The Village Where Shadows Don't Follow

I was a freelance travel blogger when I first heard of Darya, a small village deep in the mountains of northern Pakistan. A local legend said it had no disease, no crime, and no death for over fifty years. People called it “The Eternal Smile.”

Curious and low on content, I decided to visit.

The drive was brutal—narrow roads, endless forests, and no cell service. By the time I arrived, the sun was setting, and a thick fog hugged the entire village. Yet, the moment I stepped out of the car, a woman in white greeted me with a perfect, glowing smile. “Welcome,” she said, voice melodic. “We’ve been expecting you.”

That should’ve been my first red flag.

The people were oddly beautiful, too symmetrical, and their smiles—they never faded, not even when they were just walking alone or eating. That night, the head of the village, an old man named Faizan, offered me a stay in his guest house. “No need for locks,” he said. “No one here steals.”

I nodded politely, but I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone's eyes lingered just a bit too long.

The next morning, I grabbed my camera to do what I came for—capture the magic of the village. But when I reviewed my photos that evening, something stopped me cold: none of the people had shadows. Not one.

At first, I thought it was a trick of light or bad settings. I went out again, this time during noon. The sun was bright and clear—but still, no shadows followed them. Even the trees had shadows. But not the villagers.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Around 2 AM, I heard humming. I peeked through the wooden blinds—and saw them.

Dozens of villagers, standing in the street, humming the same slow tune. All facing my window. All smiling. Their eyes glowing faintly white.

I stepped back in terror and accidentally knocked over a vase. The humming stopped.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside my door.

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. Minutes passed.

Then the door creaked open—but no one was there. Only silence. I grabbed my bag, my camera, and ran. But the village seemed… different. The streets had twisted. The signs were all blank. The forest was gone.

I walked in circles until morning.

When the sun rose, the villagers were back to normal. Smiling. Laughing. Acting like the night had never happened.

I confronted Faizan.

His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes… they flickered for a second. “Some things,” he said, “are best left undocumented. You’re a guest here. Don’t become… a part of us.”

I left.

Or so I thought.

Because after I returned home, I noticed something strange. My shadow was fading.

At first, it just looked dull, less defined. Then it shortened. Then—vanished.

I went to a mirror. I still had a reflection.

But the next morning, I didn’t.

Now, I smile without trying. I laugh when I feel nothing. I hum songs I don’t remember learning.

And every night at 2 AM, I stand by my window, staring at the moon.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for…

But I know it’s coming.

And when it does…

You’ll smile too.