Tangled in the Wind



The sky was brushed with strokes of gold and lavender—the kind of colors that only appear just before a change.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind tugging at my jacket, my toes nearly grazing the jagged rock beneath me. Below, the sea crashed against the shore in a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.

And in the distance… the island.

Shrouded in mist and secrets—untouched, unknown, waiting.

That was where my truth lay. Where they had vanished.

I had come here to uncover what really happened to Mom and Dad. All this time, I believed they were dead. But now—after everything Samar and I found—there was hope. How could I not believe?

Even the possibility that they might be alive gave me the strength to face the unknown.

“Are you really going through with this?” Samar’s voice rose behind me, barely audible over the roaring sea.

I didn’t turn. Just clutched the locket hanging around my neck—worn and silver, given to me by our parents on my tenth birthday.

He was my younger brother. I was five years older. When our parents vanished, he was just seven. Too young to remember the warmth of their hugs or the way Mom’s eyes sparkled when she laughed. He had lived with Nisha Aunty most of his life.

He didn’t approve of my decision.

He thought I was chasing a hopeless dream.

But this wasn’t just about hope. This was a pull—a whisper buried so deep in me it had become part of my bones. I had felt it my whole life. Even when the world said they were dead… I never believed it.

“I have to know what happened to them, Samar. How they died—or if they’re alive, why they never came back.”

He sighed and stepped beside me, his presence warm and grounding.

“Our parents disappeared twenty years ago, Tara. Everyone says they’re—”

“Gone. Dead. Lost,” I finished for him, voice sharp as a blade. “But I don’t believe that. I can’t.”

He had asked to come with me. I said no.

He wasn’t trained to face the unknown. And if something happened to him because of me... I wouldn’t survive that kind of guilt.

Samar placed a hand on my shoulder, gently but firmly. “Then promise me you’ll come back.”

His voice cracked ever so slightly.

I turned to him, placed my hand over his, and gave him a small, steady nod. “I will be back. I promise. But if… if I don’t come back—please. Don’t come after me.”

He stiffened at that. Shook his head slowly. But deep down, I knew he understood.

Tears burned in my eyes. He didn’t let his fall, but I could see them clinging to the corners. He pulled me into a fierce hug, one that said everything he didn’t.

I held him tightly. Ran my hand along his back. “I know you’ll come back,” he whispered. “You’re Tara Mehra. You can fight anything.”

I smiled, the smallest curve of my lips. “You sound like Dad.”

We pulled apart, and I cupped his cheek before brushing my thumb across his chin. He gave me that small, proud smile he always did when pretending he wasn’t scared.

Then he turned and walked toward the other side of the cliff, where the helicopter waited.

He looked back one last time before boarding. Raised his hand.

I waved. My throat tightened. And then, in a gust of wind, he disappeared.

Now… it was just me. Me and the unknown.

I made my way down the cliff, scanning the shoreline. A wooden canoe sat near the rocks, weathered but sturdy.

Perfect.

I examined it quickly—still strong. Still whole.

I pushed the canoe into the water, grabbed the single paddle lying inside, and climbed in.

The waves rocked beneath me, wild and uncertain.

Just like what I was heading into.

And then I paddled—toward the island. Toward the truth. Toward whatever waited in the mist.

I glanced down at myself-my long brown hair tangled from the salty breeze, the fitted long-sleeve shirt hugging my frame, its deep crimson shade fading slightly from wear. My navy cargo pants were practical, pockets bulging with essentials, and my old leather boots were scuffed and stained with mud from the rough terrain. The worn leather satchel slung across my shoulder felt heavy with everything I might need to survive.

As the island grew closer, my dark brown eyes widened with every inch. My heart thudded wildly in my chest-a mix of fear and excitement battling inside me. Fear of what I might not find… and excitement to finally set foot on the place my parents once stood. But then, without warning, the sky shifted.

A storm rolled in.

