Aarohi felt cold.
Then warmth.
Then wind.
She opened her eyes.
Morning sun cut through clouds.
Birds called.
Cars passed.
She lay on the roadside outside Ashwood.
House Number 27 was gone.
No gate.
No walls.
Only trees swaying gently like nothing had ever learned her name.
Her suitcase lay beside her.
Inside it was a single photograph.
Her and Rohan, smiling near the river.
No blood.
No shadow.
Only memory without distortion.
She sat up slowly.
Her chest felt lighter but scarred, like healing skin.
On her wrist, faint letters burned gently into existence:
REMEMBER WITHOUT RUNNING.
Aarohi touched them.
Not pain.
Purpose.
She stood and walked toward town.
Ashwood felt quieter.
Healthier.
But far beneath roots and forgotten soil…
Something shifted.
A new wall formed slowly.
Quietly.
Because some houses never die.
They only wait to learn another name.