The aircraft hummed quietly, vibrating beneath their feet like a machine trying to wake up. Outside, the runway lights stretched into the darkness like a necklace of stars laid on asphalt. Inside, a quiet tension buzzed. Passengers shifted in their seats, overhead bins clicked shut, and flight attendants made last checks down the aisle.
Arjun stared out the window like it might run away if he blinked. The glass was slightly fogged from his breath.
Maya leaned back beside him. "Relax. It's just flying. Not surgery."
"Says the woman who didn't scream during takeoff in her own dreams," Arjun murmured.
She smirked, "You want to hold my hand or your dignity?"
He didn't answer, but he did tighten his seatbelt like it might save his soul.
Then the plane rolled.
Wheels grinding softly.
It turned toward the runway.
The captain's voice came on, cheery and robotic. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We'll be taking off shortly. Our flight time is eight hours and twenty minutes. Weather looks clear—"
Clear.
That word wouldn't mean much, later.
The engines growled. Louder. Louder. Then—
BOOM.
The plane roared down the runway, acceleration pinning Arjun back into his seat. His fingers gripped the armrest. Maya watched him with one raised eyebrow, as if to say, "Don't embarrass me again."
The wheels lifted.
The earth dropped away.
And the plane flew.
Arjun released the breath he'd been holding for the last two minutes. "We didn't die."
"Not yet," Maya said cheerfully.
The seatbelt sign pinged off.
A flight attendant walked past offering warm towels and robotic smiles. Another followed with a cart rattling full of free in-flight meals—aluminum containers, buttered rolls, rice, curry, a dessert cup of suspicious pudding, and bottled water.
Maya whispered, "This food smells better than the wedding buffet."
Arjun poked his rice with a plastic fork. "At least it won't try to poison us with paneer."
They ate slowly, letting the engine noise fill the silence. Most passengers relaxed. A few scrolled on phones, some started watching movies.
But Arjun couldn't shake the feeling.
Something had changed.
He felt it before he saw it.
A presence.
Not next to him.
Behind him.
Someone had taken the seat directly behind Arjun during takeoff—he hadn't noticed until now. A man. Mid-thirties maybe. Clean-shaven. No emotion. Not reading. Not eating. Not even blinking.
Just…sitting.
Staring.
His face reflected faintly in the window beside Arjun's.
"Hey," Arjun whispered, nudging Maya. "That guy behind me—don't look—does he seem…"
Maya glanced casually, like adjusting her hair.
"…Normal?"
She shrugged. "He's not watching K-drama like the rest of the flight. That's already suspicious."
The plane's screens lit up overhead, showing flight status.
ETA: 8 hr 07 minAltitude: 11,000 metersMap: UNKNOWN
Wait—what?
Instead of their usual route, the map screen glitched. It blinked, turned blue, then displayed something… off. A shape. An island. Floating in a sea that looked too black, too wide.
No country names. No time zones.
Then it blinked back to normal.
Maya saw it too. "Was that...?"
"I don't know."
Arjun turned to the window.
The clouds looked thicker now. More like mist. And for a brief second, he swore he saw them form into hands—gigantic ones, curling as if to catch the plane midair.
He blinked again. The clouds were just clouds.
Right?
He leaned back, trying to ignore the feeling crawling up his spine.
The air hostess passed again, this time speaking softly, offering more water.
"Would you like a bottle?" she asked.
"Sure," Arjun said.
She handed it to him, then turned to Maya and said something else.
But not in English.
Not Hindi either.
Not any language Arjun had ever heard. It was sharp. Clicking. Almost insect-like.
Maya froze, mid-blink.
"…What language was that?" she asked.
The hostess didn't respond—just walked away with a perfect smile, like nothing had happened.
Across the aisle, a man in a wrinkled shirt leaned across and smiled at Arjun.
"I know you," he said.
Arjun looked up. "What?"
"You were here before," the man said. "You two. I saw you last time."
Maya frowned. "Last time?"
The man nodded, almost dreamily. "Before the sea swallowed it."
Then he reclined his seat and closed his eyes like nothing had happened.
"…What the hell is going on?" Arjun whispered.
Later, somewhere over the ocean, Arjun drifted into a shallow sleep. The hum of the engines became waves. The tray table became a wet stone. His feet weren't on a plane anymore. They were in sand.
He looked around.
He was on an island.
Alone.
No people. No boats. Just endless jungle, cliffs, and the sound of water lapping at the shore like a slow warning.
Then he heard it.
His name.
