The road twisted like a serpent between the hills, climbing higher with every breath. Aria Ameen sat in the back seat of the dusty grey car, forehead pressed to the glass, watching the trees grow taller and the sky grow dimmer.
Her mother hadn't spoken in the last thirty minutes.
Ever since they're passed the rusted "Welcome to Noorhill" sign, something in the air had changed. It felt heavier. Older. Like the town had been holding its breath for too long.
Aria adjusted her hoodie and tried to shake the unease curling inside her. She didn't want to be here. She didn't ask to leave the city, or the only life she'd known, just because of a "transfer." That's what her mother called it — a teaching transfer. But Aria knew there was more. Her mother's silence screamed louder than her words ever could.
They arrived just before dusk. The house was small and wooden, like something from a forgotten postcard. Its windows stared back like blind eyes, and the air smelled like damp leaves and something burnt. A crow cawed from a broken wire nearby, and Aria jumped.
Inside, the house was barely furnished. Dust clung to the walls like old secrets. Aria dropped her backpack in the corner and looked around.
"Is this it?" she asked finally.
Her mother gave a small nod, brushing a curtain aside. "There's a school nearby. You'll start Monday."
"Right," Aria muttered. "New school. New ghosts."
Her mother didn't react. She never did.
That night, Aria couldn't sleep. She kept hearing sounds. Whispers. Footsteps on gravel that stopped the moment she opened her eyes. And through her bedroom window, far in the distance, she saw something impossible—
A flicker of light from the old lighthouse on the cliff.
But that was impossible. The man in the grocery store had said the lighthouse hadn't worked in forty years.
So why was it glowing?
***
Aria didn't sleep.
Even after the light disappeared, her heart refused to settle. She kept replaying it in her mind—how soft and flickering it was, like a dying flame struggling to stay alive. Her window frosted over during the night, though it hadn't been that cold earlier. Something about Noorhill didn't make sense.
At 4:03 a.m., she checked her phone for the hundredth time.
No signal. No Wi-Fi. No escape.
By morning, her head was heavy with questions and half-dreams.
Downstairs, her mother was sipping tea at the wooden kitchen table, her back perfectly straight, a book resting in her lap. She didn't look up.
"You okay?" Aria asked, voice rough.
Her mother nodded. "You should explore today. Meet people. It might help."
Help with what? Aria wanted to ask. But she didn't.
Instead, she stepped outside. The air hit her like a wall—cold, still, and watchful. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Just silence so thick it rang in her ears.
She walked down the narrow path leading into town. Houses looked abandoned even if they weren't. Curtains twitched. Doors creaked without wind. Every footstep echoed like she didn't belong.
Then she saw her—a girl about her age, sitting on a stone fence, scribbling in a notebook. Long braid, oversized sweater, and sharp eyes that lifted the second Aria stepped closer.
"You're new," the girl said, not smiling. "You're staying in the house on Windmill Road, right?"
"Yeah," Aria replied. "I'm Aria."
The girl nodded once. "I'm Pari."
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Pari flipped her notebook shut.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she said.
Aria blinked. "Saw what?"
"The lighthouse. Last night."
Aria's mouth went dry. "How do you—"
"I saw it too," Pari said, voice flat. "That's how it starts."
Aria's stomach dropped. "Starts?"
Pari glanced behind her shoulder, as if someone might be listening. "You'll see. They always say the lighthouse hasn't worked in decades. But that's a lie. It lights up when someone new comes here."
Aria frowned. "That doesn't even make sense."
"Nothing here does."
Pari slid off the fence and began walking away.
"Wait," Aria called. "What do you mean—what starts?"
Pari didn't turn back. "Just don't ignore the signs, Aria. Noorhill doesn't like silence broken."
And then she was gone.
Aria stood there, her breath visible in the cold morning air, feeling like the town had just blinked