It was a dark, stormy night, I was silently drinking my beer and indulging into deep memories, some of the memories were sweet, some were sour and some were bitter, trying to gulp the bitter ones with beer. inspite of finishing 3 beers the taste of bitterness was not fading away. Then I just played some old songs to uplift the mood . I sat alone near the yellow glow of a lantern, listening to the storm rage outside . Nights like these often brought back ghosts of the past. Around midnight, silence wrapped the hills like a blanket. Heavy rain lashed against the old bungalow’s windows. Every few minutes, lightning lit up the sky, throwing the room into sharp relief before plunging it back into darkness.
Suddenly, a loud knock shattered the silence.
Knock... knock...
My heart skipped a beat. At this hour?
Knock... knock... again.
I grabbed the lantern and walked cautiously toward the door. My voice trembled slightly as I asked, “Who’s there?”
Only the wind and rain replied. Then came a young man’s voice, “I’m sorry... I’ve lost my way and I’m drenched. May I please come in for shelter?”
His tone carried a mix of desperation and hope.
I hesitated. Then slowly unlatched the heavy wooden door. Standing on the porch was a young man, soaked to the bone. He looked about twenty-five, tall with broad shoulders. His face was wet, and his eyes tired.
“My car got stuck in the mud nearby,” he said. “I saw a light from your house after wandering in the rain for hours. Could I stay just for tonight? I’ll leave at dawn.”
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.
He walked in, water dripping from his shoes. I offered him a dry towel from the hook. “Here, dry off,” I said.
He took it with a quiet “Thank you. You’re very kind. My name is Aryan.”
“In weather like this, it’s wrong to leave anyone out,” I replied softly. I didn’t feel the need to share my name, and he didn’t ask.
We sat down in the drawing room. For a while, only the storm spoke.
His eyes drifted to a large, old photograph on the wall. I picked up the lantern and turned it toward the picture — a group photo from my army days. Among those uniformed faces was one that still haunted me — Major Raghav Singh, my closest friend.
Aryan asked gently, “The man beside you…?”
“Raghav,” I said. “My dearest friend. He died in the war.” My voice cracked slightly.
“Would you… mind telling me what happened that day?” Aryan asked, almost reverently.
I looked at Raghav’s smiling face in the photo and began, “We were surrounded during a brutal firefight. Bullets rained from every side. Many of our comrades fell. Suddenly, a shell landed near us. Raghav was badly wounded.”
I paused, breath heavy.
“We had no support nearby. Raghav grabbed my hand and said, ‘Shashank, run. Don’t worry about me.’ I didn’t want to leave him. But the enemy closed in. I was grazed by bullets. In panic… I ran. I ran and left him there.”
My voice choked. Tears filled my eyes. “I returned at dawn. His lifeless body was still there.”
There was silence again, save for the ticking of the old wall clock.
I wiped my tears. “Since then, guilt has gnawed at me. People think I’m brave. But the truth is — I left my friend to die. I’ve never forgiven myself.”
Aryan was still. His eyes glistened too. Then he spoke softly, “Shashank.”
My heart jolted. How did he know my name? I had never told him.
Before I could speak, he stood up slowly. There was a strange calm on his face.
“I’ve known you for a long time,” he said quietly. “And your sorrow… has been bound to me for years.”
A chill went through me. I stared at him in disbelief as his features — faintly, eerily — began to resemble Raghav.
“Raghav... is it you?” I asked in a trembling whisper.
He nodded gently. I began to cry.
“My brother, I left you… I ran away,” I said between sobs.
He placed a hand on my shoulder — cold, but comforting. “You did what I asked, Shashank. That wasn’t cowardice.”
“But you died because of me—”
“My time had come,” Raghav interrupted softly. “You gave yourself a life sentence of guilt. But I never blamed you.”
I fell to my knees. “Forgive me.”
He lifted my head gently. “I never held a grudge. Just free yourself now. That’s all my soul needs.”
And then… he turned toward the door.
His form slowly faded as he crossed the threshold. A final flash of lightning — and he was gone.
I ran outside.
The rain had stopped. No car, no footsteps, no sign he had ever been here.
The sky in the east had begun to turn pink.
Back inside, I looked again at Raghav’s picture. That same smile. But now, it felt different — as if it were at peace.
For the first time in years, I felt light. The burden had lifted.
A new morning had come — quietly knocking on my door.
React
