The bus ride was long, but it didn't matter. The girls were too eager, too focused on the mystery they had set out to solve. The winding roads of Shimla passed by in a blur as the girls sat together, whispering excitedly about what awaited them.
Prajwal sat by the window, her fingers tapping lightly against her seat. Her mind raced with thoughts of the past few weeks—the ghost of Lydia, the letter, the promise they made to uncover the truth. She had no idea what they were about to find, but something told her it was going to change everything.
As the bus finally pulled into the town of Shimla, the atmosphere felt strangely familiar. The cold air brushed against their faces, and the mountains loomed in the distance, like silent guardians of the secrets they were about to uncover.
The girls made their way to the hotel, the same haunted place where everything had started. It stood tall and eerie, a monument to forgotten stories. The once grand structure was now shrouded in a veil of mystery and decay. The broken windows and the overgrown garden gave it an almost otherworldly feel.
As they stepped inside, the musty smell of old wood and dust hit them. The receptionist, an old man who barely acknowledged their presence, gave them the same room key they had used before. There was no warmth in his smile, no welcome. Just the silent acceptance that they were back.
The girls headed straight for the library, where they had last seen the clue—the letter from Lydia. The room was just as they remembered: rows upon rows of old books stacked haphazardly on dusty shelves. The air was thick with silence, as though the books themselves were holding their breath.
"Where do we even begin?" Akshada asked, her voice a mix of excitement and caution.
"Look for anything that stands out," Prajwal replied, her eyes scanning the shelves. "The diary has to be here somewhere."
The girls began to search, each of them moving methodically through the room. The shelves creaked under the weight of age, and the floorboards groaned as they shifted from one section to the next. Minutes turned into hours, but there was no sign of the diary.
Then, just as Prajwal was about to give up, she noticed something strange—a small, leather-bound book wedged between two old volumes, almost hidden from view. It was different from the other books. Newer. Untouched.
With a sense of triumph, she reached for it, her fingers brushing the worn cover. "This is it," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.
The group gathered around her as she carefully opened the diary. The pages were yellowed with age, and the writing inside was faint but legible. As Prajwal flipped through the pages, they saw the story unfold before their eyes. It was Lydia's life—her joys, her struggles, her fears.
Lydia's words revealed a deep sorrow, one that had never been shared with anyone. She had been trapped in the hotel, forced to live in isolation by her own family. Her parents had been consumed by greed and had hidden her away, thinking her existence was a threat to their reputation. The diary spoke of her loneliness, her desperation, and her desire to break free.
But there was more. Hidden among the words was a letter—a final message to whoever found the diary:
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"If you are reading this, then you have found the truth. I never wanted to be a ghost. I wanted to live, to be free. But the life they gave me was a cage, and in the end, it was my own family who betrayed me. I hope you will understand that my death was not my choice, but a result of their actions. I have no regrets for the love I gave, and I only wish that you, the ones who dared to care, will find your own happiness."
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The girls were silent for a moment, each of them absorbing the weight of Lydia's words. "She didn't deserve what happened to her," Swara said softly, her voice filled with sympathy.
"No one deserves that kind of fate," Prajwal replied, her voice filled with a quiet sadness. "But at least now we know the truth."
The girls stayed in the library for hours, reading through every page, every word, piecing together the life of a girl who had been forgotten by time. They had come for answers, but they had found much more. They had found a life. A story. A ghost who was never truly dead.
As the night drew near, they closed the diary and made a pact to honor Lydia's memory. They would leave the hotel, but they would carry her story with them forever.
"We'll make sure she's never forgotten," Prajwal said, her voice steady and full of resolve. "Her story will live on, even if no one else ever hears it."
With that, the girls left the haunted hotel, not as the scared students who had arrived weeks ago, but as the keepers of a story—a story that had been buried in the shadows for far too long.
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