Chapter One: The Girl in the Rain
The first time I saw her, she was standing under the old banyan tree at the edge of our school field.
It was late evening. The sky was bruised purple, and rain was falling softly—thin, silver threads drifting through the fading light. Everyone had already gone home. Football practice had ended early because of the weather, and I was running toward the gate when I noticed her.
She wasn't holding an umbrella.
She just stood there, perfectly still, her long black hair resting against her shoulders. She wore a simple white dress that moved gently in the wind, even though the air felt strangely heavy and still around her.
I don't know why I stopped.
Maybe it was the way she looked at me.
Not in a creepy way. Not even shy. Just… calm. As if she had been waiting.
"Hey," I called out, my voice echoing across the empty field. "You'll get sick standing there."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I don't get sick," she replied.
Her voice was soft, almost musical—but something about it made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.
I walked closer.
The strange thing was… the rain didn't seem to touch her. Drops fell around her, but none landed on her dress. It remained perfectly dry.
"Are you new here?" I asked.
She smiled.
"Yes," she said. "You could say that."
There was something different about her eyes. They were dark—too dark. Not black. Just deep. Like looking into water at night.
"I'm Arif," I said, trying to sound normal. "Class ten."
"I know," she answered.
I laughed nervously. "Oh. Right. Small town."
She didn't laugh.
Instead, she looked toward the school building. The windows were dark now, empty.
"Do you believe in things you cannot see?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked. "Like… what?"
"Like memories that refuse to disappear."
Before I could answer, a flash of lightning tore across the sky. For a second, everything turned white.
And she was gone.
Just gone.
The rain continued to fall. The banyan tree swayed in the wind. But she wasn't there anymore.
I stood frozen, heart pounding.
Maybe she ran away. Maybe I imagined it.
But then I noticed something lying on the ground where she had been standing.
A small silver locket.
I picked it up.
It was cold. Not just cool from the rain—cold like ice.
Inside the locket was a tiny, faded photograph.
A girl.
Wearing the same white dress.
Standing in front of our school building.
But the photo looked old. Very old. The edges were torn and yellowed.
On the back, written in faint ink, were the words:
"I will wait for you."
I swallowed.
I had never seen her before.
Yet somehow, deep inside, I felt like I had known her for a very long time.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Around midnight, I heard something.
A soft tapping at my window.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
My room is on the second floor.
No tree branches reach that high.
Slowly, I sat up.
The tapping stopped.
Then I heard her voice.
Soft. Close. Almost like a whisper inside my head.
"You found it."
My heart nearly stopped.
I didn't move.
"Who are you?" I whispered into the darkness.
Silence.
Then—
A faint reflection appeared in the window glass.
Not behind me.
Not outside.
But inside the glass itself.
Her face.
Smiling.
And her eyes…
They were no longer just dark.
They were glowing.
Very faintly.
Like distant stars.
And that was the moment I realized something terrifying—
She wasn't just a girl I met in the rain.
She had been waiting.
For me.
End of Chapte: one
Chapter Two: Whispers in the Dark
I didn't scream.
I couldn't.
My throat felt locked, like something invisible was pressing against it.
The reflection in the window didn't move like a normal reflection should. When I slowly turned my head toward the glass, her image remained still—smiling, glowing faintly in the darkness.
"You can see me now," she whispered.
Her voice wasn't coming from outside.
It was inside my room.
Inside my mind.
I forced myself to turn around.
She was standing near my study table.
Not floating. Not dramatic. Just… standing there.
As if she had always belonged in my room.
The curtains weren't moving. The air wasn't cold. But the temperature inside my chest felt like winter.
"How did you get in?" I managed to ask.
"The same way I've always been here," she replied softly.
Her white dress looked brighter than before, almost glowing in the dim light. But her feet—
They weren't touching the floor.
Just slightly above it.
My heart pounded so loudly I thought it would burst.
"I'm dreaming," I muttered. "This is a dream."
She stepped closer.
And when she did, I noticed something new.
Her expression wasn't scary.
It was… sad.
"You don't remember," she said.
"Remember what?"
Her fingers slowly reached toward my hand.
I wanted to pull away.
But I didn't.
When her skin touched mine—
It wasn't icy.
It was cold, yes, but gentle.
Like the first touch of rain after a long summer.
"I promised I would wait," she whispered.
The words from the locket.
