Ghosts Of The Past
879 Words
(Pearl’s POV)
Pearl sat curled on the edge of the worn leather couch, the hum of the washing machine in the background and her mother’s soft footsteps moving in and out of the kitchen. The house smelled like ginger and lemon—a scent that always made her feel safe, even if the walls never did.
She watched her mother stir something on the stove. Always moving, always working.
“You’re quiet today,” her mom said, not turning around.
“I’m always quiet.”
Her mother chuckled. “Quieter than usual, then.”
Pearl shrugged. “Just school.”
She didn’t mention Prince. Didn’t mention the rooftop. The way he’d looked at her like he saw something she wasn’t ready to admit existed.
Some truths were safer left unspoken.
“Can you grab the mail for me?” her mom asked.
Pearl slipped on her sandals and stepped onto the porch. The fall air was crisp, brushing against her bare arms like a whisper. She opened the mailbox, sorting through bills, junk flyers, and—
Her fingers paused on a pale yellow envelope with no return address.
The handwriting was familiar. Tight. Slanted.
She frowned, flipping it over.
Inside the house, her mom’s voice echoed. “Pearl? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Just junk.”
She tucked the letter beneath the stack and brought everything inside, slipping the envelope into her backpack when her mom wasn’t looking.
Later, in her room, she locked the door and pulled it out.
The letter was short.
"He looks just like his father, doesn’t he? - M."
Her stomach dropped.
Her hands trembled.
There was no name. No date.
Just a sentence that shattered something inside her.
She knew who “his father” meant.
And she hadn’t heard that name in years.
The next day at school, Pearl couldn’t focus. The teachers' voices blurred. Her friends’ chatqter was distant static.
Every time she saw Prince—laughing with Zay, walking with that effortless confidence—it felt like a puzzle piece was floating just out of reach.
What did he know?
Did he know?
After last period, she made her way to the library. Not to read—just to breathe.
The quiet there wasn’t empty. It was full. Of thoughts. Of memories. Of ghosts.
She was flipping through an old school yearbook—one from nearly twenty years ago—when something stopped her cold.
A photo. Black-and-white. Two students standing side by side at a debate club event.
One of them was her mother.
The other was a man with the same jawline, the same smile, and the same eyes as Prince.
The caption read: “Top Debaters: Marisol Donovan and Nathaniel Ellington.”
Her heart slammed in her chest.
Prince’s father.
Her mother.
Together.
Once.Pearl closed the yearbook gently, her fingers lingering on the edge of the page like it might bite her. The photo shouldn’t mean anything. High school clubs. Old memories. People changed.
But some things didn’t.
Her mother had never spoken about that part of her life. Not in detail. And certainly not about anyone named Ellington.
Pearl slipped the yearbook back onto the shelf and left the library with her hood up, her thoughts spinning faster than her feet could carry her.
Outside, the sky had shifted to that gray-blue haze that signaled evening. She walked past the front gates, past the yellow buses, past the usual cluster of students glued to their phones and laughter.
“Pearl,” someone called.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.
Prince caught up anyway, jogging the last few steps beside her. “You’re not great at pretending I don’t exist, you know.”
She kept walking. “Maybe you’re not that easy to ignore.”
He grinned, falling into step beside her like it was natural. Like they always walked home together.
They didn’t.
“Where’re you going?”
“Home.”
He arched a brow. “You walk?”
“Sometimes. Clears my head.”
He didn’t push, just nodded. They moved through the side streets in silence for a few beats, the city muffled around them.
“Can I ask you something?” he said finally.
“No.”
He laughed under his breath. “Cool. Cool. I’ll ask anyway.”
She shot him a look.
“What’s your deal?” he asked. “Like... why are you always a step removed from everyone? Even when you’re in the room, you’re not really in it.”
Pearl stopped walking.
Turned.
His eyes didn’t flinch.
“You ever been hurt so bad, even silence feels safer than people?” she asked.
He blinked, just once. The grin faded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I have.”
A pause. Honest. Clean.
Pearl looked away first.
She started walking again, and this time—she didn’t stop him from following.
Back home, her mom asked her how her day was, and Pearl lied. Said it was fine. Said she didn’t talk to anyone interesting. Said she didn’t find any old ghosts in the library.
Then she locked herself in her room and stared at the ceiling.
And for the first time in a long time—
She didn’t feel so alone.
- Writer
