THE LAST VOICE NOTE SHE LEFT ME

Her name was Ayla, and for three years, she had been the brightest part of my small, quiet life. We weren’t dating. We weren’t siblings. We were something in between—two broken kids who accidentally became each other’s lifelines.

She was the kind of girl who laughed too loudly, cried too quietly, and always smelled like vanilla lip balm. And then, without warning, she was gone.

The official report said accident.

A late-night bus, a slippery road, a driver too tired to stay awake.

End of story.

But I should’ve known nothing about Ayla ended quietly.

Not even her death.

1. The Voice Note

The day after her funeral, I sat alone in my bedroom, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. My phone buzzed once—just one soft vibration.

WhatsApp. 1 new voice message. From: Ayla.

My heart froze.

For a moment, I told myself it was old. Something she had recorded earlier. A glitch. Technology messing with me. Anything but what it looked like.

But the timestamp said:

Sent: Today — 2:11 AM Duration: 00:17

Seventeen seconds.

Seventeen seconds sent after she died.

My fingers trembled as I pressed play.

First, I heard her breathing—sharp, panicked, unstable.

“Ali…” her voice cracked, like she had been crying for hours. “If… if you get this… I don’t know if—”

There was a loud thud, like something hitting the ground.

Then her voice again, lower, urgent.

“Someone is following me. If I don’t make it back…” Her breath hitched. “Please—tell them. Tell them everything. Especially you.”

Another sound—like feet on gravel.

“Ali, I’m so—”

A sudden scream cut through the air so violently I threw my phone onto the bed.

Then silence.

Seventeen seconds of terror.

My best friend’s last known recording.

Sent after her death.

And addressed to me.

2. The Aftermath

I replayed the voice note ten times—each time hoping I misheard something, anything. But the fear in her voice was unmistakable.

Someone was chasing her.

Someone she recognized.

Someone she never escaped from.

The next morning, I walked to school in a daze, the world around me a blur of meaningless colors. People whispered when I passed.

“That’s Ayla’s best friend…” “He was with her the day before she died.” “Poor kid.”

If only they knew.

At lunch, her seat was still empty beside mine, the paint on the desk chipped in the exact spot she used to tap when she was bored.

I reached into my pocket and played the voice note again—quietly, secretly, like a prayer.

That’s when I noticed something strange.

In the background of the recording, behind her heavy breaths, behind the footsteps, behind the scream…

There was a sound.

A low mechanical hum.

And then a faint announcement:

“Next departure: Platform—”

The rest was lost in static.

A platform.

A station.

She wasn’t anywhere near the bus stop where the accident happened.

She was somewhere else entirely.

3. The Clue

That night, I put on my hoodie and walked to the only place open late—Central Train Station, ten minutes from my house. The same hum from the voice note vibrated through the ground beneath my shoes.

A station worker sweeping the floor glanced at me. “Trains still running?” I asked casually.

“Last one just left,” he replied.

I nodded and walked deeper inside, listening carefully to every sound.

Then I heard it.

A distant speaker crackled:

“Next departure: Platform 7.”

Platform 7.

The exact tone from the voice note.

My heart pounded as I moved toward the back of the station where Platform 7 sat alone in the dim, yellow lights. No trains. No passengers. Just silence.

Until I saw it.

A security camera pointed directly at the far end of the platform.

If Ayla had been here…

It might have recorded everything.

I rushed to the security office, nerves on fire.

A bored guard sat behind a desk, scrolling through his phone.

“Can I help you?” he asked without looking up.

“My friend…” I swallowed hard. “Her name was Ayla. She… she died yesterday. I think she was here before it happened. Can I check the footage?”

“Family only,” he grunted.

I slipped the voice note onto the desk. “I need answers,” I whispered. “Please.”

He raised an eyebrow.

After a moment of silence, he sighed. “Five minutes. That’s all.”

He unlocked the monitor and rewound the footage to 2 AM.

My breath caught in my throat.

There she was.

Ayla. Running. Terrified.

She kept looking over her shoulder—at someone the camera couldn’t see.

She stumbled, fell, picked herself up again.

Then she stopped. Turned toward the camera. And whispered something.

I leaned closer.

But there was no audio on the CCTV.

And then…

A tall figure emerged in the distance—just a shadow.

Ayla backed up.

The shadow moved toward her.

The screen flickered.

And the last frame frozen on the monitor was her face twisted in fear.

“Holy shit…” the guard muttered.

I stepped back, dizzy. The world around me blurred.

And then the guard asked quietly:

“Is that the moment she died?”

“No,” I whispered, staring at her frozen terrified face. “She died five hours later… in a bus accident.”

4. The Message Behind the Message

I walked home in the cold night air, my mind spiraling.

