The Love that Haunts °ArShi°

Chapter 2

The library was always Khushi's sanctuary, a place where the scent of aged paper and leather-bound secrets whispered promises of answers. Now, it was also the place where she could talk to Arnav.

"This one's promising," Khushi muttered, carefully turning the brittle pages of a manuscript detailing ancient rituals. 

Her fingers traced the faded ink, feeling a strange thrill at the thought of finding a way to free the spirit of Arnav. 

"Do you truly think an old book can do what centuries have not?" his voice vibrated through the air.

Khushi looked up, her eyes meeting his spectral gaze. 

"It's not just a book, Arnav. It's history, it's knowledge. Someone, somewhere, must have dealt with this before. And besides," she added, a playful glint in her eyes, "I have never been one to back down from a challenge."

She spent days buried in the library. The hours blurred into a rhythm of reading, deciphering, and discussing. Arnav became her constant companion, sometimes visible, sometimes invisible, but a constant presence she had grown used to. He would sometimes point out the nuances she missed, his knowledge of old languages and traditions surprised her. He, in turn, was fascinated by her passion, her unwavering belief that she could change his fate.

One afternoon, Khushi was reading a particularly dense passage about spirit anchors. 

"It speaks of a 'tether' that binds souls to the mortal realm," she explained, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Something that prevents it from moving on."

Arnav drifted closer, his form flickering slightly as if reacting to the mention of his trapped existence. 

"Usually, a strong emotional connection," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "Or unfinished business."

Taking a deep breath, Khushi slowly turned the pages, her finger tracing the faded words as she read. 

Khushi flipped through the yellowed pages, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was looking for any mention of the Raizada family, any clue that would shed light on Arnav's past. The script was an antique Hindi, the kind she'd only seen in old manuscripts, full of flowery curlicues and intricate strokes. It was difficult to decipher, but she was drawn to it, compelled by a force she didn't quite understand. The book was filled with tales of local lore, obscure rituals, and forgotten beliefs. As she read, the words seemed to shimmer and dance before her eyes, pulling her deeper into the past.

"It's about... a ritual," she murmured, tracing a particular line with her finger. "Aamna. It's...it's a practice they used to perform in this region, a hundred years ago."

Arnav drifted closer, his ethereal eyes fixed on the page. "Aamna? I've never heard of it." 

Khushi continued reading aloud, translating as she went. 

"It speaks of offering a piece of oneself – a memory, a desire, a deep regret – to... to the earth, to the spirit of the land. To be free from...anguish."

As she translated, the words resonated within her, chilling her to the bone. She glanced up and found Arnav staring at her intently, his gaze penetrating, unnervingly focused. It was the first time she felt like she wasn't just sensing his presence, but that he was truly seeing her.

"Khushi," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "You can read it."

She blinked, startled. "What? Read what? I was just... translating."

"No," he insisted, his voice sharper now, tinged with a strange urgency. "The writing...it's old. Very old. It hasn't been used in a century. How can you read it with such ease?"

He moved even closer, his spectral form almost touching her, and Khushi felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold of the library. She could feel his presence, the intensity of his confusion, the sudden stirring of something profound.

"I'm...I'm not sure," she stammered, her heart pounding against her ribs. She looked down at the book again, the old script blurring slightly as she tried to focus. She realised he was right. It wasn't just the words; it was the meaning behind them that seemed to unfold effortlessly in her mind. It felt like she was remembering something, not merely deciphering it.

"What... what does it say?" he finally asked, his voice a low whisper that seemed to vibrate through the air.

Khushi traced a line of script with her index finger. "This was an ancient ritual, performed by princes in the old days, a way to... to bind." She hesitated, unsure if she should be sharing this with him.

"Bind what?" Arnav prompted, urgency lacing his voice.

Khushi swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "It says... to bind a spirit to this world, using their devotion and love, promising them a place here until they themselves chose to move on," She read further, "But the ritual... the book says it could backfire if the prince performing it was not pure of heart... if his intentions weren't entirely selfless."

A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy and thick. Khushi could almost feel the weight of a century crash down upon them. The room seemed to shrink, the candlelight casting long, distorted shadows. She looked up at Arnav, his spectral face stark with a mix of recognition and pain.

"This... this is about you, isn't it?" Khushi asked, her voice shaking. She could feel the weight of the words, the sadness, the injustice they spoke of. She'd read countless ghost stories, but this felt different, more real.

The sound of silence filled the attic for a brief moment. Then, Arnav's voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. 

"I don't remember, Khushi," Arnav sighed. 

"Did you tried to bind someone's spirit?" Khushi asked, her gaze locked on his. 

"You think it backfired and that's why I am trapped here?" Arnav asked back, realisation hitting him hard.

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That's all for today :)