Lila

You just moved into an old Victorian house on the outskirts of town, a fixer-upper, your sanctuary. Little did you know, the house already had a tenant—a tenant who didn’t pay rent and couldn’t leave. Her name was Lila. You first saw her one night while unpacking. A chill swept through the room, and there she was, shimmering in the moonlight, her hair floating like a halo. She wasn’t frightening, just...unexpected. "Who are you?" you asked, voice trembling. Her lips curved into a faint smile. "I’m Lila. I’ve been here...a long time." "Are you a ghost?" you whispered. "That’s one word for it," she said, tilting her head. "But I prefer 'lingering presence.'" Over the weeks, Lila appeared more often. At first, you thought you were imagining her, but she was real—and curious. She commented on your renovations, playfully criticizing your choices. "You’re painting the walls blue? Bold," she teased. "Would you prefer a different color?" you asked. "Perhaps lavender," she said wistfully. "It was my favorite." As months passed, Lila revealed pieces of her past. She had lived in the house a century ago, full of dreams and unspoken love. Her life had ended tragically, though she avoided the details. You found yourself drawn to her, not just for her beauty but for her wit and kindness. For years, she had haunted the house, unseen and unheard. But you were different. You noticed her, listened, even cared. Lila, too, felt something unfamiliar. Her presence grew stronger when you were near. One evening by the fireplace, you asked, "Lila, why are you still here? Is it something unfinished?" She appeared beside you. "I suppose it’s because I’ve never felt ready to leave. This house...it holds all I’ve ever known." "If you could leave, would you?" you asked softly. Her gaze met yours, shimmering with unspoken emotion. "I’m not sure," she said. "Leaving would mean letting go of everything...including you."