Girl in the Purple Window

Every evening at exactly 6:17 PM, she appeared.

High above Main Street, in the third-floor window of the old Ashbury building, framed by purple curtains that glowed like twilight, the girl would sit quietly. Always in the same place. Always still.

She didn’t move. She didn’t wave. She didn’t blink.

But she watched.

---

My name is Noah, and I first noticed her while waiting at the bus stop across the street. At first, I thought she was a mannequin—too still, too perfect. Pale face, long dark hair, and eyes that seemed… distant.

Then one day, her gaze met mine.

A chill ran down my spine.

I told my friend Casey. She laughed.

> “You’re being dramatic. Maybe she’s just shy.”

But shy girls don’t stare like that.

They don’t vanish the second you look away.

---

🕰️ Chapter Two: The Disappearance

One day, the window was empty.

No purple glow. No silhouette. Nothing.

I felt… anxious. As if something had been taken from the rhythm of my day. For two weeks, she didn’t appear. Then one stormy evening, the glow returned—and so did she.

Only this time, she looked different.

She wasn’t sitting anymore. She was standing.

And crying.

I crossed the street impulsively. Entered the building.

The doorman stopped me.

“You live here?” he asked.

“No. But I saw someone in the third-floor window. She looked… upset.”

The doorman stared at me for a moment. Then said,

> “Son, that floor’s been vacant for over 40 years.”

---

📜 Chapter Three: The Forgotten Name

I didn’t sleep that night.

Next morning, I went to the local library. Looked up old records of the Ashbury building. And I found her.

Eleanor Mae Carter.

Died in 1982. Age 17.

Fell—or was pushed—from that very window.

No arrest. No trial.

The case had faded into dust, just like the building.

But her name hadn’t.

Someone had written in the margin of the article:

> “She still waits.”

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🕯️ Chapter Four: The Truth in the Glass

I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

That evening, I returned to the building. Snuck inside. Climbed the creaking stairs to the third floor. The hallway was dark, abandoned. Doors broken. Walls stained. But the last room on the left… was lit.

I entered.

There was no furniture. Just dust. And cold.

But then I saw it—the purple curtains, still hanging, glowing faintly.

I stepped closer to the window. Looked out.

And froze.

I saw the street.

I saw the bus stop.

And I saw... myself, standing there, looking up.

A whisper behind me:

> “You see me now.”

I turned.

She was there.

Not ghostly. Not monstrous. Just a girl. Sad. Tired.

Real.

> “Why do you watch me?” I asked.

She replied,

> “Because you’re the only one who ever looked and didn’t look away.”

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💜 Final Chapter: Letting Go

Over the next few nights, I returned.

We talked.

She told me the truth. She hadn’t fallen. She had jumped.

Loneliness, pain, betrayal—it had all pushed her toward that ledge.

“I wanted someone to see me,” she said.

“But no one ever did. Not until it was too late.”

One night, I brought a lantern.

Placed it by the window.

“For others to see you too,” I said.

She smiled. For the first time.

> “Maybe now... I can rest.”

The next day, the window was empty.

And it stayed that way.

But the lantern kept glowing.

---

🌌 Epilogue

I still pass by Main Street.

Sometimes I stop at the bus stop.

Look up. Just in case.

I never see her again.

But every now and then, when the sky turns violet and the wind feels like a whisper, I feel her watching. Not trapped anymore—but free.

And I remember:

Sometimes, the ones behind the window aren't waiting to scare us.

They're waiting to be seen.