The truck's headlights sliced through the night, illuminating the endless stretch of cracked asphalt ahead. Aarav's breath caught in his throat as the figures appeared clearer with every passing second.
Dozens of them.
They stood shoulder to shoulder across the highway, forming a wall of pale bodies. Men with hollow eyes, women with broken necks hanging at impossible angles, children whose faces were nothing more than blurred shadows.
None of them moved. None of them blinked. They simply stood, waiting.
His father's hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that the skin on his knuckles turned white.
"Hold tight," he muttered.
Aarav's stomach twisted. "Baba, we can't just drive into them—"
"We don't have a choice." His father's tone was final, grim.
The truck roared louder as he pressed the accelerator. The figures didn't scatter, didn't react at all. Aarav braced for the impact, eyes squeezing shut.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
But when he opened them, his jaw dropped.
The truck had passed straight through the crowd. Not over them, not around them—through them.
For a moment, it was as if the air itself had thickened. The cold was unbearable, needles of ice stabbing into Aarav's lungs. Shadows seeped through the windows, brushing against his skin like cold, wet cloth.
He shivered violently. His father's lips moved in a whisper, muttering words Aarav couldn't understand. Some kind of prayer? A mantra?
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation ended. The road behind them was empty again. No figures, no wall of shadows—only silence.
Aarav's teeth chattered as he tried to steady his breathing. "What… what were they?"
His father didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he muttered, "Echoes."
"Echoes?" Aarav repeated, baffled.
"They're not alive, not dead. Just fragments left behind. The longer you stay on roads like these, the more you see them. That's why I told you not to point, not to speak."
Aarav's throat tightened. "You've seen them before, haven't you?"
His father's silence was answer enough.
The truck rattled as it sped along the lonely highway. The scent of incense still lingered faintly in the cabin, but it was fading fast. Aarav clutched the cloth pouch tighter, afraid of what might happen if he let go.
Minutes passed in uneasy quiet. Then Aarav noticed something strange.
The road.
No matter how far they drove, the scenery didn't change. The same crooked trees, the same patches of weeds, the same broken fence at the side of the road. Over and over again.
His chest tightened. "Baba… we're going in circles."
His father's eyes narrowed. "I know."
"Then what do we do?" Aarav's voice cracked. Panic was bubbling in his chest again.
His father hesitated before answering. "There's only one way out."
"What way?"
"Through her."
A chill ran through Aarav. He didn't need to ask who "her" was. The woman in white. The one who had pressed her face against the glass. The one who was still watching from the back of the truck.
As if on cue, Aarav's eyes flicked to the side mirror.
She was there. Still perched on the cargo bed, her hair whipping in a wind that didn't exist. Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking, unrelenting.
Aarav's grip on the pouch tightened until his nails dug into his palm.
His father's voice dropped to a low growl. "Don't look. Keep your eyes forward."
But Aarav couldn't help himself. The longer he stared, the more details he saw. Her clothes weren't just white—they were a funeral shroud, stained at the hem with dirt and dried blood. Her smile wasn't just eerie—it was knowing. Mocking.
"Baba," Aarav whispered, his voice trembling, "why is she after us?"
His father's jaw clenched. "Because she knows me."
Aarav's eyes widened. "What do you mean she knows you?"
His father didn't answer. Instead, he slammed his foot on the brakes.
The truck screeched to a halt, tires screaming against the asphalt. Aarav was thrown forward, barely catching himself against the dashboard. His heart pounded as he whipped his head around.
The woman in white was no longer in the mirror.
She was standing directly in the middle of the road, just a few feet in front of the truck.
Her head tilted unnaturally to the side, her wet hair spilling across her face. Her hands dangled at her sides, fingers twitching.
For the first time, Aarav saw her feet. They didn't touch the ground.
She floated.
The sight made bile rise in his throat.
"Stay inside," his father ordered. His voice was steel, leaving no room for argument.
Before Aarav could protest, his father reached for the incense and the matches again. With trembling hands, he lit another stick and stepped out of the truck.
"Baba!" Aarav shouted, panic clawing at his chest.
But his father ignored him, clutching the incense like a weapon. He stood tall despite the blood staining his shirt, despite the way his injured shoulder trembled.
The woman in white tilted her head further, her smile widening.
The night air grew colder. The sound of crickets vanished. The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then—she moved.
One moment she was standing still. The next, she was inches from Aarav's father, her face twisted into a grotesque grin, her hollow eyes gleaming with hunger.
Aarav's scream caught in his throat as he slammed his hands against the window.
His father raised the incense high, shouting words Aarav couldn't understand. The smoke swirled wildly, creating patterns in the air. For a moment, the woman staggered back, hissing like a cornered animal.
But then she lunged again.
Her pale hands shot forward, wrapping around his father's throat.
"BABA!" Aarav shrieked, throwing the door open.
The incense dropped to the ground, its ember sputtering. His father struggled, clawing at the woman's grip, but her strength was inhuman. His face turned red, veins bulging in his neck.
Aarav's chest heaved, his mind racing. The pouch.
He looked down at it, clenched in his fist. His father had told him not to drop it, but he hadn't said not to use it.
With trembling hands, Aarav tore the thread open.
The pouch split.
A burst of ash and powder spilled into the air, glowing faintly under the moonlight. The particles danced like fireflies, swirling around Aarav before rushing straight toward the woman.
She screamed—a sound that wasn't sound at all, but a vibration that shook Aarav's very bones. Her form wavered, her grip on his father loosening as the powder clung to her skin.
His father fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
The woman staggered back, her body flickering in and out of existence, her smile gone. Her eyes met Aarav's one last time.
And then, with a shriek that echoed across the endless highway, she vanished.
The silence that followed was crushing.
Aarav's knees gave out, and he collapsed beside his father. His chest heaved, tears stinging his eyes.
His father coughed violently, struggling to breathe. He turned his head toward Aarav, his face pale but his eyes blazing.
"You shouldn't have opened it," he rasped.
Aarav's stomach dropped. "I… I saved you—"
His father's hand gripped his arm with surprising strength. "You don't understand. That was the only thing keeping her sealed."
Aarav's heart skipped a beat.
The night around them suddenly felt darker, heavier.
Somewhere in the distance, a woman's laughter echoed across the highway.