Living with the Unseen Living with the Unseen is a psychological and atmospheric short story that follows Loran, a night-shift nurse whose ordinary life fractures as she encounters unexplained presences in familiar spaces. As reality blurs and silence deepens, the story explores the invisible forces that exist around us—unnoticed, unnamed, and quietly powerful. This is not only Loran’s story, but a reflection of everyone who lives beside the unseen without ever realizing it. Loran lived her life by routines. Wake. Work. Return. Repeat. They grounded her, kept her thoughts orderly, and left little room for imagination. She had never believed in signs or superstitions. Life, to her, was practical—measured in heartbeats, charts, and quiet acts of care. As a practicing nurse working overnight shifts, Loran was accustomed to silence. Hospitals at night breathed differently. Hallways stretched longer, lights dimmed, and every sound—footsteps, distant machines, the rustle of papers—felt ampli...
Beneath the Neem Tree
This story is a reflection of a real place—rooted in memory, love, and quiet moments beneath the shade of a tree that stood for generations. The neem tree at the heart of this story was no ordinary tree. It was a well-known, evergreen beauty—gracefully spreading its branches and standing as the tallest tree in the center of our courtyard. Planted by my grandmother’s father-in-law, it became a living witness to family life, childhood joys, and the passage of time. Though the tree is no longer there, its presence lives on in the memories we carry.
In the heart of a noisy, fast-growing city stood an old house, and in the middle of its courtyard grew a neem tree—tall, proud, and deeply rooted in both soil and memory.
This neem tree wasn’t planted by chance. It was placed there by my grandmother’s father-in-law, many decades ago, with care and intention. Over the years, it grew into something more than just a tree. Its wide branches spread like arms embracing the house, and its leaves never stopped swaying, even on the stillest days.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew the tree. Its green leaves were often sought for home remedies, and its shade provided comfort not only to us but to birds, insects, and visitors alike. It was evergreen, ever-giving, and stood as the tallest tree in the center of the courtyard—watching over all who came and went.
Each morning and evening, the birds came home to it—sparrows, mynas, and parrots singing together in their shared sanctuary. Nests lined the branches, and soft feathers often floated down like blessings from above. The neem tree was not alone in its beauty. Nearby, a pomegranate tree and a guava tree added to the charm of our small garden, creating a peaceful oasis surrounded by concrete walls.
Sundays were something special. We called it “Family Fun Day.” My uncle would gather the kids—my niece, nephew, and cousins—for early morning stretches and workouts in the courtyard. Grandmother had lovingly tied a rope swing to one of the strong neem branches. The little girls would spend hours taking turns, swinging higher and higher with laughter that echoed through the yard.
Life was simple, and the house was alive. A rooster crowed at dawn, a hen clucked around her chicks, and cats lay lazily in patches of sunlight. After play, we would rest and watch a bit of television, but it was always the time beneath the tree that stayed with us the longest.
When the rains came, they brought a different kind of magic. The scent of wet earth mixed with the sharp freshness of neem leaves created a fragrance that no bottle could ever capture. The breeze whispered through the branches, carrying with it echoes of old conversations, childhood giggles, and quiet thoughts.
But as time passed, the needs of the family changed. The old house began to feel too small, too old. A new house was planned—modern, spacious, efficient. And to make room for it, the neem tree had to be cut down.
It was a hard goodbye.
We watched as the branches were taken down, piece by piece, until only a stump remained. The birds flew away. The swing was gone. And though the new house rose beautifully in its place, something felt missing. The courtyard, once so full of life, now stood silent.
And yet, even in the quiet, the tree lives on. In memories. In photographs. In stories like this one.
Sometimes, in the early morning light, I still imagine its leaves rustling, and I smile—knowing that some roots run deeper than we can ever see.
Have you ever had a place, a tree, or a moment in nature that felt like home? What memories do you carry beneath your own version of the neem tree?
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