Forgotten.

Three girls remained in the mess hall, surrounded by half-eaten plates, empty tumblers, and jackets slung over chairs.

They’ve been here the longest. Only three girls—not including me.

Never including me.

I had watched since the hall was buzzing with energy, laughter that echoed. Feet thumping on the ground. And then they began filing out, like blood rushing through veins. The room itself had grown smaller.

I sat in the corner, pressing my temple against the cool plaster of the wall. The afternoon sun dragged across the floorboards—too bright, too demanding. I kept my head down. It’s been like this lately, a constant, thrumming headache that makes the world feel distant, like I’m watching it through smudged glass.

My head has been muddled these days. I forget small things—the last time I actually sat down for a proper meal, the last time the noise of people didn’t feel like needles in my ears. My appetite disappeared first.

Then everything else followed.

I could faintly recall the names of the girls that remained. I knew Jenna the best. We were good friends once, I think. Before the fallout. I can’t recall the fight—just the silence that swallowed everything after. We had been inseparable: late-night noodles, stolen shampoo, laughing until the warden knocked. Funny how memory holds the warmth but forgets how to reach it again.

But now Jenna stuck close to Aria and Ella.

The three of them leaned in over the table, whispering. I shouldn’t have cared, but loneliness can make even background noise feel important. I leaned a little closer, just to pretend I was part of something. To hear what kept the girls occupied these days.

“The hallways are haunted, I’m telling you,” Aria whispered, eyes wide.

Jenna rolled her eyes, though she didn’t look convinced. “Everyone’s paranoid. Although Chris swore she saw a ghost last night. Said it was wearing flip-flops.”

They giggled—a sharp, nervous sound.

Ridiculous.

I let out a short, annoyed breath.

The laughter stopped. All three girls whipped their heads toward my corner. They stared right at me.

I shrank back, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”

They didn’t let me finish. They exchanged a look. Whispered things I couldn’t hear. Then, quietly, quickly, they gathered their things and slipped out of the hall without a single word in my direction.

I sat there, stung.

My mother always nagged me to walk more, to get my blood moving, so I’ve been taking long walks at night. Looks like my routine has to change, because these girls were making it difficult. Last night I ran into the three of them snooping around with a phone flashlight. I didn’t want to socialize when my hair was a mess and my eyes felt hollow. I’d actually become the ghost legend.

Someone dropped a spoon in the kitchen; the clang echoed too loudly.

Even small sounds scratch at my nerves lately. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, flickering in a way that made the shadows pulse. The whole room felt like it was waiting for me to leave first.

Eventually, I did.

I must have drifted off once I reached my room. The sun had vanished when I opened my eyes again—everything dipped in blue-black shadow.

My head was heavier than before.

I skipped dinner. I couldn’t handle the crowded hall, the way people’s conversations swelled and curled without including me. The dark felt gentler.

It wasn’t until the clock ticked close to midnight that I moved again.

I needed to brush my teeth. I hesitated at the door. The bathroom would be busy—cliques gathered there at night, gossip central. I didn’t want to be the girl hovering awkwardly at the sink while everyone else talked around me.

Just go, I told myself. Stop being a coward. Maybe Jenna will be there.

Maybe we can fix things.

I pulled my shrug tight and stepped out.

The hallway felt longer at night, stretching unnaturally, as though the darkness was tugging on both ends. I've been living in these dorms for a long time, but never once had the air felt this heavy—as if Aria's paranoid whispers had seeped into the plaster itself.

I counted the doors—twelve, thirteen, fourteen—grounding myself with each number. Lately, I’d been forcing myself to walk lighter—no need to feed their ghost stories.

I reached the bathroom and flicked on the lights. They buzzed overhead, a little too bright. I leaned against the vanity, trying to rehearse something normal to say.

Thump-thump-thump.

Footsteps. Rushing.

My stomach sank. Not now. I inhaled slowly. Maybe it’s Jenna, I

thought. Maybe she’ll actually look at me this time.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door. Whispering. I glanced at the clock hanging above the door. A minute past midnight.

A soft, hesitant knock.

The handle turned.

Aria and Jenna stepped inside, breathless, high-strung, their eyes scanning the room like they expected something monstrous to leap at them.

Then Jenna saw me.

Her gaze locked on mine. It was different than in the mess hall. No dismissal. No annoyance.

But her expression didn’t soften.

It shattered.

Her face drained of all color. Her chest hitched, mouth trembling open in pure, raw terror. Like someone stood beside me. Something.

Aria followed her gaze.

She screamed.

A real scream—thin and sharp and ripping from her throat. She grasped Jenna’s wrist and yanked her backwards so violently Jenna stumbled.

Both of them bolted, shrieking as they sprinted down the hallway.

Their footsteps echoed long after they were gone.

I stood there, frozen. Feet like concrete.

What is wrong with them?

Is this some kind of twisted joke? Did I look that bad? Was I really so unrecognizable now?

My pulse thudded in my ears. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I

needed to see. Needed to check behind me—even though I didn’t want to.

Slowly, fear clawing through me, I turned.

I saw the white tiles.

The taps.

The shower curtains shifting slightly from the draft.

No ghost.

Nothing.

Just—

Just the mirror.

And no one standing in it but the empty room behind me.