My Romantic Ghost

"You shouldn’t have come here," he whispered, his voice a blend of wind and sorrow, echoing through the cracked mirror. Jane froze. Her heart thundered as her reflection twisted—no longer hers but a boy’s face, pale and cracked with grief, eyes like grave-soaked secrets.



"Who... who are you?" she breathed, barely able to speak. Her fingers trembled at her sides.



"Jamie," he said, his lips not moving but his voice pressing into her mind. "I died in this school. But I never left."



She should have run. But something in his stare held her—an ache so deep it mirrored her own. The room grew colder, shadows crawling like fingers across the walls.



"They feed on the living here," Jamie continued. "Sacrifices. Secrets. And I was the first… but not the last. You’re in room 3, aren’t you?"



Jane took a step back. The mirror pulsed, a low hum rising in her ears.



_"Why me?" she asked.



Jamie’s smile was tragic. “Because the dead can’t love the dead… and I made the mistake of loving someone who lived."