"Arjunnnn…"
It came from the sea. Deep, gurgling, layered with something not human. It didn't speak with a mouth.
It called.
A hand grabbed his shoulder—
He jolted awake.
Maya was shaking him. "Hey. You were sweating. Like, a lot."
He looked down.
On his tray table sat a note.
Folded. Faintly damp at the corners. No one had placed anything there.
He opened it.
"Your flight is not what it seems.Window 26A.Midnight."
His hand trembled slightly. "Did... did you put this here?"
Maya shook her head. "I just woke you up."
They looked at each other.
Then at the window.
Nothing but clouds.
Until midnight.
The overhead lights dimmed to their nighttime mode. Most of the passengers dozed off. Cabin quiet. Everything blue and still.
Arjun checked his phone.
12:00.
Exactly midnight.
Outside, the clouds began to glow.
Softly at first. Then with a white-gold shimmer, as if something beyond the sky had turned on a light.
Then—
WHAM!
The plane shook.
The turbulence hit hard.
Lights flickered. People screamed. A baby cried. Oxygen masks dropped with a hiss and thud.
Maya grabbed Arjun's arm.
Everyone around them looked terrified.
Except one man.
Behind Arjun, the silent passenger still sat perfectly still.
Eyes open.
Watching.
Like he had been waiting for this part.
The oxygen masks dangled like jellyfish in a storm.
Lights flickered. People screamed. One man clutched a prayer book, another cried into his meal tray.
But Arjun… he wasn't screaming.
He sat still, mouth slightly open, frozen—not with fear, but with a dawning horror. A feeling crawling up from the base of his spine like an echo.
"Wait," he breathed. "Wait—wait—what is this?"
Maya clung to his arm. "What the hell is happening?!"
Arjun didn't look at her. He was looking around—frantic, scanning the cabin.
"I've seen this," he said, eyes wild. "I—I've felt this exact thing before. I know this."
The flight jolted again. Trays flew open, cutlery scattered. Someone's bag launched into the aisle.
And then—Arjun's eyes landed on him.
The old man.
Same wrinkled forehead.
Same faded beard.
Same cryptic smile.
Still seated calmly in 26C like this was nothing more than mild turbulence and a lukewarm tea.
Arjun's voice cracked. "It's him. He was there. In my dream."
He turned to Maya, breath caught halfway between panic and disbelief. "This is the dream. The exact one I told you about. Wings gone. Everyone screaming. And then—"
He turned to the window.
The wings were gone.
Both sides.
Just empty air and a blur of downward motion.
The plane was dropping.
Fast.
So fast.
People screamed in languages they barely remembered. A woman fainted. An overhead bin burst open and dumped half its contents into the aisle. An infant's pacifier flew past Arjun's face like a bullet.
"We're falling!" Maya shouted.
But Arjun shook his head, still staring out the window, sweat beading on his brow.
"No. No, no—we're not gonna crash."
Maya grabbed his face. "What are you even saying?!"
He turned to her, eyes huge with strange certainty.
"This happened in my dream. Exactly this." He pointed out the window. "No wings. Panic. And then—giant wings. Like... like pigeon wings. And we don't crash. We fly. We fly into light. Then a voice says—"
"Welcome to heaven," Maya whispered.
She didn't know why she said it. She didn't mean to. The words just came.
Arjun turned sharply to the old man.
"You," he said, voice trembling. "You're the one who said it."
The old man looked up, smiling as if he were enjoying the ride. His eyes twinkled with mischief and something else... something ancient.
"I never said we'd land safely," the man said, tone light. "I only said the beginning would be beautiful."
"What does that mean?!"
The man looked at the ceiling, now sparking slightly.
"Sometimes dreams are memories," he murmured. "Sometimes they're warnings."
The plane tilted harder, stomach-churning. Downward. Harder. Faster. The cabin lights finally gave out entirely.
Total darkness.
And then—
RRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUMMMMMPPPHHHHH.
The world exploded into sound and chaos as the plane slammed through trees, metal shrieking, branches snapping like bones. The nose hit something—hard—and everything jolted forward.
Arjun was thrown sideways. Maya screamed. The old man barely flinched.
The windows shattered.
The floor cracked.
And then—
Silence.
Only the hissing of steam.
The creaking of twisted metal.
A distant ocean, somewhere nearby, licking the shore like it had been waiting for them.
The cabin was split, smoke rising.
And outside the shattered fuselage, through the broken window where a wing should've been...
Sand.
Green.
Jungle.
They had crashed.
Not in Vienna.
Not on a map.
They had crashed on the island.