Haunted Silence
The morning after the window incident, Meera moved through the house like a shadow of herself. She brewed tea she did not drink, packed Anaya's schoolbag with trembling fingers, and kissed her daughter goodbye at the gate with a smile that felt brittle and false.
Inside, her mind churned endlessly. The image of Anaya standing at the window, her hands pressed against the glass as if waiting to step into another world, replayed again and again. The whisper still echoed in her ears: "Don't keep her from me."
That was not the voice of a protector. That was the voice of something claiming ownership.
Seeking Counsel
That evening, after leaving Anaya with a neighbor she trusted, Meera returned to Pandit Devnath. She found him seated under the banyan tree by the temple, his prayer beads sliding rhythmically through his fingers. His calm presence felt like an anchor amid her storm.
She bowed quickly, her words spilling out in a rush. She told him about the dress, the dinner table, the mirror, the secret whispers, and finally—the window.
For the first time, Devnath's calm expression wavered. His brows knitted together, and his voice grew heavy.
"You must act quickly," he said. "This is no longer simply a spirit's presence. Your husband's love has become a binding chain. The bond between him and your child is deepening into possession."
Meera's heart lurched. "Possession? You mean he could—"
"Yes," the priest said gravely. "If left unchecked, the spirit can entwine itself so deeply with the child that they will not know where one ends and the other begins."
Meera shook her head in disbelief. "But this is Rajiv. He loved us. He still loves us."
Devnath's gaze was steady. "Love in death can twist. A soul that refuses to move on becomes restless. What begins as devotion can turn into desperation. And desperation is dangerous."
The Mention of Fire
"What do I do?" she whispered, her hands clenched.
Devnath's eyes shifted to the small shrine nearby, where a flame burned steadily. "There is only one path that can sever such a bond completely—the Path of Fire. A full ritual of release. But you must understand, it will not be gentle. It will not be painless. For you, for your daughter, and even for him."
Meera swallowed hard. "Will it destroy him?"
"It will set him free," Devnath said carefully. "But the soul may resist. If his will to remain is stronger than your will to release, the ritual could fail. And if it fails… the spirit may not forgive you for trying."
The Weight of a Choice
That night, back in the house, Meera sat in the darkened living room, staring at Rajiv's photograph. His smile shone back at her, the same one that had charmed her the day they first met. She longed for his warmth, his laugh, his reassuring hand on her shoulder.
But she remembered too the cold draft, the whisper at the window, the weight of his unseen presence pressing against her when he disagreed with her choices.
Her heart ached with the impossibility of it all.
To keep him meant risking her daughter's safety. To release him meant breaking the last thread of the life they had built together.
Anaya's Transformation
In the following days, Meera began noticing changes in Anaya.
Her once playful laughter grew sharper, tinged with a confidence too heavy for a child. She sometimes referred to herself as "we" instead of "I."
At dinner one evening, when Meera asked her to eat her vegetables, Anaya looked at her with startling intensity and said, "You don't need to tell me what to do. Papa already told me."
The words were calm, but the authority in them sent shivers down Meera's spine. It was as if Rajiv's voice had spoken through her daughter's mouth.
That night, Meera wept silently into her pillow. She could no longer deny it: Rajiv was not simply here. He was seeping into their daughter.
Preparing for the Ritual
The following week, Meera returned to the temple.
"I will do it," she told Pandit Devnath. Her voice was unsteady, but her eyes were resolute.
The priest nodded. "Then prepare yourself. The ritual requires fire, water, incense, and your husband's belongings—things that still tie him to this home. But most of all, it requires your strength. You must not waver. If you falter, the spirit will know, and it will resist all the harder."
Meera nodded, though fear churned in her gut. She knew Rajiv would resist. He had told her himself: I will never leave.
Signs of Awareness
That evening, as Meera gathered Rajiv's clothes and belongings into a suitcase, the house grew restless.
The lights flickered. The air turned icy. The photo frames rattled on the walls.
And then, in a voice that was both tender and chilling, she heard: "Why are you doing this, Meera? Why are you turning away from me?"