A sudden sharp pain struck my head.
Images flashed through my mind.
The school field.
The banyan tree.
A girl laughing.
Running.
Then—
Screaming.
I gasped and fell to my knees.
She knelt beside me instantly.
"Don't force it," she said softly, brushing invisible strands of hair from my forehead.
Her touch made my breathing slow down.
"Who are you?" I whispered again.
She looked at me as if the answer hurt her.
"My name is Aira."
Aira.
The name felt familiar.
Too familiar.
"I died here," she said quietly.
The room seemed to shrink around us.
"Ten years ago."
My blood turned cold.
"That's impossible," I said. "I'm only sixteen."
"I know," she replied.
There was no anger in her voice.
Only longing.
"I waited before you were born," she said. "Time is different for me."
Aira moved closer, so close that I could see the faint shimmer in her eyes.
"I wasn't supposed to stay," she continued. "But I couldn't leave."
"Why?"
Her fingers tightened slightly around mine.
"Because you were the last person I saw before I fell."
My chest tightened.
"I don't remember!"
"You will," she whispered.
Suddenly—
The lights in my room flickered violently.
The door slammed shut on its own.
The mirror across the room cracked from top to bottom.
A deep, distorted whisper echoed through the walls—
"She doesn't belong here…"
Aira's expression changed instantly.
Not sweet.
Not soft.
Protective.
Her eyes glowed brighter.
"Don't listen to them," she told me.
"Them?" My voice shook.
"There are others," she said. "They don't like that I stayed."
The air turned heavy. My ears rang.
Dark shadows began stretching across the walls—long, twisting shapes moving without bodies.
Fear flooded me.
But Aira didn't move away.
Instead, she leaned closer and placed her forehead gently against mine.
The shadows paused.
Everything went silent.
"You are safe with me," she whispered.
For a moment, the fear faded.
All I could feel was her presence.
Close.
Protective.
Lonely.
"You're not afraid of me?" she asked softly.
I looked into her glowing eyes.
"I should be," I admitted.
"But I'm not."
A faint, almost human smile appeared on her face.
"If you stay near me," she warned quietly, "your life will never be normal."
I swallowed.
"It already isn't."
The shadows hissed again, closer this time.
Aira stood up slowly.
Her expression darkened.
"If they try to take you," she said, her voice no longer soft but powerful, "I won't let them."
The window shattered outward.
Cold wind rushed inside.
And in the glass reflection, I saw something terrifying—
Not just her.
But dozens of faint faces behind her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Aira turned back to me one last time.
And for the first time, I saw something dangerous in her eyes.
Not just love.
Possession.
"You're mine," she whispered.
And outside, beneath the banyan tree—
Something moved.
End of Chapter Two
A Ghost Girlfriend
Chapter Three: The Day She Fell
The next morning, the sky looked normal.
Too normal.
Sunlight poured through my window as if nothing had happened. The broken glass from the night before was gone. The cracked mirror stood perfect again. Even the curtains hung peacefully, untouched.
If not for the locket still clutched in my hand, I would have believed it was all a dream.
But it wasn't.
I went to school early.
I had to know.
The banyan tree stood tall at the edge of the field, its roots hanging like silent witnesses. The ground beneath it felt colder than the rest of the field.
I whispered her name.
"Aira…"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the wind shifted.
The air grew heavy.
And she appeared beside me.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
Just slowly… fading into existence.
Her white dress looked duller in daylight. Her glow was weaker. She seemed thinner somehow, fragile.
"You shouldn't call me during the day," she said softly.
"Why?"
"It hurts."
I felt guilt stab through my chest.
"I need to know," I said. "What happened ten years ago?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she looked toward the school building.
"They told you it was an accident," she said quietly.
A strange chill ran through me.
"Who?"
"The teachers. The police. Everyone."
My heartbeat quickened.
"You fell from the roof?"
She smiled faintly.
"That's what they said."
Her eyes darkened—not glowing this time, but filled with sorrow.
"I didn't fall."
The words hung in the air like a crack of thunder.
"You were pushed?" I whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"I was alone on the rooftop. I liked watching the sunset from there. Someone followed me."
Her voice trembled for the first time.
"I trusted them."
The wind around us grew stronger, rustling the leaves violently.
"I never thought jealousy could become hatred."
My throat felt dry.
"Why would someone hate you?"
