Caught in the Crossworlds

Meera was nineteen, with a curious mind that wandered far beyond the routines of her quiet life. While her friends talked about college, fashion, or weekend plans, Meera found herself drawn to something deeper—something strange and unseen. She had always been fascinated by mysteries, but the idea of hypnotism held her in an unusual grip. Not the kind done on stage for laughs, but real hypnotism—the kind where you fall into a trance so deep that your consciousness slips into another world. She imagined what it would be like to uncover hidden memories, unlock dreams, even glimpse parts of her soul she hadn’t met yet.

Every night, she watched videos on hypnotism—guided sessions, stories of people discovering their past lives, testimonies of spiritual awakenings. The more she watched, the stronger her desire became. She was no longer just curious; she wanted to experience it herself. So, Meera began reaching out to local hypnotists and therapists through emails, forums, and social media. She explained her interest politely, expressing that she was ready and willing to be guided. But the replies were always the same—gentle refusals. Some said she was too young. Others admitted they were uncomfortable working with someone alone, without a parent or guardian. A few simply said no without explanation.

It wasn’t the rejection that stung Meera—it was the fear behind it. Everyone seemed worried about what could go wrong, what they might be responsible for. No one looked past the surface to see the fire in her spirit, the thirst to learn. After weeks of trying, Meera grew tired of waiting for someone to say yes. If no one would guide her, she decided she would become her own guide. She wasn't going to let caution from strangers become the wall between her and the world she wanted to explore.

And so, Meera turned her search inward. She began learning about self-hypnosis, researching techniques that allowed people to enter deep trance states alone. It was not easy. Most guides were vague, scattered across forums and blogs. Still, she kept digging. She posted questions on meditation boards, spiritual groups—anonymously. Days went by with no reply. Until one morning, tucked among her unread emails, she found a message from an unknown sender.

That email was brief but strange. It offered no greeting, no name. Just a subject line: “For the one who seeks.” Inside, there were detailed steps to begin self-hypnosis—rituals of breathwork, chants to calm the nervous system, and meditation practices to slow the body until it reached a state of complete stillness. Meera read it like it was sacred. She didn’t know who had sent it, but something about it felt right.

From the next morning onward, Meera’s routine changed. She woke up at 4 a.m. when the world was silent and still. She sat cross-legged in her room, chanting the mantras quietly before beginning her meditation. At first, she could sit for only a few minutes. But with each passing day, her focus grew stronger. Five minutes became thirty. Then an hour. Then more. Soon, she began lying down after chanting, entering what she called “still sleep”—a kind of meditation where her body remained frozen, yet her mind seemed to drift elsewhere.

This was only the beginning of what was waiting to unfold!

From that morning forward, Meera’s world started changing in quiet but powerful ways. Her deep sleep meditations became longer and more intense. She would wake up feeling peaceful, like she had touched something bigger than herself. Slowly, she began entering a space that felt both strange and familiar—a dream-like zone where she could still feel her body but also sense another layer of reality floating around her.

Sometimes she saw places she had never visited. Other times she felt emotions that weren’t hers, as if she had borrowed someone’s memories for a few minutes. After about three months of this routine, Meera reached a point where something inside her shifted. Her mind no longer stayed within her thoughts—it began traveling, building images, faces, even scenes where she wasn’t Meera anymore. In one deep meditation, she saw herself as a girl named Saira who had lost the love of her life in a quiet, heartbreaking way. It wasn’t dramatic—just a sad story of longing, missed chances, and the quiet pain of separation. Meera didn’t panic. She felt deeply connected to this version of herself, as if she had discovered a hidden chapter of her soul.

But one day, during a strong session, something broke the silence. She felt disturbed while returning. The meditation ended abruptly, her heartbeat racing. She opened her eyes, confused and dizzy. She thought it was just a small interruption. But it wasn’t.

In the next few days, Meera began noticing strange things. People stared at her—not with curiosity, but in a frozen, expressionless way. Their eyes were blank, their faces still. It wasn’t everyone—but just enough to make her feel watched. She assumed she looked different, maybe because of how spiritual she’d become. But it didn’t stop.

Later, when she visited old houses and abandoned corners of her city, she started feeling something heavy—cold air, hidden sadness, like the place was holding its breath. In some spots, she saw flashes. A girl crying. A man yelling. A door slamming. They weren’t visions exactly—more like shadows of past events. She believed her chants and deep meditation had given her a gift: the power to sense haunted places. And she trusted that.

Until one night changed everything.

