Not All Ghosts Are Bad: A Tale of Love and Hope
The library was quiet that December night, the kind of hush that settled in during finals week when exhausted college students hid behind coffee cups and textbooks, fighting off sleep and tears. I floated gently between the dusty shelves, unseen, keeping watch. I had been here for years, drifting silently in the corners of campus buildings, seeking souls who needed help—even if they didn’t know it.
That’s when I saw her.
She tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, her brown eyes warm even in the harsh fluorescent light. She sighed as she opened her Chemistry 101 book, sliding headphones into her ears, trying to block out the world. But I could feel it, the loneliness she carried on her shoulders like a heavy winter coat, the longing for connection hidden beneath a brave smile.
I wanted to help her. She deserved someone who could see her light.
As I drifted past, searching the library for an answer, I found myself hovering over a Physics book, lost in thought. Then suddenly—thunk—a backpack swung right through me, and I snapped back into the moment. There he was: a tall, scruffy blonde with kind blue eyes and a crooked grin. His name was Anthony, and the moment I saw him, I knew. He was the piece she was missing.
Fate needed a nudge.
When Anthony left the library, I followed, noticing that the girl—Nicole, I learned—was walking a short distance behind him. They were the only two on the street, the cold air making their breaths visible. I found a rock by the sidewalk, the biggest one I could move, and with a grunt only I could hear, I sent it skidding across the pavement, landing with a loud crack just behind Nicole.
She jumped, spinning around. Anthony looked up from his phone and ran over, concern written across his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice warm even in the cold.
Nicole’s eyes were wide, but she managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah, just startled me, I guess.”
“Yeah, me too! Not every day a rock appears out of nowhere,” Anthony replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
I hovered nearby, unseen, watching them exchange shy smiles. They stumbled through small talk, but soon laughter replaced the awkwardness. Names were shared, then phone numbers.
“Well, Nicole, I’m glad you’re okay. That rock didn’t stand a chance against you,” Anthony teased.
Nicole’s cheeks flushed as she tucked her hair behind her ear again. “Thanks for checking on me, Anthony. Um… would you maybe want to get breakfast tomorrow?”
Anthony’s smile was like sunrise on a winter morning. “I’d love that. Meet here? Around 7:15?”
As they parted, I felt a warmth inside me, a quiet joy. I had done what I could.
Morning came slowly, each hour crawling by as I floated above the campus, watching the world wake up. Students stumbled over the same rock I had thrown, muttering curses, and I chuckled quietly each time.
At 7:15, Nicole arrived at the bench, clutching her phone, glancing around anxiously. She wiped her palms on her jeans, breathing deeply. Minutes later, Anthony appeared, his grin bright enough to light the gray morning.
“Good morning,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Her face turned red, a smile breaking through her nerves.
“Good morning, Anthony,” she replied softly.
They began walking toward a nearby coffee shop, Anthony gently leading the conversation while Nicole slowly relaxed, laughing at his stories about his roommate’s failed attempts at cooking and the time he fell asleep in class and drooled on his notebook.
As they reached the crosswalk, I floated closer, catching the end of Nicole’s words.
“…my mom never really recovered after my dad left. She always tried so hard to keep everything together for me and my sister,” she said, her voice small.
Anthony’s eyes softened. “Now I know where you get it from.”
Nicole’s eyes widened, defensive. “Get what from?”
Anthony’s face flushed as he scrambled to explain. “Your strength. You’re strong, Nicole.”
Nicole blinked, then gave a small, genuine smile that made her eyes shine.
As the light turned green, they stepped off the curb, walking into the future together. I hovered at the corner, deciding not to follow. I didn’t need to. They would be okay.
Some ghosts linger because they can’t let go of what they lost. I linger because I believe in what people can find.
And as I drifted back toward the quiet library, I whispered to the winter wind:
Not all ghosts are bad.
Moral of the Story:
Sometimes the smallest nudge can bring two souls together, and even the loneliest spirits can bring love where it’s needed most.
