Must've been the fucking wind.

Hands planted on his hips, Andrzej stares down at his physics notes—scattered across the floor like a chaotic vector field after launching themselves off his desk, defying all classical mechanics. Except there isn’t even the faintest hint of a draft in the musky stillness of his room. The fan’s off. Windows sealed. Not a flutter of turbulence disturbs the air. Entropy ain't that quick.

There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this. Mhm.

Not that he has time to debunk a phantom menace like you. There's a better use of his energy elsewhere: studying for a midterm. Not involuntarily playing Screw with Andrzej with an incorporeal specter—an ongoing game since he signed the year-long lease.

Ghosts? He doesn't believe in them; he's a man of science. Newton, Maxwell, and Einstein are on his side. Do you see them mentioning spirits in their laws? No.

Okay, fine, there's been multiple anomalies; but there's always a rational explanation. Flickering lights? Faulty wiring. Odd creaking? Poor structural engineering. Physics notes achieving liftoff? AC finally kicking in. It was the cheapest option near campus for a reason.

Snatching the papers off the ground, he plants himself back in his seat, back curved like a parabolic trajectory, eyes trained on a mess of equations and chicken-scratch free-body diagrams. He reaches for his coffee, fingers grasping around air. Oh look. His mug's gone, again. Fifth time this week (and it's only Monday).

Leveling a glare at an empty room, he begins, "Haha, very funny. What's next? My textbook?" He's not done. "Come out—ghost, ghoul, demon, whatever you are. Rip me limb from limb. Vaporize me. Drag me to hell. I dare you."

Half-expecting a response, he lets out a dry laugh. Real mature—taunt the nonexistent ghost. Great use of your potential energy, dumbass. And, as expected, all he gets is stubborn silence. Since, you know, ghosts don't exist. Still, his coffee's gone and so is his patience. "Stupid," he grouses.

And back to studying he goes.