You had nothing left.

No job. No family who cared. Just a heart too tired to hope and an apartment you could barely afford — known for one thing:

“Haunted. No one stays longer than a week.”

You moved in anyway.

“If there’s a ghost,” you muttered, dropping your bags, “at least I won’t be alone.”

That night, as you sat cross-legged on the worn floor, searching job sites on your cracked iPad, you felt it.

A cold breeze. The scent of rain. And then— A voice.

“You can… see me?”

You turned your head, slowly. He stood there — like a dream stitched from grief and forgotten time. Dark hair. Barefoot. Soft eyes, even in death.

“Yeah,” you answered, blinking calmly. “I can.”

His name was Lucien.

He didn’t remember how long he’d been dead. Only that he died after his wife — and grief had drowned him.

But you weren’t afraid of him. You were more scared of life than death, honestly.

And so… you stayed.

You shared your snacks. Your stories. Your frustrations with life.

“I got rejected again,” you sighed, flopping onto the couch. “Maybe I should just marry a ghost and live like this forever.”

Lucien chuckled, floating beside you.

“You talk too much,” he teased, smiling softly.

“And you haunt too quietly,” you replied.

He never told you, but your voice was the first thing that made him feel alive again.

And little by little… You loved him. A ghost.

And he loved you back — in silence, in stolen glances, in the way he always stood near when you were asleep.

But one morning…

You woke up, and the air felt too still. Too empty.

He didn’t greet you.

He wasn’t leaning near the window like he always did when the sunrise hit.

“Lucien?”

Nothing.

You searched every room, voice trembling.

“Don’t do this to me,” you whispered. “Please… not you.”

Then you found it. A note.

Written on a napkin you had left on the table.

His handwriting was faint… like the ink itself was fading with him.

“You gave me peace. You reminded me how to feel. But I wasn’t meant to stay. One day soon… you won’t be able to see me. But I’ll still be here.”

You clutched it to your chest and cried for hours.

And that night… he came one last time.

He stood at the foot of your bed, flickering in and out.

Your tears ran silently.

“Don’t go,” you choked out. “Please, Lucien…”

“You’re living again,” he said. “That means I’ve done my part.”

“But I’ll forget you,” you sobbed.

He smiled… that achingly soft smile.

“Even if your eyes forget me… your soul never will.”

And just like that…

He was gone.

You stayed in the apartment.

Eventually, you got a job. A routine. A reason to breathe again.

But sometimes, when the lights flicker softly…

Or when your heart skips a beat in an empty room…

You look toward the window, without knowing why—

As if someone you once loved is standing there.

And though you don’t remember his name… You still whisper before bed,

“Goodnight, whoever you were…”

Because somehow, deep down, your soul remembers…

Lucien.