The Girl Who Never Existed
Everyone remembered her.
That was the strange part.
They remembered the way she laughed too loudly at bad jokes, how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, and how she smelled faintly like jasmine and old books. She sat by the window in class, second row from the back. She hated math, loved poetry, and always doodled tiny stars in the margins of her notebooks.
Her name was Lina.
And I loved her.
The first time we spoke, it was raining. I had forgotten my umbrella, and she was standing under the school gate, holding one that was slightly too small for both of us.
"You can share," she said, smiling like we already knew each other.
We walked home together, shoulders bumping, shoes splashing through puddles. She talked about the clouds as if they were alive, like they had feelings. I laughed at how serious she sounded.
That was the beginning of everything.
We became inseparable after that.
We studied together in the library, whispering more than reading. She would slide notes across the table that said things like, "Do you think stars ever get lonely?" or "If we run away, where should we go?"
I kept every note.
She loved the old oak tree behind the football field. She said it felt like a guardian watching over the school. We carved our initials into its bark one afternoon — A + L — and she made me promise something.
"Even if we stop talking one day," she said, tracing the carving with her finger, "don't forget me."
"Why would I ever forget you?" I asked.
She didn't answer. She just smiled, but her eyes looked… sad. Like she knew a secret I didn't.
The day I realized something was wrong was a Monday.
Lina wasn't in her seat.
I waited, thinking she was late. She was never late.
I texted her. No reply.
By lunch, I felt uneasy. I asked our friends, "Have you seen Lina today?"
They looked confused.
"Lina who?"
"Lina," I repeated. "Long black hair, always carrying a blue notebook?"
They shook their heads.
I laughed nervously. "Very funny."
But they weren't joking.
I went to the school office. "Can you check attendance for Lina Ahmed?" I asked.
The lady typed, frowning. "There's no student by that name."
"That's impossible," I said. "She's in my class."
She turned the monitor toward me. The list of students. Her name wasn't there.
My chest tightened. "Maybe she transferred?"
"We haven't had any transfers this term."
I walked out in a daze.
I checked my phone.
Our messages were gone.
Every photo of us together — gone.
Her contact didn't exist.
My hands started shaking.
I ran to the oak tree behind the field.
The carving was still there.
A + L
Proof. She was real. She had to be.
I took a picture of it and showed it to my best friend.
"Who's L?" he asked.
"Lina! We carved it together!"
He frowned. "You carved that last year, remember? You said the L stood for 'Life' because you were being dramatic."
I stared at him.
I had no memory of that.
Days passed. Then weeks.
No one remembered her.
Teachers. Students. Even my parents.
"Mom, you met her at the festival," I insisted.
She looked worried. "Honey, I think you're stressed."
But I wasn't imagining the notes in my drawer — the ones about lonely stars and running away. They were in her handwriting. I was sure of it.
Every night, I dreamed of her.
In my dreams, she stood far away, like on the other side of glass. She'd smile, but there were tears in her eyes.
"Why did you leave?" I asked once.
"I didn't leave," she whispered. "I was never supposed to stay."
One evening, I went back to the oak tree.
I sat under it, my back against the rough bark, and cried for the first time since she disappeared.
"I remember you," I said out loud. "Even if no one else does."
The wind picked up softly, rustling the leaves.
And then I heard it.
Her laugh.
Soft. Familiar. Right beside me.
I froze.
"Lina?" I whispered.
"I'm sorry," her voice said, as if carried by the wind itself. "I didn't mean to make you hurt."
"Where are you?" I stood up, heart pounding. "Why can't anyone remember you?"
There was a long silence.
"I wasn't… real. Not the way you are."
"That doesn't make sense!"
"I was a moment," she said gently. "A piece of time that wasn't meant to last. Some people are forever. Some people are just… lessons. Feelings. Memories."
Tears blurred my vision. "You felt real to me."
"I was," she said. "To you, I was real. That's enough."
I reached out, but my hands touched only air.
"Will I see you again?" I asked.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But every time you look at the sky and wonder if the stars get lonely… that's me, thinking of you too."
The wind died down.
The air felt empty.
But my heart felt full and broken at the same time.
