It started with a whisper.
Not a word. Not a voice. Just the sound of her name, caught in the breeze as if the wind itself remembered her.
"Mira…"
She sat up straight in bed, breath caught in her throat.
"Maya?" she whispered into the dark.
Silence.
But the air wasn't the same anymore.
The first time she saw her, it was in the hallway mirror. A flash—barely more than a flicker—behind her.
She turned quickly. Nothing.
She leaned closer to the mirror, heart thudding. Her reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and pale. But just behind her left shoulder…
There it was.
A shadow that didn't belong to anything. It flickered once. Then was gone.
It wasn't until the third night that Maya appeared fully.
Mira had locked her bedroom door and curled up under her sheets, sobbing quietly into her pillow. The guilt still gripped her throat like a chain.
"I miss you," she whispered. "Every second. Every breath."
"You never listened."
Mira froze.
The voice was quiet. Cold. Familiar.
She sat up slowly, heart racing. And there she was—Maya, standing by the window, pale as moonlight, hair drifting gently as if moved by water, not air. Her eyes glowed soft and sad, but the frown on her lips spoke of pain not yet healed.
Mira couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
"Maya…" Her voice broke. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"You think sorry fixes it?" Maya's voice wasn't cruel, but it held weight.
"I didn't know it would happen. I just wanted one night… I didn't know it would be our last."
"I told you not to go," Maya whispered, stepping closer. "I told you I had a bad feeling. And you laughed."
Mira's eyes welled up. "I know. I know…"
Maya looked away, face softening. "And still... I followed you."
Silence hung in the room like smoke.
"I should've protected you," Mira said, tears running down. "You always protected me."
"I still do," Maya replied. Her voice was low, distant. "Even now."
Mira looked up sharply. "What?"
"Those books that nearly fell on you in the library? That boy who tried to trip you in the hall? The fire alarm that went off before Dad left the gas on? That was me."
Mira stared.
"I've been watching," Maya said. "I didn't know if I'd be able to, but somehow… I stayed."
"Why?" Mira's voice cracked.
"Because you're my sister," Maya said, her eyes glassy. "Even if I'm angry. Even if I'm hurt. You're still… you."
Mira stood slowly, crossing the room. "Then forgive me. Please. I can't breathe with this guilt."
Maya looked at her, and for a second, her expression almost softened. But then she stepped back.
"Not yet."
Mira's chest tightened. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not ready. And maybe you're not either."
Mira lowered her head.
"But I'll still be here," Maya continued. "In the shadows. In the quiet. Watching. Protecting."
She reached forward and gently touched Mira's shoulder. Cold flooded through her, but not painfully. It was like stepping into winter air—shocking, but still… beautiful.
"Don't let my death ruin your life," Maya said quietly.
And with that, she faded. Slowly. Like mist in the morning.
Over the next days, strange things began to happen.
The school bullies that had started targeting Mira—shoving her books, whispering about the accident—suddenly began backing off. One slipped and fell flat during a prank attempt. Another got caught red-handed by a teacher, thanks to a fire alarm going off at the perfect moment.
Mira didn't say a word.
But she knew.
At home, little things shifted. Her father found his missing car keys in the exact spot he'd searched five times. Her mother, in the middle of a panic attack, suddenly found her favorite locket in her coat pocket—Maya's locket.
Mira watched it all silently.
She could feel her everywhere now. A brush of wind. A creak on the stairs. A cold spot on her bed at night.
But Maya never showed herself again. Not fully.
Not yet.
Jay tried again.
He approached her after class, slower this time, careful.
"Mira…"
She turned, expression unreadable.
"I just wanted to say… I'm here. If you need to talk."
Mira studied him for a moment. He looked sincere. Tired. Lost, like she was.
But she shook her head.
"I can't. Not now."
He nodded. "I understand."
She paused. "Maybe one day."
And as she walked away, she thought she felt something… warm. A flicker of approval. Or maybe just a breeze.
That night, Mira stood in front of the mirror again, holding the silver necklace Maya had given her the night she died.
"Have you ever seen me take off this necklace?" Maya had asked, blood on her lips, eyes fading.
"No," Mira had whispered.
"Then you know what it means… Keep it safe."
Now, as she stared at herself—no longer the reckless girl who chased nights out and thrills—she nodded.
"I'll protect what you left behind."
From the corner of the mirror, she thought she saw Maya smile.