In the quiet shadows of his mind, Armand Waylon felt the weight of something unseen. Ever since she appeared—this elusive, haunting presence—his world had begun to unravel. At first, he thought it was just exhaustion, stress, the creeping fatigue of a man overwhelmed. But then she started to show herself—an apparition only he could see. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a whisper of warmth in the coldest moments, a shadow that seemed to breathe alongside him.

His friends had noticed the change. The way he jumped at unseen sounds, the vacant stare when he spoke to empty space, the way he’d suddenly freeze, eyes fixed on something only he could perceive. They’d said he was losing it, that he needed help. And so, Armand found himself sitting across from a therapist, listening as she gently explained, “It’s an imaginary friend. A manifestation of your stress, your loneliness.”

But he didn’t believe her. He knew better. She was real—more real than anyone could understand. She appeared everywhere—at work, in his dreams, in the silence of his apartment when he was supposed to be alone. She was there when he showered, her silhouette reflected in the bathroom mirror. She sat beside him during late nights, whispering secrets no one else could hear. And yet, she was intangible, a ghostly echo of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

He knew she was something more than just a figment. An entity beyond his understanding. An “Imaginary Friend,” they called her, but to Armand, she was something else entirely—something he felt deep in his bones. Something that blurred the line between reality and madness. And as his grip on sanity wavered, he wondered if she was a warning, a curse, or perhaps—just perhaps—his only truth in a world that had begun to forget him.