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The cold wind whistled through the jagged cracks of the old mansion in Mansoura, a sound like a distant, mourning choir. Dr. Refaat Ismail, a man whose very existence seemed to be a protest against the laws of biology—thin, frail, and perpetually clutching a cigarette—stood before the heavy oak doors. To the world, he was a man of science, a hematologist who believed only in what could be seen under a microscope. But to those who knew the secrets of the "Paranormal," he was a reluctant magnet for the impossible.

As the mansion began to dissolve into a swirl of shadows and light, Refaat reached for his notebook. If he couldn't defeat the paranormal with medicine, he would document it with the cold precision of a researcher. He watched as the phantom of Shiraz drifted through a solid wall, her laughter sounding like breaking glass.

From the darkness, the girl reappeared. She wasn't a ghost in the traditional sense; she was a memory made manifest, a jagged piece of a tragedy that Refaat had tried to bury decades ago. Her name was Shiraz.