She looked at me.
"Because I refused to lie."
The pieces began forming slowly in my mind.
"There was cheating during exams," she continued. "A group of students. One of them was the son of a powerful man in town."
My chest tightened.
"You reported them."
She nodded.
"They warned me to stay quiet."
The shadows around the tree stretched longer.
"I thought truth would protect me."
Her voice cracked.
"It didn't."
For the first time since meeting her, tears formed in her eyes.
But they didn't fall.
They simply vanished before touching her cheeks.
"They pushed me," she whispered.
The field around us seemed to darken, even under daylight.
"I hit the ground beneath this tree."
My breathing became uneven.
"They told everyone I slipped."
She looked at her own hands.
"No one fought for me. No one questioned it."
A painful silence settled between us.
"That's why you stayed," I said softly.
She nodded again.
"I was angry. I wanted justice."
The air shifted.
Cold.
Restless.
"But anger changes you," she continued.
"At first, I just watched. Then I started whispering in their ears. Giving them nightmares."
The shadows near the tree twisted slightly.
"They began to suffer," she said.
"One moved away. One fell sick. One…" She paused.
"One took his own life."
I felt horror spread through me.
"You did that?"
Her face twisted with pain.
"I didn't mean to."
Her glow flickered violently.
"I only wanted them to feel guilt. But hatred grows like poison."
She looked directly into my eyes.
"And poison doesn't only kill enemies."
For the first time, I understood the shadows.
"They're the others," I said quietly.
She nodded.
"Spirits who stayed too long. Who let anger consume them."
The wind screamed through the banyan branches.
"They don't want me to leave," she said. "Because if I let go of my anger… I will disappear."
My chest hurt.
"Disappear?"
"I cannot stay forever," she whispered.
"And you cannot belong to this world and mine at the same time."
The weight of her words crushed me.
"You said I was the last person you saw."
She smiled sadly.
"You were."
My mind spun.
"That's impossible. I wasn't born yet."
She stepped closer.
"You were," she said softly. "But not as you are now."
A strange warmth spread through me.
"Your mother," she whispered. "She was walking past the school when I fell. She was pregnant."
My heart stopped.
"You placed your hand on her stomach," Aira continued. "You were the last life I felt before I died."
Everything went silent.
The wind.
The shadows.
The world.
"I held onto that warmth," she said gently.
"It was the only pure thing in my final moment."
Tears filled my eyes.
"So you waited… for me?"
"Yes."
Not because of romance.
Not obsession.
But because in her final second of fear and betrayal—
She felt life.
Hope.
And she refused to let it be her last memory.
"I stayed for revenge," she admitted.
"But I survived because of you."
The shadows stirred violently now.
A low whisper echoed around us.
"She must stay…"
"She belongs to us…"
Aira's glow flickered between light and darkness.
"I can leave," she said quietly.
"But only if I forgive."
She looked at the school building one last time.
"Justice and revenge are not the same," she whispered.
"Revenge chains the soul."
She turned back to me.
"If I stay, I will become like them."
The twisted shadows stretched closer.
"And one day," she said softly, "I might hurt you too."
Fear gripped me.
Not fear of her—
But fear of losing her.
"What should I do?" I asked helplessly.
She reached up and touched my cheek.
Her fingers were fading.
"Live honestly," she said.
"Stand for truth—but don't let hatred live in your heart."
Her voice became faint.
"That is the justice I couldn't see."
The banyan tree shook violently.
The shadows shrieked.
Light began forming around her body.
"You gave me warmth," she whispered one last time.
"Now give me peace."
And for the first time—
I didn't hold her back.
I closed my eyes and whispered,
"I forgive them… for you."
The wind stopped instantly.
The shadows vanished.
When I opened my eyes—
She was gone.
Not torn away.
Not dragged into darkness.
Just…
Gone.
The locket in my hand felt warm now.
Inside, the photograph had changed.
She was smiling.
But no longer standing alone.
Behind her was sunlight.
And an open sky.
A Ghost Girlfriend
Chapter Three: The Day She Fell
The next morning, the sky looked normal.
Too normal.
Sunlight poured through my window as if nothing had happened. The broken glass from the night before was gone. The cracked mirror stood perfect again. Even the curtains hung peacefully, untouched.
If not for the locket still clutched in my hand, I would have believed it was all a dream.
But it wasn't.
