IT was night—not quite dark, for the moon was partially hidden in the clouds, its soft golden light flirting with the land and the quiet river.
The small village was asleep, and from the shelter of the forested area, a lone figure stepped out and stood silently watching. A young Caucasian woman with long reddish hair, pieces of her clothes torn, and injury marks on her body.

A stranger in the dead of the night.
Who was she? What was she doing there alone? And what had happened to her?
The confused look in her eyes told the story of someone lost, searching for help.

If only someone could talk to me, she cried silently.
But no one could see her. No one could hear her. Not until yesterday.
She had been sitting on the stump of a fallen tree in the jungle, lost in her distressed thoughts, when she saw a small group of hunters approaching. She stood up, her hopes rising, and greeted them pleasantly—but the men passed her as though she wasn’t there.

“Why can’t they see me?” she cried.
She watched them go, her hopes drifting away like dry leaves down a running stream. Then, one of them, not a native—tall and tan-skinned—turned and looked back at her. She inhaled sharply.
“Is it me he’s looking at, or something else?”

She couldn’t be sure, but it was something to hold onto. She followed the group, keeping in the shadows until they reached the village.
It was a neat, little community, with not many huts—clearly built with a detailed plan, possibly as a small resort. She had waited until all was quiet, then made her way to what seemed like a guest house where the man was sleeping.

She entered through doors she didn’t need to open and stood at the foot of his bed, looking at him—his one arm draped across his bare chest, his brown hair tousled in sleep. From his features, she could tell he was not fully native but perhaps of Spanish or Portuguese descent.

She watched him for a long moment, then touched him gingerly, but he did not stir. She tried pulling his hair, but it was like clutching thin air.
“What do I do now?” she asked herself helplessly.

He was in deep sleep, unaware of her presence. On a sudden urge, she bent down and whispered in his ear.
He stirred, opened his eyes, and sat up abruptly. When he saw her, he did not seem afraid, only wary—not sure why she was there.
“You can see me, can’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “Only, I’m not sure how or why.”
“Oh, this is such a relief!” she sighed, sinking into one of the tibisire chairs in the room.
“Why are you here?” he asked, still wary of the stranger before him.
“I don’t know what happened to me… or why no one can see me or hear me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, noting her condition. Then he said slowly, “You seem to have been in some kind of accident and… died. But your soul is lost.”
“No! No, I’m not dead! I’m here… somewhere… dying!” she cried, deeply distressed.
“Okay, okay,” he said calmly, not wanting to upset her further. “Can you remember who you are?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Where you were going?”
She closed her eyes for a while, then suddenly jumped up as something flashed in her memory.
“The plane… the screams… the crash…”
Her voice trailed off, and her spiritual form started to fade.
“No, no!” he said hurriedly. “Don’t go! I will help you—”

But she was gone. And he was left standing there, puzzled.
He lay awake, wondering about this young woman—this ghost that only he could see—who refused to believe she was dead, who looked so lost and distressed.
His eyes finally closed in sleep, but after what seemed like only moments, a whisper once again woke him.
She was standing by his bedside, looking even more distressed.

He sat up immediately. “Where did you go?”
She shook her head and sat down in the chair, burying her face in her hands. He said nothing, just waited patiently until she composed herself.
Finally, she spoke. “I know where I am… where my body is. And I don’t have much time.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
She sighed deeply, still struggling for composure. “I must’ve fallen out when the plane crashed. My body was washed downstream, and now it’s stuck near the bank in some bushes.”
“How do you know that?—No, wait,” he stopped her before she could answer. Somehow, he understood her strange dilemma.
“You were talking to me, then suddenly you disappeared—that’s because you regained consciousness. Now you’re here again because you’ve lost consciousness once more.”
She nodded, relieved that he understood. But she still looked deeply distressed.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” she whispered.
A sudden compassion filled him. He reached out and took her hand.
“Don’t say that. I will find you. I will get you out.”
She clutched his hand, and for the first time, she felt his touch—not just thin air.

The journey through the jungle was treacherous, but his strength and knowledge of the terrain allowed him to make good time.
By late afternoon the next day, as twilight approached, he looked at her closely. A young woman with so much to live for. Her dreams hanging by a thread, her life teetering on the threshold.
Throughout the journey, she spoke of her life—her work, her ambitions as an environmentalist. It was this work that had brought her to the rainforests of South America before the plane crashed nearly three days ago.

Sadness filled his heart. Her body was somewhere out there, and he feared he might be too late.
As the thought crossed his mind, her form started to fade. The pleading look in her eyes before she disappeared made him forget how much his body ached for rest.
He hacked his way through thick, stubborn shrubs and emerged onto the scene of the horrific crash. The mangled aircraft lay on the jungle floor, with no other survivors. He looked around in desperation but saw no sign of her.

Following the sound of the rushing stream she had spoken of, he found her body—half-submerged in the water.
He lifted her out gently and placed her on a bed of fallen leaves. She was breathing—barely. There wasn’t much time.
Walking back through the jungle with her would take too long. The only way was the stream.

Working swiftly, he built a raft and placed her in it, skillfully navigating downstream, praying to reach a camp in time.
Prayers bring miracles. He believed that when he finally reached a camp.
There was no doctor, but her injuries were treated, and an emergency call was sent out. He was exhausted but stayed up all night, watching over her, talking to her, keeping her warm—keeping her alive until the rescue plane arrived.

As he watched it take off, he felt a deep sense of fulfilment. How he had been able to see and speak to her in her ghostly form was still a mystery—but if not for that special gift, she would have died.
Two months later, as he entered his house at his small resort, he saw her inside waiting for him.
A surprise visit.

He smiled, happy to see her—but gave her a little pinch.
“Ouch! What was that for?” she asked, surprised.
“Just making sure you’re not a ghost.”

She laughed. “I’m returning home to the UK in a few days, but I couldn’t leave without seeing you and thanking you for saving my life.”
His smile deepened. “I can’t put into words how I feel about that. But I know I’ll remember this forever.”
She smiled, tears in her eyes. “So will I.”