I still remember that night - the night the rain wouldn't stop pouring, as if the skies themselves were crying for us. The drops beat down relentlessly against the old wooden windows of our bungalow in Goa, whispering secrets I didn't want to hear. And inside, my heart felt just as stormy.
Stella was standing there, her eyes searching mine, the way she always did when she was scared. But that night, her fear wasn't just in her gaze; it was soaked into every word she spoke.
"Steve… what's happening to us? You've been slipping away. Why are you so distant?" Her voice trembled, the wet curls on her forehead sticking like a crown of sorrow.
I looked away. What could I say? That the man I was yesterday was dead? That part of me had crossed a line I could never come back from?
"Don't ask me so many questions," I snapped. "Just… leave me alone."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "I'm your wife. I care. If something's wrong, talk to me."
But all I could do was glare and feel that familiar rage threaten to explode inside me. My hands clenched. The room felt smaller, the silence unbearable until it broke - my fingers found her neck, tightening in a way I never imagined they would.
She struggled briefly, her breaths shallow. I saw the panic in her eyes, but then… relief? Or was it something darker? The rain drowned out the sounds between us, but the weight of what I'd done settled like a stone in my chest.
And then, darkness.
When I opened my eyes again, everything was different.
I wasn't in my house anymore.
The air smelled sharp, like burnt sulfur. Around me, shadows flickered and twisted with haunting screams piercing the silence. I realized - this was hell. Stella's soul had been cast here, and somehow, so was I.
But she wasn't just any spirit; her fire burned hotter than the very flames around us. She wasn't done with me. Not by a long shot.
I was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare where love and hatred twisted into one. And the rain outside still poured, reminding me that some storms never end.
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