The evening sky was painted with strange silence. No birds flew overhead, and the air stood still — like even nature was afraid to move. The old neem tree behind the abandoned Sharma house creaked as if whispering secrets only the wind could hear. Aarushi stood barefoot in the backyard, her feet pressing into the soft, damp soil. Her long kurta was muddy from the knees, and her hands were trembling as she held a small, rusted tin box. She had just dug a shallow hole behind the house — the same house where she had spent most of her childhood... and the same place she had stopped visiting after that night seven years ago.