I went to school early.
I had to know.
The banyan tree stood tall at the edge of the field, its roots hanging like silent witnesses. The ground beneath it felt colder than the rest of the field.
I whispered her name.
"Aira…"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the wind shifted.
The air grew heavy.
And she appeared beside me.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
Just slowly… fading into existence.
Her white dress looked duller in daylight. Her glow was weaker. She seemed thinner somehow, fragile.
"You shouldn't call me during the day," she said softly.
"Why?"
"It hurts."
I felt guilt stab through my chest.
"I need to know," I said. "What happened ten years ago?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she looked toward the school building.
"They told you it was an accident," she said quietly.
A strange chill ran through me.
"Who?"
"The teachers. The police. Everyone."
My heartbeat quickened.
"You fell from the roof?"
She smiled faintly.
"That's what they said."
Her eyes darkened—not glowing this time, but filled with sorrow.
"I didn't fall."
The words hung in the air like a crack of thunder.
"You were pushed?" I whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"I was alone on the rooftop. I liked watching the sunset from there. Someone followed me."
Her voice trembled for the first time.
"I trusted them."
The wind around us grew stronger, rustling the leaves violently.
"I never thought jealousy could become hatred."
My throat felt dry.
"Why would someone hate you?"
She looked at me.
"Because I refused to lie."
The pieces began forming slowly in my mind.
"There was cheating during exams," she continued. "A group of students. One of them was the son of a powerful man in town."
My chest tightened.
"You reported them."
She nodded.
"They warned me to stay quiet."
The shadows around the tree stretched longer.
"I thought truth would protect me."
Her voice cracked.
"It didn't."
For the first time since meeting her, tears formed in her eyes.
But they didn't fall.
They simply vanished before touching her cheeks.
"They pushed me," she whispered.
The field around us seemed to darken, even under daylight.
"I hit the ground beneath this tree."
My breathing became uneven.
"They told everyone I slipped."
She looked at her own hands.
"No one fought for me. No one questioned it."
A painful silence settled between us.
"That's why you stayed," I said softly.
She nodded again.
"I was angry. I wanted justice."
The air shifted.
Cold.
Restless.
"But anger changes you," she continued.
"At first, I just watched. Then I started whispering in their ears. Giving them nightmares."
The shadows near the tree twisted slightly.
"They began to suffer," she said.
"One moved away. One fell sick. One…" She paused.
"One took his own life."
I felt horror spread through me.
"You did that?"
Her face twisted with pain.
"I didn't mean to."
Her glow flickered violently.
"I only wanted them to feel guilt. But hatred grows like poison."
She looked directly into my eyes.
"And poison doesn't only kill enemies."
For the first time, I understood the shadows.
"They're the others," I said quietly.
She nodded.
"Spirits who stayed too long. Who let anger consume them."
The wind screamed through the banyan branches.
"They don't want me to leave," she said. "Because if I let go of my anger… I will disappear."
My chest hurt.
"Disappear?"
"I cannot stay forever," she whispered.
"And you cannot belong to this world and mine at the same time."
The weight of her words crushed me.
"You said I was the last person you saw."
She smiled sadly.
"You were."
My mind spun.
"That's impossible. I wasn't born yet."
She stepped closer.
"You were," she said softly. "But not as you are now."
A strange warmth spread through me.
"Your mother," she whispered. "She was walking past the school when I fell. She was pregnant."
My heart stopped.
"You placed your hand on her stomach," Aira continued. "You were the last life I felt before I died."
Everything went silent.
The wind.
The shadows.
The world.
"I held onto that warmth," she said gently.
"It was the only pure thing in my final moment."
Tears filled my eyes.
"So you waited… for me?"
"Yes."
Not because of romance.
Not obsession.
But because in her final second of fear and betrayal—
She felt life.
Hope.
And she refused to let it be her last memory.
"I stayed for revenge," she admitted.
"But I survived because of you."
The shadows stirred violently now.
A low whisper echoed around us.
"She must stay…"
"She belongs to us…"
Aira's glow flickered between light and darkness.
"I can leave," she said quietly.
"But only if I forgive."
She looked at the school building one last time.
"Justice and revenge are not the same," she whispered.
"Revenge chains the soul."
She turned back to me.
"If I stay, I will become like them."
The twisted shadows stretched closer.
"And one day," she said softly, "I might hurt you too."
