The Girl Who Never Woke Up

The Girl Who Never Woke Up

When Zara was sixteen, she fell asleep during a cold winter evening, never to wake up again.

It was not a coma. The doctors were baffled. Her heartbeat was normal, her brain showed light activity, and she breathed steadily. But her consciousness was unreachable. Her family tried everything — from advanced medical treatments to spiritual healing — yet she remained in a state that no one could define.

Some called it "living sleep." Others whispered of curses, jinns, and ancient punishment. But one thing was clear — Zara’s soul was somewhere far from her body.

---

Zara had always been a dreamer. From early childhood, she’d talk about vivid dreams — lush valleys, silent cities, shadowy people watching her from across rivers. But no one paid attention. They thought she just had an overactive imagination.

The day she stopped waking up, she had mentioned something odd to her younger sister.

> “Tonight I will meet the woman in black again,” she said. “But this time... I might not return.”

Her words sent a chill, but no one truly understood — until the morning came, and she did not wake up.

---

Weeks turned into months. Her parents took shifts, sitting beside her bed. Sometimes, tears flowed freely; sometimes, silence was louder than screams. The doctors gave up. “Her brain is resting,” they said. “But we don’t know why.”

But strange things began happening.

Zara’s eyes moved rapidly during sleep, as if watching something with intent. Her fingers twitched, and once, her lips curled into a terrified whisper — “Run!”

Her sister started keeping a diary of these moments.

> “January 13: Zara moved her hand like she was holding something invisible. Her lips trembled, and she whispered, ‘Don’t take my name.’”

“February 9: A strange scent filled the room. Like jasmine and smoke. Zara smiled in her sleep.”

---

One night, her father dreamt of Zara. She was standing near a bridge made of silver, wearing a white dress and no shoes.

> “I’m here,” she said. “But I’m not alone.”

He woke up screaming.

From that day, others in the house began to have dreams of Zara too. In every dream, she was somewhere surreal — a place with soft winds, cloudy skies, and mirrors instead of windows. She never asked to be rescued. She never cried. But she never looked peaceful.

---

A scholar visited their home, someone known to deal with “sleeping spirits.” He examined Zara and said one line that shook the family:

> “She is alive in another layer of existence. Her dream became a door — and someone opened it from the other side.”

He suggested not waking her forcefully. “She’s not alone there,” he warned. “There are rules where she walks now.”

But who was with her?

---

Zara’s sister placed a mic near her bed every night, hoping to record something. One night, at exactly 3:07 AM, a voice whispered on the recorder:

> “She’s learning the names.”

The voice was not Zara’s. It was raspy, slow, and echoed like it came from a cave. Her family began to fear the unknown.

---

Then came the night of her 18th birthday.

The lights flickered. Zara’s room turned cold. Her eyes fluttered open — for the first time in two years.

She stared at her mother, but didn’t recognize her. Her lips parted.

> “I was dreaming... but they weren’t.”

Her voice was empty. Her face expressionless.

And then, as if a shadow swept across her soul, she screamed — a long, sharp cry that shook the windows.

She fainted. And never woke up again.

---

This time, even her dreams were gone. Her eyes stopped moving. Her fingers fell still. It was as if something had been taken from her.

The family buried her body months later, when her heartbeat finally gave up.

But they say, even today, on winter nights — if you sit beside her grave and close your eyes — you might hear a girl whispering…

> “Please… don’t wake me up.”