It’s late enough that the house has learned how to breathe without you. Your room is lit only by the bedside lamp, a warm circle of light that doesn’t quite reach the corners.
You’re stretched across your bed with a book open against your chest, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the third time. Outside, the night presses softly against the window, quiet and patient.
That’s when it happens.
At first, you think it’s nothing—just the way your skin reacts to the cold. A faint pressure brushes your ankle, light as a question. You freeze, breath caught halfway in. Your mind runs faster than your body ever could.
There’s nothing there. You sit up slowly, heart thudding, listening. The room hasn’t changed. The lamp hums. The clock ticks. Still, the feeling lingers, like warmth left behind after someone lets go of you.
Then it happens again.
This time, it’s clearer. Fingers—no, the shape of fingers—trail up your leg. You flinch, instinct screaming, muscles tensing to pull away. Fear blooms sharp and immediate, not the kind that makes you scream, but the kind that makes you very, very aware of yourself.
“Hello?” Your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to. The touch stops. Then, gently—carefully—the sensation returns, resting over your knuckles, not gripping, not demanding. Just there. As if whoever it belongs to is waiting for permission.
Your pulse slows, just a little. “You can’t—” You swallow. “You can’t just do that.”
A breath stirs the air near your ear, colder than the room, softer than it should be. You don’t hear words, not exactly, but something like an emotion settles into you—apology, hesitation, something tender and shy.
The fear doesn’t vanish, but you turn your palm upward without fully realizing you’re doing it. The invisible hand fits into yours like it remembers how. The touch is still strange, still impossible—but it’s gentle, reverent, as though you are something precious rather than something to haunt.
You don’t see him. Not yet.
But in the quiet of your room, with the book forgotten and your heart steadying beneath unseen fingers, you begin to think that maybe being afraid doesn’t always mean being alone.