Fear gripped me.
Not fear of her—
But fear of losing her.
"What should I do?" I asked helplessly.
She reached up and touched my cheek.
Her fingers were fading.
"Live honestly," she said.
"Stand for truth—but don't let hatred live in your heart."
Her voice became faint.
"That is the justice I couldn't see."
The banyan tree shook violently.
The shadows shrieked.
Light began forming around her body.
"You gave me warmth," she whispered one last time.
"Now give me peace."
And for the first time—
I didn't hold her back.
I closed my eyes and whispered,
"I forgive them… for you."
The wind stopped instantly.
The shadows vanished.
When I opened my eyes—
She was gone.
Not torn away.
Not dragged into darkness.
Just…
Gone.
The locket in my hand felt warm now.
Inside, the photograph had changed.
She was smiling.
But no longer standing alone.
Behind her was sunlight.
And an open sky.
A Ghost Girlfriend
Chapter Four: The Last Light Beneath the Banyan Tree
For three days, I didn't go near the field.
I was afraid.
Afraid that if I went, I would feel nothing.
Afraid that if I called her name, the wind would not answer.
School continued as usual. Students laughed in the corridors. Teachers gave homework. Life moved forward like it always does—indifferent to personal heartbreak.
But inside me, something was quiet.
Not empty.
Just… quiet.
On the fourth evening, I finally walked to the banyan tree.
The sun was setting—soft orange light spilling across the field, just like she once loved to watch from the rooftop.
I stood where she had fallen ten years ago.
And I waited.
The wind brushed past my face gently.
But no glow appeared.
No white dress.
No whisper in my mind.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"She's gone," I whispered to myself.
And this time, the words didn't break me.
They hurt.
But they didn't destroy me.
Because I understood now—
Love isn't always meant to stay.
Sometimes it comes to heal.
And then it leaves.
I knelt beneath the banyan tree and dug a small space in the soil with my hands.
Carefully, I placed the silver locket inside.
"I think you don't need this anymore," I said softly.
The sky darkened slowly, stars appearing one by one.
As I stood up, something strange happened.
A warmth spread through the air—not cold, not heavy.
Gentle.
Like the first evening I met her.
And then I heard it.
Not a whisper.
Not a voice inside my head.
But laughter.
Soft.
Free.
It echoed for only a second.
But it wasn't sad.
It was happy.
I looked up at the sky.
And for just a heartbeat—
I thought I saw her silhouette in the fading light.
Not glowing.
Not bound to shadows.
Just standing in sunlight.
Smiling.
Then it was gone.
Weeks passed.
Something changed in me after that.
I began studying harder.
Speaking up more.
Helping classmates who were afraid to stand alone.
When I saw unfairness, I didn't stay silent.
But I also didn't let anger control me.
I remembered her words:
Justice and revenge are not the same.
The old rumors about her case slowly resurfaced too. A retired teacher anonymously shared the truth with local authorities. The story was reopened quietly. The powerful family's influence had faded over the years.
It wasn't dramatic.
There were no loud arrests.
But the truth finally became known.
And that was enough.
One evening, my mother found me sitting outside.
"You've changed," she said gently.
"How?"
"You seem… older."
I smiled faintly.
"Maybe I just learned something."
She placed her hand on my head lovingly.
"You know," she added softly, "when I was pregnant with you, I once fainted near your school. People said it was because of shock. A girl had fallen that day."
My heart skipped.
"I remember feeling someone touch my stomach," she continued. "Strange, right? Like a goodbye."
Tears filled my eyes—but this time, they carried peace.
"Not strange," I whispered.
Just beautiful.
Years later, I still visit the banyan tree sometimes.
Not because I'm waiting.
But because I'm grateful.
I don't see ghosts anymore.
I don't hear whispers in the dark.
But sometimes, when the wind moves through the branches just right—
It feels warm.
And I smile.
Because I know she found what she couldn't find in life.
Freedom.
And as for me—
I found something too.
Courage.
Forgiveness.
And a love that didn't chain me to darkness—
But taught me how to walk in light.
The banyan tree still stands.
Students still laugh beneath it.
Life continues.
But if you ever walk past it at sunset and feel a sudden warmth—
Don't be afraid.
Some spirits don't stay to haunt.
They stay to heal.
And when they finally leave—
They leave behind strength.
The End.