In a quiet town forgotten by time, there stood an old house that no one dared to enter. People claimed the spirit inside was not born of imagination, but of truth. Years ago, a young woman named Meera was found dead there, her death ruled an accident too quickly.
One night, investigative writer Aarav decided to uncover what really happened. As he stepped inside, the air grew heavy, filled with the scent of jasmine and decay. A soft sob echoed from the hallway. Aarav followed it to a locked room where the temperature dropped suddenly.
A pale figure appeared—Meera’s spirit, her eyes filled with sorrow rather than rage. “I was silenced,” she whispered. Walls began to bleed shadows, replaying her final moments. Aarav saw the truth: betrayal, fear, and a crime buried under lies.
Meera reached out, her touch icy. “Tell them,” she begged.
At dawn, Aarav published the truth. The house fell silent for the first time in years. But on some nights, when truth is ignored elsewhere, people still see Meera’s reflection in dark windows—watching, waiting—proof that some souls remain restless until justice is done.
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