A psychological horror, told in silence.l
TERRACE – DAWN
Half sky dark. Half sky gold.
The world holds its breath.
Shree stands barefoot on the terrace of her childhood home, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes scan the quiet lane.
Across the street, in front of the faded yellow house, sits an old man—Mr. Rath.
Her childhood neighbor. Gentle. Widowed. Quiet.
He sits unnaturally still.
No newspaper. No tea.
Just watching her.
Their eyes meet.
Then—
He smiles.
And softly, from the silence of dawn:
"Shree…"
She stiffens.
Her expression shifts—not fear. Not recognition. Something in between.
She turns away.
STAIRCASE – MOMENTS LATER
The moss-covered, rusting staircase connecting the two houses.
She hears a step.
Turns.
He's climbing.
Each step, he calls her name:
"Shree…"
Step 1 – His back straightens.
Step 2 – Wrinkles begin to fade.
Step 3 – Posture younger. Eyes clearer.
Step 4 – Middle-aged now.
"Shree…"
Step 5 – A man in his thirties.
Step 6 – Twenties. Smile growing unnaturally wide.
Step 7 – A teenage boy. Eyes too knowing.
Step 8 – A child. Barefoot. Calm.
Step 9 – A toddler. Smiling.
"Shree…"
Step 10 – A baby now. Wobbling.
He stands at the top step.
Grinning.
She doesn't move.
He runs.
Straight at her.
And without a touch—
enters her.
Like air pulled into lungs too quickly.
BEDROOM – MORNING
She wakes with a jolt.
The fan spins.
Light spills in softly.
---
KITCHEN – LATER
Her mother gestures silently.
White clothes. Grief in motion.
Shree follows.
FUNERAL – MIDDAY
The wooden chair sits empty.
A white sheet covers Mr. Rath's body.
Mourners chant. Fire crackles.
Shree stands still.
Unblinking.
Ash floats.
I
CLINIC – TWO MONTHS LATER
A file is handed to her.
No words.
She opens it.
PREGNANCY CONFIRMED
Gestational Age: 8 Weeks
---
Two months later, she gave birth to a boy. A quiet, still-eyed child with a face too familiar. And as the years passed, Shree watched him grow—each stage of his life unfolding into the exact faces she had seen on those thirteen steps. From toddler to boy to teen, he wore the same eyes, the same smile, the same silence. And though he never spoke a word for years, sometimes, in the dead hush before dawn, she would hear a whisper near her ear, soft as breath and sharp as memory—
"Shree."
---
BATHROOM – NIGHT
She stares into the mirror.
But her reflection is slower than her.
Her hand lifts—but the reflection hesitates.
And then, just behind her—
A breath.
"Shree…"
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