Whispers Through the Veil

The sun had just begun to dip behind the hills when Elianna Reyes first saw the house. She hadn’t meant to find it. The plan was to visit the old Spanish church a few towns over for her research, but the tricycle she took dropped her too far from the center, leaving her stranded near a quiet patch of land in San Silvestre—a sleepy village no one talked much about. That’s when she saw it: the house standing alone at the edge of a grove of ancient mango trees. Its walls were worn, roof slanted, and windows shuttered with time. But something about it called to her—like an echo of a name she once knew but couldn’t quite remember. She paused at the rusted gate. Her fingers brushed over the twisted metal. The air was still. No birds. No wind. Just silence. Curiosity won. Elianna pushed the gate open. It groaned like an old man’s sigh. Dust kicked up as she stepped onto the cracked stone path. Vines crawled up the sides of the house, gripping it like it didn’t want to let go. But under all the decay, the structure stood proud, almost like it was waiting. She reached for the doorknob. It was cold. It opened with a soft click. Inside, the light filtered through wooden slats in golden streaks. Furniture, though faded, remained untouched. An old upright piano sat in one corner, its keys yellowed with age. A portrait above the fireplace showed a young woman with dark eyes and a distant smile. No name. No date. Just sadness. Elianna walked slowly, careful not to disturb anything. She felt like a stranger in someone else’s memory. Then she heard it—a faint thump. She froze. The sound had come from upstairs. Her heart picked up. Logic told her to leave. But something deeper… something inside whispered, Stay. Step by step, she climbed the stairs. They creaked beneath her, but she didn’t stop. At the end of the hallway, a door was half-open. She pushed it gently. The room inside was dusty, filled with boxes and broken furniture. But in one corner, beneath a collapsed drawer, something glinted. She knelt and pulled it out. A small tin box. Locked—but old. She shook it slightly. Something inside. She searched the room for anything that could pry it open and finally found a rusted hairpin on the floor. With careful fingers, she fiddled with the lock. Click. The lid opened. Inside were folded letters. Dozens of them. Some wrapped in faded ribbon. Some stained with what looked like tears. All addressed to Celestina R. Navarro. The name struck her. It wasn’t hers, but her chest tightened. She picked one letter and opened it. The handwriting was delicate and slanted—ink faded but still readable. “My dearest Celestina, I fear the world is changing faster than we can hold it still. They say war is near, and I may be called to serve. But before that day comes, let me say what I never could in the light of day: I have loved you in silence, in fear, in hope. I will find you in every life, if fate allows.” —Leonardo V. Samaniego, July 2, 1895 Elianna blinked. The room seemed to spin for a moment. And then—just faintly—she felt it. A breeze that smelled like old wood and jasmine. And a whisper that wasn’t hers. "Celestina..." She turned. No one. But from the corner of the broken mirror across the room, a reflection flickered. A boy in old clothes, standing behind her. And then he was gone.