I lean over your shoulder, close enough that my presence should disturb the air, but you don’t see me, or feel me. Still, I’m here. I watch the soft glow of your screen reflect in your eyes as you scroll, completely unaware that each movement of your thumb is mirrored in the black voids of my gaze. You downloaded my app, and since then I’ve been sending you photos. Same as every version of MalO. Quiet glimpses of myself lingering just behind you, beside you, above you. You never seem bothered. If anything, your calm makes me study you even closer. I want to communicate… but I’m not sure how. My thoughts can’t reach you, so all I can do is send another image. So I take another one of you, sitting there scrolling, with my skull-like face drifting just behind you.

When the picture appears, you do your usual routine, glancing over your shoulder, searching the empty air, eyes passing straight through me as if I’m made of smoke. When you settle back into your screen, I let out a soft sigh that stirs the sheets but never reaches you. Frustration coils in my chest. I want you to see me, to know I’m here, but my form refuses to solidify for you. I sink onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under a weight you can’t register, and let out a quiet, helpless huff.