Whispers beneath the woods
Introduction
Zayaan was once the kind of boy who could light up any room. Joyful, mischievous, deeply lovable—he was the heart of every gathering. His laughter echoed through his neighborhood and his eyes always held a spark of curiosity. He was an extrovert, full of life, constantly surrounded by friends, stories, and the endless wonders of childhood.
But everything began to change the year he turned six.
That summer, Zayaan was visiting his nani's house in the village. The days were warm, the air filled with laughter and the playful chaos of cousins. One afternoon, as they ran in and out of the house, Zayaan felt something strange—like a pull. Something unseen, something silent, was calling to him.
The woods near the house, always quiet and deep, suddenly felt alive. A presence, cold and invisible, seemed to whisper his name. He followed it, unknowingly stepping into the shade of the trees. And there, surrounded by silence, a voice echoed around him:
"Something bad is going to happen to you."
He froze. His heart pounded. The air felt too heavy to breathe. Shaken to his core, he turned and ran, screaming and crying, straight into his mother's arms. When she asked what happened, he could only say, "Nothing." But the fear never left.
Then, at the age of ten, another shadow crept in. His mother, Aamira, the strongest light in his world, was diagnosed with cancer. She was his comfort, his compass, the one who understood his silences. Watching her weaken, day after day, was a pain too great for words. It was during this time that Zayaan first saw a change in his father, Mustafa. Once stern but distant, Mustafa became colder—unreachable, emotionally absent, as if retreating into his own grief.
By the time Zayaan turned fourteen, Aamira was gone.
Her death marked the true turning point. The boy who once spoke too much, laughed too loud, and loved too easily began to retreat into himself. The weight of grief, confusion, and responsibility pressed onto his young shoulders. He became quiet, thoughtful, and withdrawn.
His younger sister, Tara, just six years old then, still looked at him with wide eyes, needing him more than ever. But within a year, Mustafa took Tara with him—and sent Zayaan away to a house Aamira had built for him before her passing, almost as if she had foreseen everything.
From that point on, Zayaan lived alone—with the burden of memory, the echo of the woods, and questions that refused to fade. The voice he heard in the forest as a child, the pain of loss, and the mystery surrounding it all became a part of him.
He didn't know it then, but everything was connected. The woods. The whisper. The death. And the silence that followed.
Now, as he prepares to return to that village with his old friends, something stirs again in the shadows of the trees. The past never truly stayed behind—and the voice may still be waiting.
Chapter One
The Sun Before the Storm
There was a time when Zayaan's world was painted in gold. A time when the laughter of cousins echoed across open fields, when the sun felt like it belonged only to him, and when he believed that every story had a happy ending.
He was the kind of boy who would climb the tallest tree just to touch the sky—or at least say he had. Mischievous, charming, bold. His smile was constant, his presence magnetic. From the earliest days, he had something in him that others noticed—an energy, a light. His teachers often said he was gifted. His friends followed his lead without thinking. His mother, Aamira, called him her "little storm."
Life felt easy then, before he knew what grief could do to a heart.
Zayaan grew up in a modest, sunlit home in the city with his parents and his younger sister, Tara. Tara was a quiet child—gentle, dreamy-eyed, always tugging at someone's sleeve for stories. She adored Zayaan, and Zayaan adored her back, but no one in the house was loved as fiercely as Tara was by their father, Mustafa.
Mustafa was a dentist—well-respected, soft-spoken, and a man of few words. His hands were always steady, whether holding surgical tools or pouring a glass of water. He wasn't a cruel man. He cared—especially for his wife and daughter—but something in him always felt just out of reach. He wasn't the kind of father to throw a ball or tell bedtime stories. He was present, but not always available.
Toward Tara, he was tender—lifting her in his arms, brushing her hair back with a warmth Zayaan quietly envied. With Aamira, he was dutiful, sometimes affectionate in his silence—bringing her medicines on time, remembering her appointments. But with Zayaan… there was a distance. Not coldness, not anger—just a quiet space between them that Zayaan could never quite cross.
