A House Divided
The Sharma home had always been a place of laughter. Before the accident, it echoed with Rajiv's booming chuckle, the clatter of Anaya's toys, and the soft hum of Meera's voice as she sang while cooking. But now, silence and whispers had become its soundtrack.
For Anaya, it was still full of joy—she talked freely to the unseen figure, giggled as though her father's presence was right beside her. But for Meera, every sound, every flickering shadow, was a reminder that love and haunting had merged into something she could not control.
The balance was shifting, and Meera felt powerless to stop it.
The Birthday Dress
It began with something small.
One afternoon, Meera was folding laundry when Anaya came running in. She wore a dress that Meera had hidden deep in her cupboard—the one Rajiv had bought as a surprise for Anaya's birthday before he died.
"Anaya!" Meera gasped. "Where did you find that?"
Anaya twirled happily. "Papa gave it to me. He said it's too pretty to hide."
Meera's skin prickled. She remembered locking that cupboard. She had tucked the dress away because it was too painful to see, too raw a reminder. Yet here it was, worn by her daughter, who beamed as though nothing were unusual.
"Beta," Meera said carefully, "that cupboard was closed. How did you—"
"I told you, Mama," Anaya interrupted, her voice bright and certain. "Papa opened it for me. He said you're too sad, so he'll make me happy."
The words struck Meera harder than she expected. It wasn't just that Anaya believed she was talking to her father—it was the suggestion that Rajiv was undermining her, comforting Anaya by placing himself against her mother.
The Dinner Table
That evening, Meera set the table for two—just for herself and Anaya. But when they sat down, Anaya insisted, "No, Mama, Papa sits there," pointing to the empty chair at the head of the table.
Meera's heart clenched. That had been Rajiv's seat. She tried to gently redirect her. "Beta, Papa doesn't need a chair now. He's in our hearts."
But Anaya's eyes narrowed, a look far too old for her face. "No, Mama. He's right here. He says you shouldn't ignore him."
The room grew colder. The spoon in Meera's hand trembled. For the first time, she saw not just a child's innocent imagination but something heavier—her daughter's words seemed guided, shaped.
The Night Whispers
That night, as Meera passed by Anaya's room, she paused. Her daughter's voice was floating through the door.
At first, she thought Anaya was talking in her sleep. But then she realized the rhythm of her words—pauses, responses, laughter—was a conversation.
She pressed her ear against the door.
"…yes, Papa… okay, I will… I won't tell Mama."
Meera's heart pounded. She pushed open the door.
Anaya sat upright in bed, her eyes wide and glowing with childlike excitement. "Mama! Papa told me a secret!"
Meera's voice cracked. "What secret, Anaya?"
Anaya shook her head, lips pressed tight. "I can't. Papa says you'll be angry."
And then, almost as if to punctuate the words, the lamp in the corner flickered once, twice, before going out entirely.
A Visit to School
The next day, Meera visited Anaya's teacher to check on her. She needed to know if her daughter's strange behavior was limited to home.
The teacher frowned. "She's been… different. More distracted. Sometimes she stares into empty corners, smiling as if someone is talking to her. And she argues more often—she insists she knows better because 'Papa told her.'"
Meera's stomach dropped. The influence wasn't confined to their home. It was growing roots in Anaya's mind, spreading into her daily life.
A Growing Divide
In the evenings, Meera noticed something else: Anaya had stopped listening to her as she once did.
When Meera asked her to put away toys, Anaya would frown and mutter, "Papa says I don't have to."
When she told her daughter to finish homework, Anaya replied confidently, "Papa says I'm smart enough already."
Each small rebellion felt like Rajiv's hand reaching through the veil, tugging Anaya farther from her mother.
Meera began to feel like a guest in her own home, her authority quietly eroded by a ghost she could neither see nor fight.
The Mirror Game
One evening, while tidying Anaya's room, Meera noticed her daughter standing before the mirror.
"What are you doing, beta?" she asked softly.
Anaya grinned. "Papa's playing with me! He says if I look in the mirror and call him, I'll see him standing next to me."
Meera's breath hitched. "And… did you?"
"Yes!" Anaya clapped her hands. "He was smiling. He said you shouldn't worry so much. He's taking care of everything now."
Meera forced a smile, but inside, panic twisted her gut. The mirror was no longer just glass—it was becoming a doorway.
The Forgotten Voice
Later that night, as Meera tucked her daughter in, Anaya asked suddenly, "Mama, what did Papa's voice sound like before he went away?"
The question startled her. "Beta… you hear him all the time."
Anaya frowned, puzzled. "No, I mean… his real voice. The one before this one."
Meera froze. Before this one.
Did that mean the voice Anaya heard now was not exactly Rajiv's? Had it changed—become something else while wearing the mask of familiarity?
The thought made her skin crawl.
Seeking Proof
The next morning, Meera tried a small test. She placed Rajiv's favorite photo on the dining table and asked Anaya, "Can you ask Papa what day this picture was taken?"
Anaya tilted her head, listening to something unseen. Then she answered, "Papa says it was on your honeymoon in Shimla."
Meera's breath caught. That was true. A detail Anaya had never known.
Her hands shook. It was Rajiv. It had to be. And yet… how could the love she once cherished feel so threatening now?
The Turning Point
That night, Meera woke suddenly to a strange sound. She rushed to Anaya's room and found her daughter standing at the window, hands pressed against the glass.
"Beta!" Meera cried. "What are you doing?"
Anaya turned, her eyes glazed, her voice distant. "Papa says we can go with him. We don't need to stay here."
Meera pulled her daughter away from the window, clutching her tight. "No! Anaya, stay with me!"
For the first time, Anaya resisted, struggling in her arms. "But Papa says—"
The lights flickered violently. The curtains billowed though the window was closed. The temperature dropped until Meera could see her own breath in the air.
A whisper slid through the room: "Don't keep her from me."
Meera's heart pounded. She tightened her grip on her daughter, whispering fiercely, "She's mine too, Rajiv. She's mine."
Aftermath
When the room finally stilled, Anaya slumped against her, fast asleep, as though nothing had happened.
But Meera sat awake the rest of the night, her mind racing.
This was no longer about comfort. No longer about a ghostly presence offering protection. This was about influence, about possession.
Her daughter was slipping further under Rajiv's shadow, and if she didn't act soon, she feared she might lose Anaya completely.