At first, our three days at the hotel in Lahore were really interesting. The staff was nice and made us feel like we were guests, not like they were watching us. The hospitality was warm, almost too much. Outside, the city was bright and lively, the streets busy with movement, traffic flowing like a living vein, and neon lights staying on all night. But under that colorful surface, there was something darker that stayed with us.
We felt it right away when we walked into the lobby with its shiny marble floor.
We weren't alone. A shadow, shaped like a black cat, had picked us out. Its eyes glowed in the dark, and its fur seemed to drink in the light. It moved quietly through the hotel corridors, always there—whether we were in the courtyard, the dining area, or the elevator. Watching. Waiting.
We never heard its paws, and I never felt its steps.
The only thing that followed us was its gaze, like a curse that wouldn't let go.
The baba's words were the only comfort we had.
His voice was calm and serious, and it echoed in our minds like a protective prayer.
"Remember these talismans.
Evil is driven away by fear and faith."
We clung to our amulets as if they were our lifelines.
The cold metal on our skin kept our fear from completely taking over.
By the morning we left, the air was tense.
No one laughed or made jokes as we packed our bags, unlike before our trip. At the gate, the Rosy jeep looked dim in the morning mist. We carefully loaded water and snacks, filled the tank, and checked the tires and brakes again. Amit kept his mouth shut and took the wheel, and we drove toward Kashmir without saying a word.
The first few hours were heavy with silence.
The noise of Lahore faded behind us, replaced by the rolling fields of Punjab. Kids from distant villages waved as golden waves of wheat stretched out. Even so, the jeep's silence felt like a weight. Even the engine's hum felt thick, as if it was carrying something we couldn't see.
At the Chakothi checkpoint, armed officers checked our papers and searched the car quickly and without emotion.
The world changed when we entered Azad Kashmir. Dust gave way to fresh, alpine air.
Armed officers at the Chakothi checkpoint checked our papers and quickly searched the car without showing any emotion. The world changed when we entered Azad Kashmir. Dust was replaced by fresh mountain air. The Jhelum River glowed in the broken sunlight, winding far below.
The road got narrower as it climbed higher up the cliffs.
Mist looked like a living thing, curling between the trees. At first, it was beautiful, but then it felt creepy. There was a feeling that we were being watched at every moment.
I saw movement in the rearview mirror a couple of times.
Between the trees, there was a dark haze. I blinked, but nothing was there. Still, the feeling stayed with me.
We arrived at our guesthouse, a wooden house at the edge of a pine forest, by dusk.
It looked safe and strong. We hoped it really was.
Fear finally spoke that night, as we sat around the fire.
We talked, argued, tried to stay calm. But everything came back to the baba's warning: don't let fear take over.
Sleep didn't last long.
The silence was broken by a long, hollow meow.
Not normal.
Claws scraped against wood.
There were footsteps outside. The door trembled.
Under a crack in the floor, eyes flashed yellow, burning and watching.
Then everything went quiet again.
One paw print left a mark on the floor outside the door, then faded.
It had followed us.
Through cities.
Across borders.
I realized that this wasn't the end as I lay awake, with the amulet warm against my chest.
It came back, carried by the wind, from beyond the trees.
A meow.
Calling my name.