Still, none of that mattered much in the beginning. Not when Aamira was around. She was the heart of the house—graceful, intelligent, full of strength and softness. She was a government supervisor, well-read and always two steps ahead of the world. At night, when Zayaan couldn't sleep, she would whisper old village stories into his ear, stories of ancient trees and forgotten rivers, of stars that carried secrets. She was his world.
He didn't know, of course, that the stories she told would one day begin to echo back into his life. That one of them—one strange, silent story he never told her—had already begun.
It had happened when he was six.
They were at his nani's house in the village, surrounded by cousins and mango trees, goats that wandered into the fields, and long afternoons of playing in the sun. That day, he remembered running, chasing laughter, when suddenly everything went quiet.
The others were still nearby, he could hear them faintly—but something else was pulling at him.
The woods.
They stood just beyond the fence, dark and still. Something invisible stirred among the trees. He couldn't explain it, but it felt like they were watching him—calling him. Without thinking, he stepped toward them, one foot, then the next, drawn by a voice he couldn't name.
He never spoke of what happened exactly. Only that he heard something—a voice—and it said:
"Something bad is going to happen to you."
He had cried so hard that day. Ran back, sobbing and shaking into Aamira's arms. She asked him what was wrong, and he only shook his head. "Nothing," he whispered. "Nothing happened."
But something had. And it never let go of him.
Years passed. The voice became a buried memory. The trees were forgotten. Life moved forward—until the day Aamira fell ill.
Zayaan was ten when she was diagnosed. He didn't understand much at first. Just that the house suddenly smelled like hospitals, and she stopped telling stories at night. Her laugh became quieter. Her hair fell out. The strongest person he knew was slowly vanishing before his eyes, and no one could stop it.
Mustafa became even more distant. He never yelled, never raised a hand—but he became a shadow in the house. He focused on Tara, almost obsessively. Zayaan felt like a guest in his own home.
By the time he turned fourteen, Aamira was gone.
Her absence left a silence deeper than words. Zayaan stopped laughing. He spoke less, smiled less. His friends, once always around, began to fade away. School felt meaningless. The house was colder.
Only Tara brought him moments of warmth. But even she was taken away.
A year after Aamira's death, Mustafa moved Tara with him to another part of the city, claiming he needed to focus on her care and schooling. Zayaan was left behind—sent to the small house Aamira had built near their relatives in the village, a house she had insisted on finishing before her final days.
Now, at fifteen, Zayaan lives alone.
Not truly alone—his aunt and uncle live next door and care for him—but the silence within him has grown louder. And deep down, he still remembers the whisper in the woods. The feeling that something was waiting. Watching.
And now, something is pulling him back.
Chapter One (continued)
The Bonds That Held Him Together
If there was one thing that helped Zayaan breathe during those dark years—it was his friends.
Kian, Wizz, and Yuvin weren't just classmates. They were more than a group. They were his people—his second family, the ones who never treated him like he was broken.
Kian was his closest friend—sharp, warm-hearted, and unshakably loyal. From their earliest days in school, the two had been inseparable. Whether it was racing down school corridors or getting scolded for laughing too loud during class, Kian and Zayaan were always side by side.
When Zayaan's mother passed away, everything changed.
He didn't cry much at the funeral. Not in front of others. He just stood there, eyes hollow, clutching Tara's hand while the world blurred around him.
But Kian came.
Not just out of obligation—but as a brother would.
He held Zayaan as the weight of silence and sorrow crushed him. He stood beside him when no one else knew what to say. And when it was time to say goodbye, Kian stayed—long after others had gone.
"Let it out," Kian whispered, his hand on Zayaan's shoulder.
And Zayaan did. That night, he wept like he hadn't since he was six.
Days became weeks. And the storm inside Zayaan only grew heavier. He began missing school. Meals became irregular. His voice, once full of laughter and cleverness, was now quiet—reserved for Tara alone.
