She Left Her Diary on My Coffin.

It was raining the day they buried me.

Not that it mattered. I was dead—cold, breathless, and buried beneath six feet of regrets. The world moved on quickly. No one wept loudly. No one screamed.

Except her.

Areeba.

She stood in the corner, face hidden beneath her grey hoodie, body shaking—not from cold, but from something deeper. I didn’t think she would come. After everything I had done… I wouldn’t have come either.But she came.

When the others left, she stayed behind. Alone with my coffin. And then, she did something no one expected.

She pulled a red leather diary from her bag and placed it gently on top of the wooden box that held what was left of me.

“I never hated you,” she whispered. “Even when I should have.”

Her voice cracked. I wish I could speak, tell her I was sorry, tell her that guilt followed me into the afterlife like a shadow. But the dead don’t get to apologize. We only get to watch.

She opened the diary and read aloud.

> “October 12th: He smiled at me again today. It’s the kind of smile that makes the world quieter. But I know what he hides behind it. I know more than he thinks.”

I felt it—my stomach turning. That was the day I stole her trust, the day I did the unforgivable.

“November 1st: I found the messages. Between him and Leena. He lied. All this time, he lied. And yet… I still waited for him to come clean.”

She had known.

She always knew

ecember 7th: He looked lost today. Eyes sunken, shoulders heavy. Maybe guilt is catching up. Or maybe he’s finally realizing I knew all along.”

Tears slipped from her eyes now.

“I waited for you to tell me the truth,” she said, staring at the coffin. “You never did. And now you never will.”

She closed the diary.

Then she smiled. A sad, broken smile.

“But here’s the real secret,” she whispered, placing her hand over the wood. “I forgave you. Long ago. You destroyed me, yes. But I forgave you… because I loved you more than I hated what you did.”

My heart—if it still existed—would’ve shattered

She turned to leave.

And then—she stopped.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Just wind, and rain, and the sound of my world crumbling even in death.

“You won’t get to meet them. But they’ll know who you were. The truth… all of it.”

She placed the diary in a plastic bag, sealed it, and left it there—on my grave. For the wind to carry or for time to bury.

Then she walked away.

No looking back.

No last goodbye.

Just a shadow fading into the fog, carrying a piece of me that I never deserved.