Dust and mist blurred my vision, the wind howling like a warning. The canoe rocked violently beneath me. I clenched the paddles tightly, trying to steer, but the sea had turned into a monster. Waves grew taller, crashing harder every second. I tried to stay low inside the canoe, gripping its sides with white knuckles, but the storm had other plans.

And then-I was in the water.

I didn’t even realise when or how I fell. One moment I was inside, the next I was gasping, kicking, struggling to stay above the surface. I tried to swim, to breathe, but every time I came up, a wave slammed into me, dragging me back down. My lungs burned. My limbs grew heavier. My body was exhausted, my head spinning.

But I couldn’t stop. I had come too far.

The island was right there, in front of me. So close. Yet it was fading, blurring before my eyes as darkness started creeping in at the edges. I tried to keep my eyes open, to push forward just a little more…

But I couldn’t. My strength gave out. Water rushed into my mouth and nose.

And then… everything went black.

Darkness pulled me under, but it wasn’t cold anymore.

Suddenly, I was ten again.

Warm sunlight streamed through the curtains of our old living room. I could smell the scent of Mom’s jasmine oil and hear the clinking of Dad’s tools as he worked on one of his wooden carvings.

And then-I was there.

Not on the island, not drowning-but somewhere far safer. Somewhere warmer.

My feet were scraped, my clothes covered in mud, and I was drenched from head to toe. There was a cut on my hand and a deeper one on my ankle. But I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t afraid. These wounds were proof that I tried.

Mom saw me from a distance and ran toward me, panic painted all over her face.

“Tara… what happened? How did you get hurt?” she asked, kneeling to inspect the cuts on my hand and stomach. Before I could speak, Dad appeared too, having rushed out after hearing Mom’s voice. He looked just as worried, tools still in hand.

“I… I was trying to jump off the cliff like the heroes in my storybooks,” I confessed, tilting my head with an innocent smile. “But when I landed in the water, a sharp rock scraped my foot. And while I was trying to swim back, I hurt my hand too. Then I couldn’t find my way home and got a little scared. But… I didn’t stop. I kept walking and falling and getting up… and I found my way.”

There was pride glimmering on my young face, not guilt. And somehow, they saw that too.

Mom didn’t scold me. She smiled gently and sat beside me, brushing my hair with her soft fingers, wiping the water and dirt from my face.

“You always want to go too far,” she said, her voice laced with affection and quiet understanding, like she already knew I was meant for distant paths.

Then she cupped my cheeks and whispered, “But promise me, Tara… even if you go far, go prepared. And even if you lose your way… always find your way back to yourself.”

My younger self looked into her eyes and smiled with a nod.

“I promise, Mom.”

I had no idea how heavy those words would become one day.

Dad knelt in front of me, placing both hands on my shoulders and gently turning me to face him. His eyes sparkled with pride, and the corners of his lips curled into a proud smile.

“I knew my girl was brave,” he said warmly, then glanced down at my hand and foot. “Do you remember what I always say when you get hurt?”

I grinned, already mouthing the words with him.

“It’s a symbol of your trying… and trying never fails.”

We both said it in unison, and Mom chuckled, shaking her head lovingly at the two of us.

Then Dad held my face gently in his palms, his voice softer now, almost like it was meant for the Tara I would become.

“But sometimes… true bravery isn’t in pushing forward alone. It’s in trusting that someone’s guiding you, even when you can’t see the path.”

His words wrapped around my heart like a lighthouse through fog.

I remembered the birds that had led me through the trees that day, chirping and fluttering until I found the road back home. I hadn’t been lost. Not really. Something or someone had always been guiding me.

The moment shimmered like light dancing on water.

Then, just before it all faded, I felt a warm whisper brush against my ear.

“We’re with you, Tara. Always. Just keep going.”

I gasped.

Air. Salt. Pain. Reality.

My eyes snapped open to the sound of waves crashing and the feeling of wet sand beneath my body. My lungs ached. My body trembled. But I was alive.

The Island loomed ahead, silent, mysterious, waiting for me.

And though I had nearly drowned…

I didn’t feel alone anymore.