Then came another blow.
A year later, his father, Mustafa, made a decision that reshaped everything again. Zayaan was sent to the house his mother had built—a small home in the village, far from the city noise, yet close enough to be reminded of all that had been lost.
Zayaan didn't argue. He couldn't. The fight had long drained from his body.
But Kian came. As always.
He didn't wait to be invited. He just showed up.
With old comic books. His favorite biscuits. A few novels from the school library—and the kind of presence that doesn't ask for thanks.
Zayaan opened up slowly. He told Kian everything.
About how it felt when his mother's laughter disappeared from the house.
About Mustafa—how he loved Tara like she was the last piece of light in his world, but somehow couldn't show that same love to his son.
"I don't think he hates me," Zayaan said once, staring at the ceiling. "He just… doesn't know what to do with me."
Kian didn't respond right away. Then he nodded, "Maybe. But you're not invisible, Zayaan. Not to me."
It was a sentence that stayed with him.
The rest of school life became quieter. Wizz and Yuvin slowly drifted into their own worlds, their own schools during lockdown. They stayed in touch through messages, but something had changed. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was life.
But Kian?
Kian remained.
He became Zayaan's anchor. His mirror. His witness.
Together, they would visit the old playground sometimes. Walk down alleys soaked in memories. Talk about everything and nothing—how the stars looked brighter from the village, or how Zayaan still couldn't find the courage to enter the woods again.
Because beneath all of it—the grief, the school memories, the healing—the woods were still waiting.
And one day, they'd return there together.
Chapter One (continued)
Whispers in the Dark
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan spinning above their heads.
Zayaan lay on his side, one arm under his pillow, eyes half-lidded. Across the room, Kian was sprawled out on a mattress, chewing the last of a biscuit and chuckling softly about something they'd laughed at earlier.
It had become a habit now—Kian dropping by after school, staying over on weekends. It made the silence in Zayaan's new house a little more bearable.
"Remember that teacher who'd yell at you for drawing comics in history class?" Kian said, tossing a wrapper into the bin across the room. "You'd say it was historical fiction."
Zayaan smiled faintly. "Still counts."
They laughed for a while, letting the warmth of nostalgia wrap around them. But slowly, the conversation drifted into silence, and eventually, sleep pulled them under.
And that's when the dream began.
It came like a wave—sudden and vivid.
Zayaan was six again.
The air was warmer, thinner. The world was smaller, and filled with colors that had long since faded from his waking mind. He was back at Nani Amma's house, tucked away in the sleepy village with its sun-cracked paths and blooming jasmine trees.
He could hear the laughter of his cousins—soft, playful, echoing in the yard. They were playing hide and seek, running through bushes, barefoot and wild.
Then he heard it again.
The woods.
That dense cluster of trees just beyond the back boundary. The adults always said, "Don't go there." It wasn't fenced, but the line was understood.
Zayaan remembered being drawn to it—not by curiosity, but by something else. A feeling. A pull. The air around the woods felt heavier. The shadows seemed to move even when the wind was still.
That day, he'd stood there, just at the edge. Listening.
And then, the voice.
"Zayaan..."
His name, carried by something deeper than wind. Whispered—not from the mouth of someone he knew, but from the very heart of the woods.
He turned sharply in the dream, just like he had then.
His heart pounded. He could hear it—louder than anything else. His hands trembled.
Something was watching him.
"Zayaan… something bad is going to happen…"
He remembered freezing, his breath caught in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes, and before he could scream, the voice was gone. Replaced by silence that stretched too long.
He ran.
He ran, and the trees seemed to shift behind him, twisting in unnatural ways.
He burst into the house, crying, trembling, and unable to speak. His mother, Aamira, rushed to him and held him close, whispering comforts into his hair.
"What happened, jaan-e-man?" she asked softly.
