"Remember"
Rhea had always been fascinated by mysteries — not just those in books or films, but the kind that whispered through forgotten ruins and ancient forests. She was drawn to places where time seemed to pause and secrets lingered in the air. So when she heard about a guided trek into the unexplored jungles of Assam, she signed up without hesitation.
The jungle was breathtaking — lush green canopies, rivers that glistened like silver under the sun, and the haunting chorus of cicadas that filled the night. But on the third evening, everything changed.
While exploring the nearby trails alone, Rhea strayed too far from the group. She wasn’t worried at first. The jungle had a strange beauty, and she enjoyed being alone with her thoughts. But as the sun began to set, a fog rolled in, and the trail disappeared. Her calls for help were met only by the rustling of leaves. Her phone had no signal, and panic began to creep in.
Then, a voice — soft and calm — emerged from the shadows.
“Don’t be afraid.”
She turned, startled, to see a young man standing just beyond the trees. He was tall, wearing simple clothes, with deep, thoughtful eyes and an expression that was both kind and distant.
“My name is Aarav,” he said. “You’re lost.”
Rhea nodded slowly, unsure whether to trust him. But something about his presence — his stillness, the way the forest seemed to quiet around him — made her follow when he offered to help.
He led her through narrow paths to a clearing beside a river, a place so untouched it felt sacred. There, he built a fire and offered her fruits and water.
“You live here?” she asked.
“I’ve always been here,” he replied, staring at the water.
Over the next few days, Aarav took care of her. He knew which plants were edible, how to read the animal calls, and the safest places to sleep. Rhea’s fear faded with each passing day. Aarav rarely spoke about himself, but he was patient, gentle, and endlessly wise.
And slowly, Rhea found herself falling for him.
She told him stories of her life — city lights, college dreams, her love for old libraries and forgotten places. He listened with a soft smile, but never shared much in return.
One evening, under a sky thick with stars, she said, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Aarav’s smile faded. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said quietly. “But not yet.”
That night, he left to gather herbs. Curiosity gnawed at her. She followed the path he always warned her against — deeper into the forest, where the trees grew older and the air felt colder.
There, hidden behind dense vines, she found a crumbling colonial bungalow. Time had swallowed it — broken windows, rusted iron gates, and fading murals on the walls. Inside, she discovered something that stopped her heart.
On the mantle was an old, black-and-white photograph of a young man in traditional clothes, standing proudly with others. Her breath caught. It was Aarav.
Next to it, yellowed newspaper clippings were pinned to the wall. One headline read:
“Freedom Fighter Killed in 1942 During Jungle Ambush”
“Aarav Singh, 24, believed to be shot near the forest. Body never recovered.”
Her knees gave way. The man she’d been living with, talking to, falling in love with… had died over 80 years ago.
When Aarav returned, she confronted him with the photograph.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice shaking.
He looked at her with sorrow, not surprise. “I died here,” he said. “During the struggle for independence. I was hiding from British soldiers when they set fire to that bungalow. I never escaped.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re a ghost?”
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he whispered. “I only know that I waited… waited for something that would let me feel human again.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I couldn’t. With you, I felt alive for the first time in decades. I didn’t want to lose that.”
The jungle around them went quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Aarav’s figure shimmered slightly, as though the truth had begun to unravel whatever bound him to this world.
“You made me believe in something I thought I had lost,” he said, stepping toward her. “But now that you know, I can’t stay.”
“No,” Rhea cried. “There has to be another way. We can find help, we can—”
“There’s no saving what’s already gone,” Aarav said, gently brushing her cheek with a hand she could no longer feel. “But there is peace in being remembered. And you’ll remember me, won’t you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
Aarav smiled, one last time — a smile filled with gratitude and longing. Then, like mist in the morning sun, he faded into the air.
Rhea collapsed by the riverbank, sobbing into the silence.
A week later, she was found by a search party, unconscious but alive near the forest’s edge. The doctors said she must have survived on rainwater and luck. They called it a miracle.
She never told anyone the full truth. When asked, she’d say she barely remembered anything. But at night, she’d lie awake, her heart echoing with the memory of a voice that once whispered through the trees.
Months passed, then years. Rhea resumed her life in the city, but something within her had changed. She no longer feared the unknown — she respected it. Loved it, even.
And every year, on the day she was found, she returned to the jungle.
She’d walk the path that no longer appeared on any map, past the river, to the clearing where the stars seemed closer to earth. She would sit quietly and listen.
And sometimes, when the wind rustled through the trees just right, she’d hear it again — Aarav’s voice, soft and warm.
“I remember you too.”
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