Meera woke up early, around 3 a.m., feeling unusually calm. She brushed her teeth, made tea, and opened her laptop to watch a movie. But something pulled at her—an urge to check her balcony. At 3:50 a.m., she walked over. Her breath stopped. A girl was sitting quietly in her chair outside. She looked about sixteen, wore a white dress, and had long silky hair that glowed faintly. The girl turned slowly and smiled. A warm smile—soft, calm, and terrifying. Meera backed away, unsure if she was awake or dreaming. She closed her laptop, crawled into bed, and convinced herself it was her imagination.

It wasn’t!

Since that day, every night around 2 a.m, the girl appeared again. Always silent. Always smiling. Meera kept the lights on, locked her doors, even slept with a lamp beside her bed—but the girl kept coming. Sometimes she walked into Meera’s room. Sometimes she just stood by the window. Meera began waking up breathless, covered in sweat.

One day, she told her closest friend, who didn’t believe her—but came over for a sleepover. That night, Meera saw the girl again. But this time, her friend woke up too—shivering. She said she felt a shadow enter the room. It was real. The house was haunted.

But Meera had sensed haunted places before. So why didn’t she feel anything in her own home?

That’s when she realized: this ghost wasn’t there to scare her. The girl had never harmed her. She had listened when Meera asked her to stop moving things. She always smiled. It felt like the ghost was trying to speak.

So, Meera left a pen and paper in her room, switched off the lights, and stayed at her friend’s place that night. The next morning, she returned. The house was quiet. But on the paper, one word was written in shaky handwriting: “Hospital.”

She gasped.

After some digging, Meera found out that just beside her apartment, years ago, there used to be a small hospital. It had caught fire mysteriously and was later demolished.

Meera wasn’t trained to deal with spirits. She didn’t know rituals. She wasn’t a priest.

But unknowingly she had opened a door between two worlds—and never truly closed it.

Her family finally stepped in. They called a priest who read her energy and listened to her story. He explained that Meera had entered a space between dimensions during her self-hypnosis. When she returned early from one session, she got stuck between the living world and the spirit realm. She could now see what others couldn’t. The blank faces that stared at her? They weren’t living. They were spirits. Meera hadn’t just touched the unknown—she had become a bridge.

After her family understood that Meera hadn’t just been curious about hypnotism—that she had accidentally stepped into another world—they knew they had to act quickly. This wasn’t just a spiritual hobby anymore. Meera had opened a door to something no one could see, but it was very real and very dangerous.

The priest who first noticed something strange in her energy came back, this time with three other elderly men. They were experts in a powerful ritual called Shuddhikaran, a spiritual cleansing meant for people stuck between two worlds. They brought special things with them—copper pots, sandalwood paste, yellow rice mixed with turmeric, small bells wrapped in white cloth, and palm leaves with old mantras written by hand. Early the next morning, they began their work in Meera’s apartment. They chanted loudly, drew sacred symbols on the floor with powder, and placed salt in all four corners of the house to block evil spirits. Meera wore a white saree and sat quietly, facing east with her palms open and eyes closed. The ritual wasn’t just about prayers—it was about bringing her back fully into this world.

The priests explained what was really happening: during one of her deep meditations, Meera had slipped too far into another realm and returned too fast. That rush back had torn a small crack between her world and the spirit world. Now, she was half-visible in both. Spirits could see her, and some were following her. Some, like the girl in white, didn’t want to harm her—they just wanted to be noticed. But Meera’s body couldn’t handle so much pressure from both sides. She had started feeling weak and drained. So the priests used special chants to slowly close the door without disturbing the spirits who were nearby.

For seven days straight, the apartment was treated like a temple. Bells rang every morning and evening. Incense filled the air nonstop. Meera was told to stay away from mirrors and mobile screens, which could attract unwanted energy. On the final day, they went to the big banyan tree outside town. That tree was said to connect heaven and earth. The priest lit a fire using neem and tulsi leaves. Meera stood beside it and chanted the final verse. Her voice shook—not because she was afraid, but because she felt everything inside her finally leaving.

And just like that, the strange feeling in her house disappeared.

The ghost stopped coming. No more shadows. No more staring faces. Even the air felt lighter.

But Meera was not the same.

Her body felt normal again, but her mind held on to the memories. Every night, she kept the light on beside her bed. She couldn’t sleep in complete darkness anymore. She would often wake up suddenly, her heart racing, feeling like someone was watching her from the balcony. The ghost girl never returned, but the way she smiled, the message she wrote—“hospital”—still played in Meera’s thoughts. It was too real to forget.

Meera made a promise to herself: never again would she go deep into meditation or hypnotism. No chants. No rituals. Her curiosity had taken her somewhere incredible—but also terrifying. And when someone now asks her about dreams, past lives, or hypnosis, she just gives a quiet smile and says, “Some doors should never be opened alone.”

The small lamp by her bedside? It still glows every night. And Meera never lets it go dark.