Weeks passed. Mira stayed in the house by the lake, not out of fear—this time, by choice. She cleaned the attic, opened windows, let light in. Her grandmother's journals became her nightly reading. They weren't just warnings; they were memories. Love. Grief. Strength.
She began painting again—something she hadn't done in years. The lake became her muse. Not as a place of death, but of memory and healing.
Jin visited often. They didn't speak about ghosts anymore. They didn't need to. What had happened was part of the lake's story… and theirs.
One morning, Mira found a final note tucked in the back of the sketchbook her grandmother had left.
*"If the lake calls you, don't fear it. Just don't forget who you are."*
She smiled.
The nightmares had stopped.
No more whispers.
Only stillness.
And in that silence, Mira found peace—not because she forgot the past, but because she finally remembered it.
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