The motel room smelled like bleach and old air... Yellow light flickered outside the curtained window...casting long shadows on the ceiling.
Zayaan sat by the desk, the laptop open but untouched... Arwa stood by the window; thumb brushing over the ridges of the flash drive again and again.
Neither of them spoke for a while...
"We don't have to watch it tonight!," Zayaan offered gently.
She didn't answer.
Because they did.
They couldn't afford hesitation anymore.
She stepped over, plugged the flash drive in.
A single folder appeared.
Untitled.
Her breath caught. Like her body already knew what was inside.
Zayaan looked at her.
"Ready?"
No. But she nodded anyway.
He opened it.
Three files.
One video. Two audio.
No labels. No clues.
He clicked the video.
It began with static — gray and humming, like an old TV struggling to find signal.
Then: a flicker. A dim room.
A girl tied to a chair.
It took Arwa a second longer than it should have to recognize her.
Her hair was shorter. Her eyes — sharper, but more tired. Like they'd been forced to see too much.
A voice off-screen: "Do you know why you're here?"
No answer.
"Arwa. Answer the question."
Still nothing.
Then, finally, her past self's voice — hoarse, defiant:
"Because I stopped being useful."
Zayaan flinched.
On-screen, the camera jumped — now showing a desk, papers scattered, someone pacing in the background. A man. Only his silhouette visible.
The video kept flickering — disjointed scenes.
A lab.
A metal chair.
Her. Unconscious.
Then her — again — eyes wide, trapped, whispering something the microphone didn't catch.
Then:
Black.
Just like that — it ended.
Zayaan reached for the trackpad. "Maybe we should—"
"No," Arwa cut in. Her voice was tight, barely holding together. "Play the first audio."
He obeyed.
A low buzz. Then a recording of her own voice.
"If this is still me... if I'm still me when I find this... remember: they didn't just try to silence you. They tried to overwrite you."
"They'll come again. They always do."
"But you left clues. Fragments. Hidden behind fear."
Her recorded voice trembled, then strengthened — like she had written this with the last of her resolve.
"Zayaan, if you're hearing this too... trust your gut, not your guilt. You were always better than you thought."
The file ended with a sharp click.
Zayaan's throat felt dry.
She was quiet for a long time.
Zayaan adjusted the dial on the terminal. The static crackled for a beat longer, then cleared.
Another recording. A second voice.
But this time—there was no bitterness. No sharp edges.
Just someone trying to speak through a storm.
"You don't know me yet. But I knew you before you knew yourself."
Arwa's breath caught.
The voice was female. Soft, careful—like every word carried weight.
"They took everything from you. Scraped you down to your bones. Gave you a new name. A new fear."
A pause. Static flickered again, but the voice held steady.
"But you weren't theirs. You were never theirs. You were mine—before they even learned how to break you."
Zayaan watched Arwa closely. Her shoulders had gone rigid. Hands clenched, not in fear… but something closer to recognition.
"If you're hearing this, you've made it further than they ever planned. You remember enough to start asking why. Keep asking."
The voice grew quieter, like it was reaching through something thick.
"Don't let them tell your story for you. You were made for more than what they did. And somewhere in you—buried deep—you still remember me."
A shaky inhale. Then, softer:
"When it's time...you'll know what to do."
Click.
Silence.
No name. No timestamp. Nothing to trace. Just a ghost of a woman and a truth Arwa couldn't quite hold.
She sat back, eyes distant. Not tearing up, not panicked—just… deeply still.
Zayaan didn't say anything. He knew the shape of this silence. It was where trust started to form, if you let it.
After a long pause, Arwa whispered, "That voice. It wasn't a stranger."
He nodded. "You remembered her?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly. But… my body did. Like a warmth you forgot, until it wrapped around you again."
She looked up at him then—calmer, but changed.
"We're not just running anymore."
Zayaan's voice was low. "No. We're waking something up."