The highway stretched ahead like a long, unending ribbon of darkness.
Streetlights flickered and disappeared behind Ram as his car sped through the sleeping city.
It was 2:13 AM.
The world was silent.
But Ram's mind was a storm.
His hands were tight on the steering wheel — so tight his knuckles were white.
The dream still clung to his skin.
Sita's fading voice echoed in his ears.
The spirits' sudden disappearance replayed in his mind like a warning he couldn't decode.
He kept checking his phone every few minutes even though he knew the truth:
Sita's phone was still switched off.
Every failed call stabbed him deeper.
There was no explanation anymore.
The dream wasn't random.
The spirits weren't illusions.
The cold crawling on his chest wasn't imagination.
Everything was connected.
Everything was pointing to one single destination:
Manipur.
---
The Drive Begins
The city lights dissolved behind him.
Long empty roads replaced civilisation.
The air grew colder as he moved north-east, leaving crowded towns in the distance.
Ram rolled down the window slightly.
The wind slapped his face — cold, raw, awakening.
He needed that.
Because his mind was beginning to drift into dark corners.
What if the plane had crashed?
What if she's injured somewhere?
What if the dream was showing him the last time she calls his name?
What if he was already too late?
He shook his head violently.
"No. No. No."
He refused to think like that.
He forced his breathing to steady.
"Inhale… exhale…"
The same rhythm that once calmed spirits now had to calm himself.
His phone buzzed suddenly.
Ram jolted — heart leaping.
He grabbed it instantly.
UNKNOWN NUMBER – MANIPUR REGION
His throat tightened.
He swiped to answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? HELLO?"
There was silence.
Ram pressed the phone harder to his ear.
"Hello!? Who is this!? Did you find her!?"
Still nothing.
Just a strange low static…
like someone breathing through layers of wind…
or like someone trying to speak from a very, very far place.
"Who is this?" he whispered.
A faint crack.
Then a distorted voice:
"—Ram—"
His heart stopped.
"SITA!?" he shouted.
The voice continued, but it wasn't her voice.
It was hollow.
Slow.
Echoing.
"—You… shouldn't… come—"
Ram's eyes widened.
"Who are you!? Put Sita on the phone!"
Static swallowed the line again.
Then a whisper — sharp, broken — torn like a soul screaming underwater:
"—she… is… not… alone—"
The call cut.
Ram slammed the brakes.
The car screeched on the empty highway.
His chest pounded so hard he felt it vibrate in his ribs.
Not alone.
Not alone.
Who the hell was with her?
His breath shattered.
"Sita… what mess have you fallen into?" he whispered.
He didn't waste another second.
He pressed the accelerator so hard the car roared.
Whatever waited in Manipur wasn't just danger.
It was something else.
Something ancient.
Something watching him.
---
The First Sign
Around 3:45 AM, Ram reached a remote stretch near the state border.
No shops.
No vehicles.
Only fog rolling across the road like restless spirits.
Then he saw it.
A white piece of paper fluttering on the highway.
He drove past it — then froze.
A strange pull made him hit the brakes again.
Instincts — sharper than usual — whispered:
Go back.
He reversed the car slowly.
Headlights illuminated the paper.
It wasn't a random paper.
It was a boarding pass.
Airline name.
Flight number.
Route.
The same route Sita took.
Ram stepped out, heart hammering.
He picked it up with trembling fingers.
Her name wasn't on it…
but it belonged to someone on her flight.
The paper was torn, dirty, slightly burnt on one corner — like something had brushed fire across it.
Ram swallowed.
Coincidence?
No.
He didn't believe in coincidences anymore.
Someone — or something — was placing pieces in front of him.
Guiding him.
Or warning him.
He kept the torn pass in his pocket and started driving again.
---
The Song That Shouldn't Exist
A few kilometers ahead, Ram spotted a tiny roadside shop — the kind where truck drivers stop for tea.
Only one dim bulb glowed inside.
He stopped to ask for directions.
As he stepped out, he froze.
A song was playing softly from an old radio.
A Telugu song.
Not just any Telugu song.
Their song.
The song he and Sita danced to during their first night at the beach.
The song she saved as "Our vibe."
The song they joked they would play at their wedding someday.
But this was Manipur.
A place where no one spoke Telugu.
Where nobody would randomly play this specific song at 4 AM.
Ram walked into the shop.
The shopkeeper — an old man with cloudy eyes — didn't even look up.
"Tea?" he asked.
Ram whispered, voice cracking:
"This song… how is it playing here?"
The old man didn't answer.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even move.
Just stirred the tea slowly.
"Do you know this song? Where did you hear it?"
Still nothing.
Ram's breathing quickened.
He slowly walked backward and left the shop.
The moment he stepped out—
The radio switched off.
Silence.
Cold.
Immediate.
Unnatural.
Ram's skin prickled.
Something was guiding him.
Pushing him.
Preparing him.
Whether it was divine or dangerous…
He didn't know yet.
---
The Flower Seller
He walked back to his car.
Before he could open the door, someone spoke.
"You forgot something."
Ram spun around.
An old man stood behind him.
No shop.
No table.
No setup.
Just a basket of jasmine flowers in his hand.
The same flowers Sita always braided into her hair.
Ram stared, confused, breath shallow.
"I… I didn't buy anything," Ram whispered.
The man smiled gently — a strange, knowing smile.
He picked one jasmine flower and placed it in Ram's hand.
"Give this to the girl you love," he said. "She will be safe."
Ram's heart stopped.
"What? How do you—?"
But when Ram blinked—
The man was gone.
Just gone.
The empty road stretched in every direction.
Ram looked at the flower.
White.
Fresh.
Fragrant.
But cold — unnaturally cold.
He clenched it in his fist and looked up at the dark sky.
"Are you helping me… or warning me?" he whispered.
No answer.
---
Climbing Into the Mountains
By 5:30 AM, the road bent into mountainous curves.
Fog thickened.
Trees rose like walls.
Birds cried in sharp, piercing calls.
Ram's phone had no network.
His dashboard showed no GPS.
He was completely cut off.
Yet he didn't stop.
His heart pulled him forward like a compass.
Everything in him screamed:
She's close.
She needs you.
Keep going.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"I'm coming, Sita…"
Every mile he drove…
felt like stepping deeper into destiny.
He just didn't know whether destiny was a path lit by gods—
or a trap set by something darker.
But Ram was no longer the man who feared shadows.
He had walked beside spirits.
He had heard divine whispers.
He had faced nightmares that felt real.
He wasn't running from fear anymore.
He was running through it.
For love.
For truth.
For Sita.
---
The Crossroads
As sunlight began to break between the mountains, Ram reached a fork in the road.
Left road — wide, recently paved, clear signboards.
Right road — narrow, dangerous, barely visible, covered in mist.
Logic whispered:
Take the left road.
But his heart…
pulled him sharply toward the right.
He didn't question it.
Not anymore.
He turned right.
As the car entered the mist, Ram felt something shift.
A cold wave swept across his spine.
The forest seemed to lean in, as if watching him cross a threshold.
And somewhere deep within the fog…
a pair of unseen eyes opened.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.
Ram took a deep breath.
The road to Sita had begun.
But the road to his destiny…
had begun too.
Because Manipur wasn't just a place.
It was a doorway.
And Ram had just stepped through it.