The girl behind the green window

There’s a room across from mine.
Second floor. Green window.
A girl stands there every night. Same time. Same place. Still as a statue.
But here's the problem.
That house has been abandoned for 27 years.



first noticed her on a Thursday. I had just moved into the small, rust-colored building across from what the locals called the haunted house. It wasn’t actually haunted—they said. Just forgotten.

The house was large, Victorian-style, with vines crawling up the walls like green veins. Its windows were always shut. Except for one—the green one on the second floor.

That night, at exactly 2:13 a.m., I looked out of my bedroom window and froze.

There she was.

A girl, maybe in her early 20s, standing behind the green glass, staring directly at me. Her hair was long and dark. Her dress looked old, like something from the 1940s. She didn’t move.

I thought it was a trick of the moonlight. Or maybe someone messing around.

But the next night—same time, same place—she was there again.

No blinking. No shifting. Just staring.

By the fifth night, I had stopped sleeping.



I asked the landlord.

"That house?" he scoffed. "Been empty since the Malik family vanished. Around 1998, I think. Cops searched it. Found nothing. People said it was cursed. Superstition, really."

“But I see someone,” I told him. “A girl. Every night.”

He looked at me long and hard. “You're seeing shadows, friend. That house is dead.”


I took photos. Nothing appeared.

I tried recording videos. Static.

I even asked a delivery guy to come in and see. He saw nothing.

But I kept seeing her. Always at 2:13 a.m.



On the 12th night, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I crossed the street. Climbed the broken iron gate. Walked through weeds taller than my knees. My flashlight flickered as I pushed the front door open.

Inside, everything smelled of rot and memory. The air was thick with silence.

I followed the stairs to the second floor.

There it was—the green window.

And beside it, the girl.

She was even more beautiful up close. Pale. Still. And not quite real.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

She turned to me, slowly.

"I'm waiting," she said softly. "He promised he'd come back."

"Who?"

She looked at the moonlight and smiled. "I’ve been waiting since the war ended."

That’s when I saw the blood on her hands.

And the newspaper on the floor. Dated August 15, 1947.


I blinked. She vanished.

I ran. Out of the room. Out of the house. Into the street.

I don’t remember sleeping that night.



Next morning, I went to the old archives at the city library.

It took four hours to find it.

“Mystery Disappearance: Bride Vanishes on Wedding Night”
Zeenat Malik, 23. Last seen by her fiancé, Major Rehan Qureshi, an army officer returning from the India-Pakistan border. She was standing near the green window, waiting. He was late. She was never seen again.

Witnesses claimed they saw her in the window every night that month. After that, the sightings stopped.

Until now.



That night, I waited by my window. She appeared again.

Only this time, she wasn’t staring at me.

She was smiling.

Behind her, in the green glow, stood a man in uniform.



And then they both faded… like smoke in moonlight.

The next night?

No one appeared.

And never again.



🕰️ Moral of the Story

Some spirits don’t haunt to scare.
They haunt to wait.
And sometimes… the one they wait for finally comes home.



📝 Author’s Note

This story was inspired by a real house I once saw during a summer trip to Rawalpindi. The green window was real. The feeling of someone watching? Also real.

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, there are places in this world where time gets stuck. Where stories whisper through walls, and memories refuse to fade.

Maybe that’s all ghosts are—unfinished stories looking for someone to listen.

If you ever walk past an old house and feel a chill for no reason, don’t be scared.

Just... wave at the window.

Maybe someone’s been waiting .