a name,
that soul will never sleep."