She Wasn’t on the School Trip

🚌 1. The Trip

Our class trip to Murree was unforgettable. Not because of the mountains, or the bonfire, or the freezing cold that made even our teachers wear monkey caps. No, what made it unforgettable… was the girl in the photo.

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

And yet, there she was—right in the middle of our group picture. Row two. Head tilted. A cold smile.

The problem? None of us remember seeing her the entire trip.

📸 2. The Photo

We were back at school on Monday, groggy and sunburnt. Our class teacher Miss Rabia gathered us in the IT lab to look at the trip pictures on the projector.

“Wow, that one’s nice!” said someone as a full group shot popped up.

Twenty-seven students. All familiar faces.

Then we counted again.

Twenty-eight.

And there she was.

Long black hair, white scarf, pale skin. Standing right between me and Alina.

Alina turned to me and whispered, “Who is that?”

I had no answer.

🤔 3. Nobody Remembers

Miss Rabia looked confused. “Wait... who’s that girl in the scarf?”

We all shrugged. Some kids laughed awkwardly. Maybe it was a random passerby who photobombed. But… how was she standing perfectly posed? Right between us? Looking at the camera?

Someone zoomed in.

Her name tag read "Nayla".

But there had been no Nayla on the trip.

📚 4. The New Admission

On Tuesday, a new girl joined our class.

The principal walked in, said, “Everyone, this is Nayla. She just transferred here from Abbottabad.”

Every single student stared, frozen.

Same black hair. Same white scarf. Same cold smile.

The same girl from the photo.

She sat in the back row, next to me.

“Nice to meet you,” she whispered.

Her voice felt like wind through a graveyard.

💬 5. Things Go Missing

By Friday, strange things started happening.

Zoya’s gold bracelet disappeared from her bag.

Areeb's sketchbook was found in the toilet, every page torn.

Our class let turtle, Nugget, was gone—his tank filled with dead flowers.

Nayla never said much. But she always watched. Especially when someone cried.

One day, I found her standing outside the staffroom, staring through the glass at Miss Rabia, who looked visibly ill and hadn’t been eating.

“She’ll be next,” Nayla whispered.

🔍 6. Digging the Truth

I had to know who she was. That night, I searched school records online and found nothing. No new admissions this week. No Nayla.

I messaged Ali, our class monitor. He said, “Bro, she’s not even in the attendance register. But the teachers treat her like she’s always been here.”

He sent a voice note an hour later.

Just three seconds of static… and whispering that sounded like my name.

🕯️ 7. The Real Nayla

I went back to the photo. Zoomed in more.

Her eyes weren’t focused on the camera.

They were focused on me.

I showed it to my nani. Her face drained of color.

“She looks like Nayla Fatima,” she said quietly. “She died in a school bus accident in Abbottabad. That was years ago. It made the news.”

We searched together. Found the article.

Same face. Same scarf. Same eyes.

Nayla was dead.

🕳️ 8. The Final Absence

Monday morning, I came to school early.

There were only twenty-six students now.

Ali as gone. His chair sat empty, his nameplate removed like he’d never existed.

When I asked Miss Rabia where he was, she frowned. “Who?”

There was no Ali in the attendance register.

Only Nayla.

And when I looked at our class photo again...

Now there were twenty-nine students.

And I was standing right next to her.

🕷️ THE END