The drizzle continued, a quiet, dignified counterpoint to the savage noise of the heavy rain that had just passed.
Aditya's mind was a battlefield. One part screamed, "Run!"—the basic survival instinct honed by every horror movie he'd ever watched. The other part, the broken, curious fragment left behind by Priya's rejection, was utterly captivated by Maya.
She still stood there, seeming real enough to touch, yet terrifyingly insubstantial. He focused only on her eyes, those beautiful, deep pools of emerald and gold. There was no malice in them, only an ancient, profound sorrow.
"You... you are a ghost," Aditya whispered, the reality of the word tasting sharp on his tongue. He was, in a college park after a heartbreak, talking to a spirit. His life had officially become a poor romantic-horror screenplay.
Maya's gentle, soundless voice echoed in his head again, clearer this time, like the perfect pitch of a violin. "That is a harsh word for a soul bound by duty, Aditya. I am what you call a 'spirit.'"
The shock now began to morph into an energy more potent than fear. "How do you know my name? I have never seen you on campus."
"I know the names of all the lost boys and girls who seek refuge under this grand banyan tree. They come here to cry, to mourn, to rage."
Her omniscience unnerved him. The initial horror slowly receded, replaced instead by overwhelming curiosity.
"So, you've been watching me? All this time?" He rose from the bench, taking an involuntary step toward her. The space between them felt charged, like a gap in an electrical circuit.
"Since you first walked here three years ago, trying to catch the eye of the girl who eventually broke your heart. I saw the pure, innocent love you carried for her. And I also saw the inevitable disappointment coming like a tsunami. Some futures are written in stone."
Aditya felt a sharp pang, then a slight throb of anger. "You could have warned me! You could have done something!"
Maya recoiled slightly, even though she was an illusion. The sorrow in her eyes deepened. "I am a spectre, not a soothsayer to interfere. My purpose here is... different. I am bound by my own grief, my own unfulfilled revenge. I cannot simply mend the lives of passing humans."
"Revenge?" The word pulled him back to the present. His college tragedy suddenly seemed tiny compared to the intensity of her predicament. "Who are you trying to avenge? Why are you stuck here?"
She turned, her movements impossibly fluid, and gestured with her delicate hand towards the mossy fountain. The edges of her hand seemed to blur slightly.
"This place, Aditya, is my prison. A century and a half ago, this was not a college park. It was the heart of a family estate. I am Maya Devi, the landlord's daughter. I was young, loved, and believed in magic... until my enemies used their own dark sorcery and political power to steal everything. They destroyed my family and trapped my soul here, preventing my passage to the other side."
Her voice, though unheard by the ear, carried the weight of history, lineage, betrayal, and an unquenched thirst for justice. This was no ordinary ghost story; it was a historical, paranormal injustice.
Aditya's logical brain screamed "Impossible!" But the sight before him—the beautiful, sorrowful woman unaffected by the rain, the uncanny circumstances—compelled him to listen.
"So, you're looking for a way out." He concluded, walking slowly towards the fountain to help her. As he neared her, the air felt thicker, heavier with forgotten memories.
"Yes. But the ancient curse that binds me makes my power minimal. I can see thoughts, cause minor scares, but I cannot physically interact with this world. I need a living bridge. A Conduit."
Aditya stood near her, about five feet away. The implication hung heavily between them.
"You see me, don't you? You think I'm that bridge." He looked down at his own wet, shivering form. "I can't even handle my own life, Maya. I just lost love. I'm nobody. I am certainly not a hero in a fast-paced life story."
A playful smile touched her lips, a spark of hope briefly overcoming the sorrow. "Heroes are often forged in the fire of personal failure, Aditya. You are innocent of heart and fiercely loyal—I saw that in your devotion to that girl. And being as broken as you are, the reality of the living world is temporarily weak for you. You are the perfect conduit I need."
Aditya rested his hands on the fountain's edge, meeting her gaze. He was tired of feeling pathetic, of being rejected. He felt a sudden, dangerous excitement—the desire to be part of something monumental, something that transcended his college crush.
"What do I have to do? Will I die? Will you possess my body?" The questions tumbled out, curiosity overriding fear before it could settle in.
Maya moved closer, and he could smell the faint, floral scent that emanated from her. His skin prickled with a mix of fear and exhilaration.
"You will live. But you will see things. Experience things. We will explore the forgotten corners of this campus, retrieve artifacts, decipher clues, and fight powers that I cannot battle alone. You will be my eyes, my hands, my voice in the human world. It will be... dangerous."
He took a deep breath, the cold rain finally feeling cleansing. He was being offered a distraction, a grand, life-threatening adventure utterly unrelated to the pain of Priya's rejection.
"So, if I help you with your revenge, break your curse... then what happens?" he asked, his voice steadying. This was his negotiation, his moment of truth.
Maya looked into his eyes, the connection between them firm, undeniable. "If you help me find peace, Aditya, I will find a way to repay you. I will give you everything I have left."
She didn't promise him love, or happiness, or even survival. She promised him a purpose. In his current state, only purpose was truly appealing.
"Alright, Maya Devi," Aditya straightened up, a new determination hardening his eyes. "Tell me what we do first. But know this: I'm not doing this for the magic or for you. I'm doing this because I'm tired of being sad."
As the last word left his mouth, a silver object—a small, ancient key—flashed into existence right in the centre of the fountain where Maya's gaze was fixed. It was their first clue.
"Excellent," she replied, the soundless word tinged with satisfaction. "The key to the past is always the first step."