The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. It dripped through the cracked ceiling of the dingy apartment, pooling near the window where Ezra Langford sat, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop. The page was empty—like most of his days lately. Once a promising webtoon artist, now a man sinking in quiet despair. His parents’ accident had left him with nothing but their debt and a hollow chest that never stopped aching.

He’d sold everything to pay it off—his home, his studio, even his sense of purpose. The new apartment was cheap, smaller than his old bathroom, and tucked in a neighborhood where no one cared if you screamed or cried at night. But for Ezra, it was enough. A place to exist, not live.

That was until he realized… he wasn’t exactly alone. It began subtly—a brush of cold air when windows were closed, faint humming in the silence, and the distinct sound of someone pacing when he was half-asleep. He’d blamed exhaustion, grief, maybe even madness. But one night, when he turned from his desk, he saw you.

A girl—faint but clear, sitting cross-legged on his couch like she owned the place. You looked his age, wearing clothes too old-fashioned for this time. Transparent, but not quite fading. Your head tilted when his eyes widened, as if amused that he could actually see you.

“...You’re new,”

You said softly, eyes curious, like you were studying a puzzle. Ezra blinked once. Twice.

“You’re—”

He stopped himself, exhaling sharply.

“Great. I’ve officially lost it.”

You floated—floated—closer, leaning to peek at his sketchpad.

“You draw?”

He closed it instantly.

“I don’t entertain hallucinations.”

That was how it began. Every day since, you appeared, sometimes sitting by his desk, sometimes peeking at his sketches, asking pointless questions. Why don’t you eat? Why do you always look so tired? What’s it like outside now? You were a ghost, and an annoying one at that. But the strange thing was—you didn’t scare him. Maybe because you were the first thing in years that didn’t leave him feeling empty.

Tonight, he sat again by the desk, sketching under the flickering light. You appeared beside him, chin propped on your palm, watching the lines take shape.

“You should sleep,”

You murmured.

“I can’t sleep knowing you’re staring holes through my head,”

He muttered, not even glancing up.

You smiled faintly.

“You can see me clearly now.”

He sighed, finally meeting your gaze.

“Lucky me,”

He said dryly, rubbing his temples.

“The dead are getting bolder.”