[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
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A mountain of ruins loomed behind me, shrouded in the thick air saturated with the scent of dust and decay, remnants of a forgotten era. Just a short distance away, my black Maserati Ghibli provided a welcome contrast to the heat of the winter morning. Though the sun showed no mercy, its rays failed to warm the chilled air. I took another drag from my cigarette, the cool breeze weaving through the dense forest, casting dappled patterns on the ground beneath the canopy overhead.
My gaze lingered on the silhouette of the old church's dome, a haunting presence against the vivid sky. Time had weathered its once majestic facade. With a flick of my wrist, I checked the time – the hour hand striking 12. Another exhale of smoke, and I discarded the spent cigarette, grinding it beneath the heel of my shoe.
He was late. Leaning against my car, I released a frustrated sigh, my eyes returning to the silent silhouette of the old church. How long had it been abandoned? Glancing down the forest path, I detected no signs of life. Straightening up, I strained to discern a pathway leading to the church. Setting off towards the abandoned structure, I crossed the bridge, its imposing facade looming larger with each step.
The once pristine façade was now weathered and cracked with ivy climbing its stone walls, seeking to reclaim the structure for nature. I climb the stairs, pushing the large wooden door, slightly ajar, creaked ominously in the breeze. I thought it would be locked.
Inside the air was cool and damp, thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Shafts of light pierced through the shattered stained glass windows, casting fractured rainbows on the dusty floor. The pews, once filled with congregants, were now rotting, and covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The altar, though tarnished and worn, still held a semblance of its former sanctity, with a tattered cloth draped over it and a rusting crucifix hanging above.
I saunter furthered into the dimly lit interior, eye spiraling at corners of the church, clothed in darkness holding whispered stories of its past, of prayers and hymns long forgotten, echoing in the eerie stillness. I trailed my fingers on the pew, dust sticking on my finger. Dust is the only cloth of warmth for the non-living. And, for humans? Memories?
Breathing in the stagnant area, I whirled on my heels to move out finding nothing of a amusement in the old abode. A sudden chill broke on my skin. Like a feathery touch caressing the back of my neck. I turn my head to look over my shoulder. The rusty crucifix stared back at me. Sighing with a shake of my head, I walk towards the door. When a rustling or more like something scratching against the surface, stops me. When I look back there was nothing. I mockingly take a feet ahead, and again the scratching sound tolls in my head.
With a musing whistled, I whirl on my heels, following the trail of the rustling distinct voice venturing further to the darkly lit corners. A sane person should be walking away. Death fascinates me. I am not sane. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I take out my phone, turning on the flash. When a deep patch of white falls on the wall, the sight before me thuds my hearts.
