The reflection in the cracked side mirror should have been nothing but the dusty road and weeds swaying in the night breeze. But there she was—still, silent, and far too close.
The woman in white.
Aarav's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream, but the sound stuck somewhere deep inside his chest. His hands trembled as he reached out and shook his father's shoulder.
"Baba… she's there," Aarav whispered, pointing at the mirror.
His father winced, blood still dripping down the side of his face. He didn't look. He didn't even try. Instead, his rough hand grabbed Aarav's wrist and forced it down.
"Don't," his father rasped. His voice was hoarse but sharp. "Don't point. Don't call her. The more you notice, the stronger she gets."
Aarav stared at him, wide-eyed. "What are you talking about? You saw her too, didn't you? On the road—"
"Quiet!" his father barked. His entire frame shook as though every nerve in his body was strung tight. "Do not say it out loud."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Only the faint ticking of the cooling engine and Aarav's pounding heartbeat filled the air.
Against his father's command, Aarav's eyes darted back to the mirror.
Empty.
No woman. No figure. Just the dull reflection of the half-buried truck and the empty stretch of highway behind them.
He exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe it was just shock.
Then—tap, tap.
A sound against the glass.
Aarav's stomach turned to ice. Slowly, against every screaming instinct in his body, he looked at the shattered windshield.
A pale hand pressed against the outside. Fingers long and thin, nails blackened, leaving faint trails as they dragged across the glass. The hand slid upward, and with it, a face came into view.
Her face.
The same woman, her features clearer now. Hollow eyes, skin gray as ash, lips stretched in a faint, unnatural curve. Her long, wet hair plastered against the windshield as though she had risen out of a river.
For one horrifying second, it looked like she was trying to crawl through the glass itself.
Aarav's scream tore out of him before he could stop it.
"Baba!" he shouted, gripping his father's arm. "She's here! She's right here!"
His father cursed under his breath and reached into the glove compartment. From inside, he pulled out something Aarav had never seen before—a small cloth pouch, tied shut with a red thread.
"Hold this," his father ordered, shoving it into Aarav's hand. "Don't drop it."
"What is this?" Aarav gasped. The pouch was warm, almost pulsing, like it had a heartbeat of its own.
"Just hold it!"
Aarav clutched it tightly, his knuckles white.
The woman's face twisted. The faint smile warped into a snarl, her teeth jagged and sharp. She slammed her hand against the glass with a force that sent cracks spidering across the windshield. The whole truck shook as though caught in an earthquake.
"Baba, she's breaking it!" Aarav cried.
His father struggled to reach into his pocket with his uninjured arm. He pulled out a box of matches, struck one with trembling fingers, and lit the small stick of incense tucked above the dashboard. The faint smoke curled upward, filling the cabin with a sharp, earthy scent.
The moment the smoke touched the glass, the woman let out a soundless scream. Her face blurred, her body rippling like water disturbed by a stone. With one last slam of her palm, she vanished into the darkness.
The windshield went still. Only the cracks remained.
Aarav collapsed back into his seat, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.
"What… what was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
His father leaned back, clutching his bleeding shoulder, his breathing ragged. For a long time, he didn't answer. Finally, he muttered, "That's why I told you not to look. Not to speak. You brought her closer."
Aarav's lips trembled. "You knew… you knew this could happen. That's why you weren't surprised."
His father shut his eyes. "Not now. We have to get out of here before she comes back."
"Before she comes back?" Aarav's voice cracked. "She almost broke through the glass! Where do we even go?"
His father didn't reply. Instead, with immense effort, he twisted the key in the ignition. The truck groaned, engine coughing and sputtering. For a terrifying second, it seemed like it wouldn't start.
Then, with a roar, the machine came back to life.
Aarav didn't breathe until the truck crawled out of the ditch and rolled back onto the highway. His father's hands shook on the wheel, but his gaze stayed locked ahead.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The road stretched on, silent and endless. Aarav stared out the side window, unable to shake the image of that face pressed against the glass.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Baba… what was she? A ghost?"
His father's jaw tightened. "Not just a ghost. A memory that refuses to die."
Aarav frowned, confused. "What does that even mean?"
His father's eyes flicked toward him, tired but grim. "You don't need to understand. You just need to survive."
The words made Aarav's stomach twist. Because deep inside, he already knew the truth. This wasn't over.
As the truck rumbled on, the air inside grew colder again. Too cold. Aarav's breath fogged in front of him.
He turned his head toward the side mirror.
And froze.
She was back.
Sitting on the back of the truck.
Her pale figure hunched over the cargo, hair blowing in a wind that didn't exist, eyes fixed straight on him.
Aarav's blood ran cold. His fingers dug into the cloth pouch his father had given him, holding it so tightly it hurt.
The woman didn't move. Didn't blink. Just sat there, her face breaking into that same slow, awful smile.
Aarav opened his mouth to warn his father—but before he could speak, the truck's headlights caught something ahead.
Another figure. Standing in the middle of the road.
Only this time, it wasn't just one.
It was dozens.
Men, women, even children, all pale and broken-looking, blocking the highway like a wall of shadows.
And every single one of them was staring straight at Aarav.