Juwayria_Khan

In life, they were inseparable. In death, he is left behind.

After a tragic end to his life, a young man finds himself trapped as a ghost, bound to the world by his lingering love for Penelope, the woman he once called his own. As he watches from the shadows, he sees her slowly rebuild her life without him—laughing, loving, and finding happiness with someone new. Each moment is a dagger to his heart, a reminder of what he’s lost and what he can never have again.

Penelope, still grieving the loss of her first love, struggles to reconcile her guilt with her desire to move on. When a kind and patient man enters her life, she finds herself torn between the past and the possibility of a new future. But as she takes tentative steps toward happiness, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched—that somehow, the man she loved is still with her.

Told in alternating perspectives, The Ghost and His Lover,  is a hauntingly beautiful tale of love, loss, and the painful process of letting go. It explores the enduring power of love, even beyond death, and the bittersweet truth that sometimes, loving someone means setting them free.

The Ghost and His Lover

I didn't think I would be able to laugh after he died. And yet, here I was, laughing, smiling, feeling something that wasn't grief. It scared me. Has my heart already moved on? Should I even be able to move on? The guilt only grew when his hand touched mine—not my lover's, but someone else's. The warmth of his skin was something I thought I'd never feel again, and yet here I was, craving it, craving to be loved.

Our hands intertwined, and I looked up at his face—not my lover's, but someone else's. Someone else was making me feel happy, and that terrified me. He was completely different: jet-black hair, dazzling blue eyes, and perfect porcelain skin. Not too soft, not too rough. He wasn't sunkissed like my lover had been, didn't have the soft blonde hair I used to run my fingers through. He was someone else, and yet…

I whispered his name, my voice betraying the guilt I felt and revealing the affection I couldn't deny. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, and I wanted to scream. How could I have fallen for someone else? He wasn't my lover, but perhaps… Perhaps he could make me feel just a little bit better. Just a little bit loved.

Every time I laughed, every time I smiled at him, a part of me wondered if I was erasing the memories of the man I once loved. Was I betraying him by finding happiness with someone else? His hand was warm, so warm, and it sent a shiver through me. Not the kind of shiver I used to feel with him, but something softer, quieter, like the first rays of sunlight after a long winter.

He wasn't like him. He didn't have the same easy laugh or the way of filling a room with his presence. But he was steady, patient, and his eyes held a kindness that made me feel safe in a way I hadn't in years. When he said my name, I felt a pang of guilt so sharp it stole my breath. How could I let someone else say my name like that? How could I let myself enjoy it?

And yet, I couldn't pull away. I couldn't let go. Because for the first time in so long, I didn't feel alone. And that scared me more than anything.

"Is something on your mind?" he asked, his eyes searching mine as if he could read the thoughts I was too afraid to voice.

I hesitated, my throat tightening. "I… it's not much, really," I replied, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. Not much? I was thinking of my lover, my whole world. Why did I lie? Was it because I didn't want to push him away? Or was it because, after so long, I craved this feeling—this fragile, fleeting sense of being loved—so much that I couldn't bear to ruin it?

I avoided his gaze, my eyes drifting to the bustling streets outside the café. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his hand in mine, the way his thumb brushed against my skin in a silent gesture of reassurance. I couldn't let go. I had longed for this for so long—to feel loved, to feel wanted—and yet, the guilt of betraying my lover brought tears to my eyes.

I turned my face away, hoping he wouldn't notice. But he did. He always did. He didn't push, didn't pry. He just sat there, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm of my emotions. And somehow, that made it worse. How could he be so kind when I was lying to him, when my heart was still tangled in the past?

"You don't have to talk about it," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress. "I'm here, no matter what."

His words should have comforted me, but instead, they only deepened the ache in my chest. Because he was here, and my lover wasn't. And no matter how much I wanted to hold on to the past, I couldn't deny that this man, this kind, patient man, was slowly becoming a part of my present while my lover was in the past.