Her hands shook. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Because I can't lose her, Rajiv. I can't."
The voice grew sharper. "You don't need to choose. I'm here for both of you. Why can't you see that?"
Meera pressed her palms against her ears, but the voice was inside her head now, reverberating like an echo she could not shut out.
The Night Before
That night, Anaya refused to sleep alone. She clung to her mother's arm and whispered, "Papa's angry. He says you want to send him away. He doesn't like it."
Meera kissed her daughter's forehead, forcing a calm smile. "Shh, beta. I only want what's best for you."
But inside, her resolve hardened. She could not allow this invisible tug-of-war to continue.
The Ritual Begins
The next evening, with Pandit Devnath's guidance, Meera prepared the living room.
She placed Rajiv's belongings in a circle: his shirt, his watch, the unopened gift he had bought for Anaya. Around them, the priest lit lamps filled with ghee. He sprinkled holy water in the corners and began chanting mantras that filled the room with rhythmic intensity.
The air thickened, heavy and charged. The shadows seemed to pulse with each word of the prayer.
Anaya sat in the corner, watching wide-eyed. She looked both frightened and confused. "Mama, Papa doesn't like this. He says to stop."
Meera's heart clenched. She reached for her daughter's hand, but kept her eyes on the priest.
The chanting grew louder. The lamps burned brighter.
And then it began.
The Resistance
The suitcase shuddered violently, the clothes within rustling as though an unseen wind tore through them. The watch flew into the air, spinning before it clattered against the floor.
The flames bent sideways, flickering madly, as if pushed by an invisible force.
A voice roared through the room—not gentle, not pleading, but thunderous. "NO!"
Anaya cried out, covering her ears. "Mama, you're hurting him!"
Meera clutched her daughter tightly. Tears streamed down her face, but she whispered fiercely, "I'm saving you, Anaya. I'm saving you."
The priest's chants rose in defiance, filling every corner with vibration. The holy water hissed as it hit the floor, the air swirling with unseen struggle.
The Vision
For a moment, Meera saw him—Rajiv, standing in the center of the circle. His form flickered, unstable, like an image caught between two worlds. His eyes, once warm, now blazed with desperate fury.
"Why are you betraying me?" he demanded. "I gave everything for you. I came back for you!"
Meera sobbed. "And I love you still! But you're not meant to stay. Not like this. Not at the cost of her life."
His gaze shifted to Anaya, who wept in her mother's arms. His expression softened, conflicted. For a fleeting instant, Meera saw her husband again—the man who had adored his daughter more than anything.
But then the image flickered, and the fury returned.
"I will not leave her," he said. "She is mine."
The Breaking Point
Pandit Devnath's voice thundered with the final mantra. The flames shot higher, nearly touching the ceiling. The suitcase burst open, spilling Rajiv's belongings into the fire.
The room shook as though the very walls resisted. The voice howled, a mixture of anguish and rage.
Anaya screamed, "Papa, don't go!"
Meera held her daughter tightly, sobbing. "It's okay, beta. It's okay. He'll always be in our hearts. But he has to go now. He has to."
The vision of Rajiv stretched thin, his form tearing apart like smoke pulled into the wind. His final cry echoed through the house: "Meera!"
And then—silence.
The Aftermath
The flames steadied. The air cleared. The weight pressing on Meera's chest lifted.
The priest lowered his hands, his face pale with exhaustion. "It is done," he said softly.
Meera collapsed to the floor, clutching Anaya, who sobbed quietly into her shoulder.
But even in the quiet, Meera felt a hollow ache. She had fought for her daughter, but in doing so, she had torn away the last piece of her husband that still lingered.
Closing Scene
That night, Meera tucked Anaya into bed. Her daughter looked up with tear-streaked cheeks and whispered, "Mama… will Papa ever come back?"
Meera kissed her gently. "He'll always be with us, beta. Just not like before."
And as she switched off the light and walked into the silent hallway, she felt the emptiness press in. For the first time in months, the house was still.
But she could not help but wonder: was it truly over? Or had the battle only just begun?