The Ghost of Amara
924 Words
The voice was low, harsh, and unfamiliar.
"You need to leave. Now. Before he turns you into her."
Isha’s body froze.
The hallway was almost pitch black, lit only by the moon filtering through tall windows. She could barely see the shape behind her—just the press of a lean body, the strength in the arms holding her still, and the unmistakable urgency in the stranger’s voice.
She tried to scream. The hand clamped tighter over her mouth.
“Quiet,” he hissed. “You want to wake the guards? You think Zayan would let you walk the halls at night if he didn’t want you watched?”
Her breath came fast through her nose, her pulse racing so loud it roared in her ears.
Then—suddenly—he let her go.
She spun, back hitting the wall, eyes wide.
He was barely older than her. Twenties, maybe. Tall, ragged black hair falling into his eyes, dressed in black. Not staff. Not a guard. There was something different in the way he stood—like he didn’t belong here either.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He looked over his shoulder. “A mistake that got too close.”
“Why are you—”
“Because she begged me to.” He stepped closer, eyes flickering. “Your mother.”
Isha’s breath caught. “You knew her?”
He nodded once. “And I promised her I’d get you out if this ever happened.”
She stepped away from the wall, her fingers trembling. “What do you mean—‘if this happened’?”
But he was already backing away, his voice hushed and sharp. “You’re walking a path she already bled on. Don’t be fooled by the gold and glass. This place eats girls like you. Zayan doesn’t save people, Isha. He keeps them.”
She clenched her fists. “Then help me leave.”
He stopped. “I’m trying. But if he finds out I spoke to you—”
“I don’t care.”
He held her gaze. “You should.”
She took a step forward. “Tell me what happened to her.”
He hesitated. The first crack in his mask.
“She came here to protect you. Thought she could trade her life for your safety. But Zayan’s father… he wanted more. He wanted leverage. Her child.”
Isha shook her head. “No—she died in a car accident. That’s what they told me.”
“That’s what he wanted you to believe.”
The floor felt like it was shifting beneath her.
“Then… she’s alive?”
He looked away.
“I don’t know. I helped her once. Got her out. But people who leave this house… don’t stay free for long.”
Isha’s throat tightened. “Why me? Why now?”
He looked at her again. Softer this time.
“Because Zayan doesn’t forget what belongs to him. And he’s waited a long time to take back what was promised.”
Her voice was barely audible. “Me.”
He nodded. “You were a debt written in your mother’s blood.”
Isha wanted to scream. To collapse. To run. But her feet wouldn’t move.
He stepped back into the shadows. “There’s a key under the third step of the east stairwell. It opens the back gates. Tomorrow night. After midnight. If you want out—go.”
She opened her mouth to speak—but he was already gone.
Vanished into the walls like a ghost.
---
She didn’t sleep.
Her mother’s letter lay on the bed.
The photo, the necklace, the envelope—all of it sat around her like a shrine to a life she no longer understood.
She saw her mother’s face everywhere.
The way she smiled.
The sadness in her eyes.
The secrets she carried.
Was she really dead?
Or was she still locked somewhere in this mansion, forgotten by time and swallowed by silence?
Isha didn’t know.
But she needed to.
She stood and approached the mirror slowly. Stared at her reflection.
Her mother’s cheekbones.
Her father’s eyes.
But something else now lived behind them.
Fear.
Resolve.
And the early tremors of rage.
She grabbed the necklace from the nightstand and fastened it around her neck. It was heavy. Too tight.
Like a noose disguised as jewelry.
---
At breakfast the next day, Zayan was already waiting.
Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. Coffee untouched. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.
She sat down, calm on the outside, chaos underneath.
“I read the letter,” she said.
His hand paused mid-air.
Then slowly lowered the cup.
“And?”
“You were right.”
A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes. He didn’t expect her to admit that.
“But that doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she added. “Or trust you.”
“I don’t need your forgiveness,” he said. “Only your loyalty.”
“You had that once,” she whispered. “Through her.”
Zayan leaned forward slightly. “I’m not my father.”
“No. But you’re trying to finish what he started.”
He said nothing.
Just watched her in silence, gaze unreadable.
“I’m not hers,” Isha said. “And I’m not yours either.”
He smiled faintly, bitterly. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
She stood.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She met his eyes.
“To find the truth she died for.”
And she walked away.
- Writer
