thesrini
She had learned to ignore the quiet unease in her life, the kind that slipped in between ordinary moments and left without explanation. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but a feeling that something had always been slightly misplaced, as if a part of her belonged somewhere she could not remember.
The house stood exactly where it should not have, distant, silent, untouched, and the moment she saw it, her chest tightened with a familiarity that made no sense. It did not feel abandoned, and it did not feel alive, but something in between, something that had been waiting without needing to move. Inside, the silence was wrong, not empty but heavy, pressing against her thoughts, as though every wall carried something it refused to say.
She walked further than she intended, slower than she realized, her body moving with a certainty her mind could not understand, as if she had done this before.
When the light began to fade, the house did not change, but the air did, thickening, closing in, until the silence no longer felt like absence, but presence.
And standing there, with nothing around her and yet something unmistakably near, one question settled deep within her-if she had never been here before, then why did it feel like something inside this house had never forgotten her?