Morning crept into the house with a strange kind of stillness.
Ayaan hadn't left the couch. He hadn't even tried to go back to sleep. His eyes, though tired, stayed open — staring at nothing. The covered mirror stood across the hall, quiet but not forgotten. The cloth over it offered some comfort, yet he could still feel its presence. As if something behind it was aware... and waiting.
Eventually, he stood. His muscles protested after hours of stillness, but he brushed it off. In the kitchen, he filled a glass with water, the silence pressing in around him..
But even the water tasted different. Or maybe it was just him.
He turned back to the hall — and stopped.
There was something on the floor. Something small, light.
A feather.
Right in front of the mirror.
He frowned. He hadn't noticed it earlier. Maybe it had floated in through a window? But none were open. And this feather didn't look like it had drifted from anywhere. It was too neatly placed. Too intentional.
He walked over, crouched, and picked it up.
It was smooth, almost silky — and cold. Not just room-temperature cold. Something deeper. Like it came from outside… not just outside the house, but somewhere beyond.
He glanced at the mirror, still covered. For a second, he considered removing the cloth again. But something inside him said don't.
He backed away instead, feather still in hand.
The house was quiet again.
Too quiet.
He turned to place the feather on the table — and then…
Tap.
A single, soft knock.
He turned his head slowly. It had come from the ceiling.
Another tap.
This time, slightly louder.
Right above his bedroom.
He stared upward, heart picking up speed. That part of the ceiling had never made a sound before. No pipes. No creaks.
And yet, there it was.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like someone — or something — was walking just above him.