Years later, I still visit that tree.
The carving has faded, the bark growing around it, but you can still see it if you look closely.
A + L
Time has a way of covering things, of softening edges, of turning sharp pain into quiet memories. I don't cry there anymore. I just sit, close my eyes, and listen to the wind move through the leaves.
I used to think love had to last forever to be real.
I was wrong.
Some people stay in your life for years and never truly see you.Some stay for a moment and change you completely.
Lina was never in class photos, attendance sheets, or anyone else's memories.
But she was in mine.
And maybe that's what mattered.
Because loving her taught me things no textbook ever could.
She taught me that moments are fragile, and that's exactly why they're precious. We don't get to choose how long someone stays — we only get to choose how deeply we care while they're here.
She taught me to notice small things: the shape of clouds, the quiet comfort of sitting beside someone, the way laughter can make an ordinary day unforgettable.
Most of all, she taught me that not all love stories are meant to have happy endings — but that doesn't make them tragedies. Some are simply lessons wrapped in feelings, memories disguised as people, gifts that arrive quietly and leave before we're ready.
For a long time, I was angry. Angry that no one else remembered. Angry that I couldn't prove she was real.
But growing up means understanding that not everything meaningful can be explained. Not every truth can be shown. Some things exist only in the heart, and that doesn't make them imaginary — it makes them personal.
Lina may have been a moment, like she said.
But moments can shape a lifetime.
Because of her, I listen more carefully when someone talks. I don't ignore people who sit alone. I say what I feel before it's too late. I don't assume tomorrow is guaranteed.
I learned that love isn't measured by time — it's measured by impact.
And hers was infinite.
Sometimes, late at night, I still look up at the sky.
Not because I'm sad anymore.
But because loving someone who "never existed" taught me something very real:
Cherish people while they're here.Speak your heart before silence steals the chance.And never believe that something has to last forever to mean everything.
So when people ask me why I stare at the stars so often, I just smile.
Because somewhere between the stars, in the quiet spaces no one else notices, lives the girl who never existed…
…and the love that taught me how to truly live.
The Girl Who Never Existed
Everyone remembered her.
That was the strange part.
They remembered the way she laughed too loudly at bad jokes, how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, and how she smelled faintly like jasmine and old books. She sat by the window in class, second row from the back. She hated math, loved poetry, and always doodled tiny stars in the margins of her notebooks.
Her name was Lina.
And I loved her.
The first time we spoke, it was raining. I had forgotten my umbrella, and she was standing under the school gate, holding one that was slightly too small for both of us.
"You can share," she said, smiling like we already knew each other.
We walked home together, shoulders bumping, shoes splashing through puddles. She talked about the clouds as if they were alive, like they had feelings. I laughed at how serious she sounded.
That was the beginning of everything.
We became inseparable after that.
We studied together in the library, whispering more than reading. She would slide notes across the table that said things like, "Do you think stars ever get lonely?" or "If we run away, where should we go?"
I kept every note.
She loved the old oak tree behind the football field. She said it felt like a guardian watching over the school. We carved our initials into its bark one afternoon — A + L — and she made me promise something.
"Even if we stop talking one day," she said, tracing the carving with her finger, "don't forget me."
"Why would I ever forget you?" I asked.
She didn't answer. She just smiled, but her eyes looked… sad. Like she knew a secret I didn't.
The day I realized something was wrong was a Monday.
Lina wasn't in her seat.
I waited, thinking she was late. She was never late.
I texted her. No reply.
By lunch, I felt uneasy. I asked our friends, "Have you seen Lina today?"
They looked confused.
"Lina who?"
"Lina," I repeated. "Long black hair, always carrying a blue notebook?"
They shook their heads.
I laughed nervously. "Very funny."
But they weren't joking.
I went to the school office. "Can you check attendance for Lina Ahmed?" I asked.
The lady typed, frowning. "There's no student by that name."
"That's impossible," I said. "She's in my class."
She turned the monitor toward me. The list of students. Her name wasn't there.
My chest tightened. "Maybe she transferred?"
"We haven't had any transfers this term."
I walked out in a daze.
I checked my phone.
