The rain poured mercilessly the day Aanya lost everything.
Fifteen years old, delicate and full of dreams, Aanya Verma once lived a life filled with laughter in a sun-washed home with her parents. That home, and her world, shattered the day a screech of tires and a deafening crash stole her mother and father from her... and stole her sight forever.
When Aanya awoke in the sterile hospital bed, darkness wrapped around her tighter than any blanket ever could.
"Where... where are Mama and Papa?" she had whispered, trembling.
Her uncle, Raghav Verma, and aunt, Sunita Verma, stood by her side, faces pale yet coldly composed.
Raghav pressed a hand to her shoulder. "They're... they're gone, beta. You have us now."
The words sounded kind, but beneath them, Aanya sensed a hollowness she couldn't explain.
Days bled into nights. Papers were signed that she couldn't see, decisions were made she couldn't question. Her parents' grand estate, the inheritance they left behind — all slowly slipped into Raghav and Sunita's eager hands.
And then came the day she was told she must leave.
"It's not safe here anymore, Aanya," Sunita had said, her voice syrupy sweet. "We've arranged a place for you. A lovely countryside mansion. Fresh air will be good for your health."
Blind, grieving, and helpless, Aanya had no choice but to obey.
When the car ride ended, and her frail body was guided up the cold, creaking steps of Whispering Pines Manor, a shiver ran down her spine.
"Is someone else here?" Aanya asked, hearing faint footsteps that didn't match those of Raghav and the stern caretaker, Mr. Thomas.
"No, no," Raghav said hastily. "You're just nervous, that's all. Rest well, child."
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, leaving Aanya alone with the silence — and the unseen whispers that began the moment darkness fully embraced her.
At first, she thought it was her mind playing tricks.
The soft brush of fingers against her hair as she slept.
The scent of wilted roses that drifted through the halls at night.
The faint sound of weeping... from rooms she never entered.
Days turned into weeks. Aanya grew thinner, her voice more fragile, speaking only to herself and the ghosts she feared yet somehow craved for company.
One evening, sitting by the cracked fireplace, Aanya whispered into the darkness, "Is someone here? Please... I have no one left."
A cold breeze swept across her face, and for the first time, a voice answered, almost tenderly:
"You are not alone, Aanya."
Tears welled up in her unseeing eyes. "Who are you?"
"Someone forgotten, just like you," the voice said. "But you... you don't belong in this sorrow. You must fight, little star."
"How can I?" she cried, balling her fists into her lap. "I can't even see the world anymore... They left me here to rot!"
The voice hummed, almost like a lullaby.
"Sight is not the only way to see. Feel. Listen. Believe."
That night, Aanya sat quietly, listening.
She heard the heartbeat of the old house — the crackle of old walls, the sighs of broken windows. She felt the uneven floorboards, the chill that warned her of stairs ahead. Slowly, she learned to move with the house instead of against it.
One stormy night, while tracing her steps to the library by memory, Aanya stumbled upon something — a door, hidden behind an old tapestry.
Heart pounding, she pushed it open.
The air was thick with dust, but beyond it, she could feel the presence of something... different. Stronger. Alive.
Her hands found a box — old, leather-bound. Inside were documents — property deeds, bank account records, all bearing her parents' names.
And signatures.
Forged signatures.
Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the papers to her chest. The truth was clear: Raghav and Sunita had stolen everything from her. They had thrown her into this haunted ruin to keep her silent forever.
"No more," she whispered fiercely. "No more."
The next morning, Aanya called for Mr. Thomas.
"I need your help," she said, voice trembling but resolute.
He hesitated. "I was ordered not to..."
"Please," she begged. "For my parents. For what is right."
Something in her broken plea softened the old caretaker's heart.
Together, they made plans.
Word spread — first to the village lawyer, then to the local magistrate. It took weeks, but the truth clawed its way into the light.
One morning, Aanya stood — trembling but proud — at the courthouse steps. The papers she had found, the betrayal she had uncovered, led to Raghav and Sunita being stripped of everything they had stolen.
Justice was slow but certain.
As they were led away in disgrace, Sunita screamed, "You'll regret this, you little blind witch!"
Aanya lifted her chin, tears shining in her blind eyes.
"No," she said softly. "You will."
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