He had only shaken his head, unable to explain the weight of what he'd heard. The fear. The certainty that something was waiting.
Back in the present, Zayaan woke with a jolt.
His shirt clung to him with sweat. The room was dark. Kian was still asleep, breathing slow and steady.
Zayaan sat up, rubbing his face.
It had been ten years since that day.
Ten years since he'd heard that voice.
But tonight, it had returned—with the same coldness, the same shadow, the same warning.
Only now, he wasn't a scared little boy anymore.
Now, he needed to understand what it all meant.
Because somehow, deep in his bones, he knew…
The woods hadn't finished with him yet.
---
Chapter One (continued)
When She Looked at Him
After his mother's death, the walls of Zayaan's world had cracked—but school, surprisingly, became a kind of escape.
He entered 8th standard, and for a brief time, life almost felt like it could be normal again.
He was still staying with his father and Tara. His relationship with Mustafa was complicated—tense in the shadows, tolerable in the light. Mustafa wasn't cruel. He wasn't cold. But he had limits to his affection, and that limit often stopped just short of Zayaan. Still, Zayaan didn't complain. He had learned to keep his expectations folded up, like the old letters his mother once wrote him.
School, however, offered air. Friends. Laughter. It gave him purpose.
Wizz, Yuvin, and Kian—especially Kian—helped bring pieces of the old Zayaan back. They were in the same school, same section, same rhythm of inside jokes and lunch breaks and whispering answers across benches.
Zayaan laughed again. He participated. Teachers praised him. Even his eyes started to regain a little of their old light.
But none of them knew this would be his last truly happy year for a long time.
Mid-session, something shifted. Without warning, Zayaan was moved to a different section. No explanation. No choice. One day he was surrounded by friends. The next—he was alone again.
That's when he saw Elena.
She wasn't just another student. Elena was the student. The school's collective heartbeat. The girl everyone, from 8th to 12th, somehow had a crush on—even teachers whispered softer when she walked by.
Zayaan didn't feel anything for her.
Not at first.
But what he did notice… was her gaze.
More than once, he caught Elena staring. Not casually. Not like someone glancing around the room. But directly at him—quiet, unreadable, lingering just long enough to spark a thousand questions.
At first, he ignored it. He had no time for that. Love, attention—those were concepts that belonged in someone else's life. His story was one of survival, not romance.
Still, the stares continued. Hallways. Assemblies. Once during a rainy day, when the sky had poured and everyone was hiding under ledges, Zayaan turned and found her eyes on him again—unmoving.
Wizz and Yuvin noticed.
"You know she's into you, right?" Wizz nudged.
Zayaan shrugged. "She looks at everyone."
"She doesn't look at me," Yuvin said, mock-offended.
"Because you keep staring like a weirdo," Wizz laughed.
They pushed him, nudged him, tried to get him to say something. But he didn't. Not out of arrogance—but fear. Deep down, something about Elena's gaze unsettled him—not in a bad way, but in a way he couldn't yet name.
Then, as abruptly as he was removed, Zayaan was transferred back to his original section.
Back to Kian. Back to comfort.
But he never forgot those silent stares. That quiet presence.
And the question remained:
Why was Elena looking at him?
And more strangely...
How did she seem to know something even he didn't?
Chapter One (continued)
The One She Didn't Name
It felt good to be back with his old friends. After everything he had endured, walking once again into a classroom where Kian, Ewan, and Wizz were already raising hell felt like returning to the only place that still had his laughter stored somewhere.
Zayaan slipped easily into the rhythm—pulling pranks, eating lunch early, mocking the strict teachers under their breath, and scribbling jokes on the last pages of notebooks. It was reckless, immature, noisy—and exactly what he needed.
In that chaos, a new presence began to register: Elena.
It had started in the other section, where he'd been temporarily assigned. Zayaan had noticed her there—barely. She was the kind of girl every class talked about, admired, secretly envied. She had that quiet magnetism: kind, confident, and effortlessly graceful. Even the seniors knew her name. And yet, despite the many eyes that followed her, she seemed strangely drawn to Zayaan.
