The House That Remembered
Mira had always been drawn to the house, its curved balconies wrapped in vines, its warm glow in the evening air. It was said to be built by a man for the love of his life, every floor a dedication to a memory they shared. Yet, she had never seen anyone live there.
One evening, curiosity got the best of her. She stepped onto the wooden deck, her fingers trailing over the railing as she ascended the spiral staircase. Each step felt like entering a different time—whispers of laughter, the faint scent of jasmine, the trace of a touch against her skin.
At the top, the door stood slightly open. Inside, candlelight flickered, casting shadows on the walls. A photo frame sat on the table. Mira reached for it—and froze.
It was her face in the picture.
But she had never been here before. Had she?