Our messages were gone.
Every photo of us together — gone.
Her contact didn't exist.
My hands started shaking.
I ran to the oak tree behind the field.
The carving was still there.
A + L
Proof. She was real. She had to be.
I took a picture of it and showed it to my best friend.
"Who's L?" he asked.
"Lina! We carved it together!"
He frowned. "You carved that last year, remember? You said the L stood for 'Life' because you were being dramatic."
I stared at him.
I had no memory of that.
Days passed. Then weeks.
No one remembered her.
Teachers. Students. Even my parents.
"Mom, you met her at the festival," I insisted.
She looked worried. "Honey, I think you're stressed."
But I wasn't imagining the notes in my drawer — the ones about lonely stars and running away. They were in her handwriting. I was sure of it.
Every night, I dreamed of her.
In my dreams, she stood far away, like on the other side of glass. She'd smile, but there were tears in her eyes.
"Why did you leave?" I asked once.
"I didn't leave," she whispered. "I was never supposed to stay."
One evening, I went back to the oak tree.
I sat under it, my back against the rough bark, and cried for the first time since she disappeared.
"I remember you," I said out loud. "Even if no one else does."
The wind picked up softly, rustling the leaves.
And then I heard it.
Her laugh.
Soft. Familiar. Right beside me.
I froze.
"Lina?" I whispered.
"I'm sorry," her voice said, as if carried by the wind itself. "I didn't mean to make you hurt."
"Where are you?" I stood up, heart pounding. "Why can't anyone remember you?"
There was a long silence.
"I wasn't… real. Not the way you are."
"That doesn't make sense!"
"I was a moment," she said gently. "A piece of time that wasn't meant to last. Some people are forever. Some people are just… lessons. Feelings. Memories."
Tears blurred my vision. "You felt real to me."
"I was," she said. "To you, I was real. That's enough."
I reached out, but my hands touched only air.
"Will I see you again?" I asked.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But every time you look at the sky and wonder if the stars get lonely… that's me, thinking of you too."
The wind died down.
The air felt empty.
But my heart felt full and broken at the same time.
Years later, I still visit that tree.
The carving has faded, the bark growing around it, but you can still see it if you look closely.
A + L
Time has a way of covering things, of softening edges, of turning sharp pain into quiet memories. I don't cry there anymore. I just sit, close my eyes, and listen to the wind move through the leaves.
I used to think love had to last forever to be real.
I was wrong.
Some people stay in your life for years and never truly see you.Some stay for a moment and change you completely.
Lina was never in class photos, attendance sheets, or anyone else's memories.
But she was in mine.
And maybe that's what mattered.
Because loving her taught me things no textbook ever could.
She taught me that moments are fragile, and that's exactly why they're precious. We don't get to choose how long someone stays — we only get to choose how deeply we care while they're here.
She taught me to notice small things: the shape of clouds, the quiet comfort of sitting beside someone, the way laughter can make an ordinary day unforgettable.
Most of all, she taught me that not all love stories are meant to have happy endings — but that doesn't make them tragedies. Some are simply lessons wrapped in feelings, memories disguised as people, gifts that arrive quietly and leave before we're ready.
For a long time, I was angry. Angry that no one else remembered. Angry that I couldn't prove she was real.
But growing up means understanding that not everything meaningful can be explained. Not every truth can be shown. Some things exist only in the heart, and that doesn't make them imaginary — it makes them personal.
Lina may have been a moment, like she said.
But moments can shape a lifetime.
Because of her, I listen more carefully when someone talks. I don't ignore people who sit alone. I say what I feel before it's too late. I don't assume tomorrow is guaranteed.
I learned that love isn't measured by time — it's measured by impact.
And hers was infinite.
Sometimes, late at night, I still look up at the sky.
Not because I'm sad anymore.
But because loving someone who "never existed" taught me something very real:
Cherish people while they're here.Speak your heart before silence steals the chance.And never believe that something has to last forever to mean everything.
So when people ask me why I stare at the stars so often, I just smile.
Because somewhere between the stars, in the quiet spaces no one else notices, lives the girl who never existed…
…and the love that taught me how to truly live.