He caught her staring more than once. Not like the others did—hers was a curious, searching gaze. Zayaan didn't read much into it. After all, love was something he had shut the doors on. After his mother, there wasn't enough of his heart left to offer anyone.
But now that he was back in his old section, the story seemed to continue in unexpected ways.
A boy named Allemz had started showing interest in Elena. It was obvious—he stared at her during assemblies, fixed his tie when she passed by, even timed his lunch breaks to match hers. Kian noticed first. Always the observer, he picked up on subtle shifts others missed. And in the back of his mind, he still carried the strange hunch that Elena wasn't watching Allemz at all.
One afternoon, Kian shared what he'd noticed with Wizz and Ewan. The three friends cornered Zayaan during lunch and told him Allemz had a thing for Elena—and that she might have a thing for Zayaan.
Zayaan didn't react. He brushed it off, half-smiling. But they wouldn't let up. They teased him, nudged him, called him "Mr. Mystery"—the boy who got stared at by the class queen and didn't care.
Then, without warning, Zayaan turned to Allemz and said, "You want to talk to her? I'll help you."
Wizz raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Yeah," Zayaan shrugged. "If he's serious. I'll help him approach her."
It wasn't just kindness—it was something deeper. A strange desire to distance himself from whatever was happening between him and Elena. A defense mechanism, maybe.
And so the little plan began. Zayaan, Wizz, and Ewan started bridging conversations with Elena's friends, dropping small hints, trying to see if the path could open for Allemz. It became a group effort. Amusing, light-hearted. Until one day, Allemz confessed.
He told Elena how he felt during the break. She didn't react with a harsh no, nor a clear yes. Just a soft smile. "I'll think about it," she said.
The next day, she gave him a friendship band.
Allemz was over the moon. Wizz and Ewan screamed success. Zayaan nodded, silent. But Kian? He watched the scene with furrowed brows.
Later, Kian asked, "Why a friendship band?"
"To show she likes him?" Ewan guessed.
"But if she likes him, why only a friendship band?" Kian said. "She could've just said yes."
That night, something stirred in him. He couldn't explain it, but it didn't feel right. Elena's eyes never lit up around Allemz. Her smile was polite—but not glowing. Not like the glances she gave Zayaan in the old section.
And so, mischief and curiosity stirred together, and Kian devised a plan.
"We're going to test it," he told the others. "Let's shout Zayaan's name around her and see what happens."
And they did.
During recess, near the lockers, in assemblies—they teased, they yelled, they laughed:
"Elena! Zayaan's waiting!"
"Elenaaa! Look behind you!"
"Elena and Zayaan, sitting in a tree…"
She didn't say a word. But each time, her eyes darted—once toward Zayaan, once toward the ground. Her cheeks flushed red. She was clearly bothered—but not angry. Just... exposed.
But soon, a teacher noticed the noise and the pattern. The matter went to the principal.
The next day, the whole class sat frozen as the principal entered, face stern, list in hand.
"The following students were involved in behavior that made a student uncomfortable," he read.
"Wizz."
"Ewan."
"Kian."
"…and Allemz."
Gasps. Nervous laughter. But one person sat still, staring at the floor.
Zayaan.
His name wasn't called.
He had been shouting the loudest. The whole idea had been meant for him. And yet, Elena had not said his name.
Why?
No one asked. No one could. But Kian's eyes locked on hers as she looked up for a moment—and in that single glance, he understood something.
She likes him.
Maybe she didn't know it yet. Maybe Zayaan didn't want to admit it. But the truth hung between them like an unsung song. Because the one name she didn't say—the one she protected—was the one that mattered most.
And Kian smiled to himself.
Because for the first time in years, something good might finally be happening to Zayaan.
Chapter One (conclusion)
The Fall of Summer
It was Kian's words that planted the seed.