She was alive after the station. She even got on the bus. But something had happened at Platform 7 that changed everything.

The next morning, I played the voice note again—this time with earphones, isolating each background sound.

Breathing. Footsteps. Train announcement. A metallic clang. Wind.

And then—

Very faintly…

A man’s voice.

Just one word:

“Stop.”

Chills spread through me.

Someone was following her.

Someone spoke in the recording.

Someone alive.

My phone buzzed suddenly.

A message.

Unknown Number: Stop digging.

My stomach dropped.

Another message came:

This is your only warning.

5. The Secret She Was Hiding

I didn’t go to school that day. Instead, I went to Ayla’s house. Her mother opened the door, her eyes swollen, face pale.

“I need to see her room,” I said softly.

She stared at me for a long moment and then stepped aside.

Her room still smelled like her. Candles. Flowers. Vanilla. I swallowed the lump in my throat and began searching—gently, respectfully.

I checked her desk. Her books. Her drawers.

Then I found it.

A small notebook hidden under her pillow.

On the first page was a date—written three days before her death.

“If something happens to me… this is the truth.”

My hands shook as I turned the page.

Ayla had written everything.

She had seen something.

Something she shouldn’t have.

Three nights before her death, she witnessed:

A man drugging a girl behind the train station.

She tried to stop him, but he threatened her. Then he started following her. Everywhere.

She didn’t go to the police because the man told her:

“I know where you live. I know your friends. Especially Ali.”

My chest tightened.

She died trying to protect me.

6. The Night It Happened

I walked back to Platform 7 that night, holding her notebook like a lifeline.

The station was empty again—quiet, cold, unsettling.

I sat on the bench where she must have waited.

I played the voice note one last time.

And for the first time, I wasn’t listening to the fear in her voice.

I was listening to the wind.

To the echoes.

To the environment.

Then it hit me.

The metallic clang wasn’t random.

It was the old broken gate behind Platform 7—the one that led to a restricted storage area.

If the man followed her there… he could’ve hurt her without cameras.

My pulse pounded as I walked toward the rusted gate.

I pushed it open.

It screeched loudly—the same sound from the recording.

Behind it was a narrow alley and a dark storage building.

I stepped inside.

The floor creaked.

The air was stale.

And then—

A voice behind me.

“I told you to stop digging.”

My blood turned to ice.

I turned slowly.

A tall man stood in the doorway, blocking the exit. The same height. The same shadowy outline from the security footage.

The same voice in the voice note.

“You killed her,” I whispered.

“She should’ve stayed out of my business,” he replied calmly. “And so should you.”

He took a step forward.

Another.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

“Her death was an accident,” he said. “Until you made it a problem.”

He reached into his pocket.

I thought it was a weapon.

But it was her phone.

Ayla’s cracked pink phone case.

He smirked. “She didn’t send you that voice note. I did. Wanted you to know she died scared.”

Something inside me snapped.

I bolted toward the side door, pushing it open and sprinting toward the station lights. He chased me, footsteps thunderous behind me.

But the guard from last night saw me.

Saw him.

And immediately yelled, “HEY! STOP!”

The man turned and ran into the darkness.

He escaped.

But he left behind Ayla’s phone.

And everything on it.

7. The Truth Comes Out

Police took over the case that night.

The voice note. The CCTV footage. Ayla’s notebook. Her phone with dozens of photos and recordings she had saved of the man following her.

It was enough.

Within a week, the man was arrested.

He had already hurt three girls before Ayla.

She was the first who tried to expose him.

8. Her Final Message

Three weeks later, I sat on Ayla’s favorite hill overlooking the city, holding her phone in my hand.

The police gave it back to me.

“Because she wanted you to have it,” her mother said.

I scrolled through her voice notes, her selfies, her stupid jokes she recorded just to annoy me.

Then I found one labeled:

“For Ali (Don’t open unless something happens to me)”

My throat tightened.

I pressed play.

“Hey, dummy,” she laughed softly. “If you’re hearing this… then I guess things got bad.”

Her voice cracked a little.

“I just want you to know… you were the best part of my life. The safest. The realest.”

A pause.

“I was never scared because I thought I’d die. I was scared that you’d be alone. So if I’m gone… don’t freeze your life. Don’t hide. Don’t blame yourself.”

Another pause.

“Thank you for showing me what real friendship feels like. You saved me more times than you know.”

A long shaky breath.

“I hope, someday, you forgive me for leaving.”

The recording ended.

I stared at the city lights through blurry vision.

She died afraid.

But she didn’t die alone.

Because I held her last words. Her last memories. Her last truth.

And now the world knew it, too.

For the first time since she left, I whispered into the wind:

“I forgive you. And I miss you.”

The wind carried the words away gently—like maybe she heard them.

Maybe she always would.