The rain finally started to slow.
Puddles still lined the sidewalks, the air smelled like wet metal, but the sky was clearing. The sun peeked out like it was shy, and the fog was no longer thick — just a faint veil across the street. The town looked normal again.
But it wasn’t.
I sat at my desk that afternoon, staring out the window. The same window I always stared through, except now it felt wrong. Like it belonged to someone else.
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Without thinking, I picked up my compass and began scratching lines into the wood of the desk. Circles. Loops. The shape of her name — Arya. Over and over until the grain started catching the point.
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Across the field, I could see the edge of the woods. The spot where she disappeared. It looked harmless now. Peaceful, even. And for a moment, I imagined her standing there again — hair damp from the rain, smiling like she never left.
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She always smiled at me. Never spoke. Just smiled.
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It started small — her voice when no one else was around. A hum behind me in the hallway. A whisper of my name when I shut my locker. I’d look back, but no one was there. Of course no one was there.
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She waved at me in the crowd once. Smiling. But when I blinked, it was just a mirror. My reflection.
I haven’t been sleeping much.
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A memory slipped in.
Not of Arya. Of Zayan.
It was raining harder that day. Two years ago. The streetlights were flickering. We were supposed to meet up at the usual spot, but I was late. By the time I got there, I saw the ambulance. The sheet over the body. The wet black shoes poking out.
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He died instantly, they said. Slipped. Car didn’t see him.
The funeral didn’t feel real. Nothing did.
That’s when I found the book in his room. The one he wouldn’t shut up about. Through the Pale Veil. He said the story was stupid but “the girl in it makes it worth it.” That girl… her name was Arya.
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I took the book home. Started reading it. Then rereading it. Again. Again. Until the pages curled and the spine broke and I could recite entire paragraphs in my sleep.
I think that’s when I stopped going outside.
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They say grief fades. That time heals.
I don’t think I healed. I think I disappeared.
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There’s a photo of the college on my wall — the one Arya and I went to. It’s crooked now. And blurry. Like it’s fading, even though it's just paper. I stared at it today and realized I couldn’t remember the name of the town it was in.
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Actually… I don’t remember how I even got there.
When I try to think of the campus, all I see is fog.
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Arya visited again. This time, in daylight.
I was sitting in my room. Door locked. Curtains drawn. And there she was — sitting on the edge of my bed, barefoot, hair damp again like the rain never stopped.
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She smiled.
> “You remember now, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
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> “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to go back.”
Then she was gone.
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No sound. No footsteps. Just the whisper of fog rolling back into the corners of the room.
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I think I’m forgetting more things. My father’s voice sounds distant now. I hear him sometimes outside my door, asking if I’m okay.
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But his words don’t feel real.
Only the fog does.
And Arya.
Arya is always real.
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ns216.73.216.240da2
and then Add to home screen.