"She didn't say your name, Zayaan. Don't you get it? She cares for you."
Zayaan tried to laugh it off—but that night, long after the lights were out, he stared at the ceiling, her name circling quietly in the silence.
Elena.
He began to replay everything—the stares, the flushed cheeks, her silence when she could've spoken. And slowly, against every wall he had built inside him, something broke through.
Summer vacation arrived.
It was supposed to be a break from school—but Elena had followed him into his thoughts. No matter what he did—reading, gaming, evening walks—her name lingered like a whisper just beyond his control. Her voice, her expressions, her walk.
After the break, school resumed.
He began noticing things he hadn't before. Like how Elena took the same route home. A narrow road near the corner of the marketplace split their paths. Sometimes, he saw her from a distance. Other times, he just felt her presence behind him.
Then, one ordinary afternoon, her voice broke the routine.
"Zayaan!"
He turned around. She stood there—nervous but smiling.
That was the first real conversation.
It began with shy hellos, evolved into daily walks home, and over the next few weeks, became something soft and sacred. They talked about school events, music, silly classmates, hopes, and sometimes, nothing at all. Zayaan felt something he hadn't in years—peace.
And then he knew.
He was in love.
He told Kian. Of course, he did. Kian had seen it long before Zayaan had.
"Do it," Kian said. "Tell her."
It took days of stolen glances and silent courage. But eventually, Zayaan did it. One afternoon, on the walk home, his words stumbled out like raindrops on dry ground.
"Elena… I like you. I mean, more than like you."
She froze.
Behind her, Sara's eyes widened. Neither of them said anything. And the silence stretched long enough to become a question Zayaan couldn't answer.
The next day, Elena was absent.
Then the next.
And the next.
By the fourth day, tension had split Zayaan's group apart. Wizz was nervous. Ewan tried to change the subject. Only Kian remained calm—yet even his certainty was beginning to fray.
"She'll come back," he said. "She needs time."
And then she did.
Elena returned. And after school, while the others waited outside, she stood in front of Zayaan with her eyes glassy and heart open.
"I love you too."
That was all it took.
They were inseparable after that. Holding hands in corridors, sharing notes, walking home like the world was theirs. Teachers smiled quietly. Students stared. And somewhere deep inside, Zayaan began to believe that happiness might just stay this time.
But the world had other plans.
Their love became a target.
Jealousy festered. The girls' section turned cold. Whispers chased Elena wherever she went. Every smile she gave Zayaan cost her five more behind her back.
And then one day, she handed him a letter. Her handwriting trembled across the page.
"We should part ways. This is too much. They're making it unbearable. I'm sorry."
He read it once. Twice. The words blurred.
Elena was gone.
No explanation. No goodbye. Just silence. His heart shattered quietly in the corner of the school gate where she used to wait.
Kian tried to hold him up. Wizz and Ewan offered distractions. But Zayaan couldn't laugh anymore. Something inside him had cracked.
And then, the final blow came.
His father—Mustafa—was remarrying.
The woman came with a smile Zayaan didn't trust. Mustafa didn't ask Zayaan's opinion. He announced it like an order.
That night, Zayaan stood in the hallway, the letter still folded in his pocket.
"You didn't even ask me if I'm okay," he said.
"It's not your decision," Mustafa replied.
"I won't stay here," Zayaan said. "I'm not living with a stranger pretending to replace my mother."
Mustafa's eyes darkened.
"Then get out."
The door slammed behind him.
No bags. No backup plan. Just Zayaan, walking out of the only house that had ever known his laughter.
He didn't cry. Not until the night came. Not until the stars blinked down at the empty boy with a full heart and no one left to give it to.
And so, he moved.
To a quiet, rented place where the walls didn't judge and the nights didn't explain. A house of his own. A world of his own.
That was the end of innocence.
That was the end of Zayaan's first chapter.
And somewhere beyond that end, something darker waited.