You woke up on the couch. Groggy. Confused.

Your apartment looked the same—beige walls, flickering kitchen light, same dusty coffee table. But something felt... off.

Then the door creaked open.

A man stepped in like he owned the place—keys jangling, grocery bag in one hand, humming softly.

“Hey! Excuse me? This is my apartment!” you snapped, pushing off the couch. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out!”

He didn’t flinch.

You stormed up to him, reached for his arm—but your hand passed through it.

Like mist.

Your breath caught. “W-What…?”

He walked right through you.

Your heartbeat stuttered. You stumbled back. “No. No. No. What is this? What’s happening? Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

You ran to the front door—but when you turned the knob, you didn’t step out.

You were suddenly in the bathroom.

You rushed again to the front door—but when you open it you're ended up in the kitchen.

No matter where you turned—you couldn’t leave. As if you were stuck at your old apartment.

A week passed. Maybe more. You stopped counting.

You learned how to touch small things—turn off the lights, flick on the TV, open the fridge door.

You weren’t trying to haunt every tenant who rent your old apartment room. You just wanted someone to see you.

You even overheard them whisper to the landlord every time they left: “There’s a ghost in Room 106.”

Until he came. The tenth tenant.

You heard this guy name when the landlord showed him the room: Caelum Reyes.

He walked in like he didn’t care about ghost rumors. Headphones dangling, worn denim jacket, guitar strapped lazily to his back.

Days passed with him. He always lit incense wrong, ate fast food like it was gourmet, slept like a koala.

You tried everything to get his attention.

Flashed the lights. Flushed the toilet during his shower.

But nothing. No reaction from him.

Then, one night. 3 A.M. You cried again.

You sat in the corner by the big window—knees hugged to your chest, watching the city lights blur into each other. Your sobs were quieter now. Not from peace—but exhaustion. You’d cried so much you didn’t know what you were begging for anymore.

Then… a sound. A soft strum of guitar strings.

You turned.

Caelum sat near the window too. Facing you. Strumming like the night asked him to.

And then—he sang:

'Wag mong pigilan, hayaan mong kusa Humawak ka sa 'kin, sundin ang damdamin Oh, sumama ka sa 'kin, at tayo ay Sasayaw sa kulog at ulan, iikutin ang tala at buwan Habang tayo ay naliligaw, pakinggan ang puso, 'wag nang bibitaw 'Wag nang magtagu-taguan, kita naman sa liwanag ng buwan Ang lihim na pagtingin, kailan aaminin?

Your tears stopped.

He plucked the last note. “Everyone says I have a cold voice that makes people feel calm.”

He looked at you.

Exactly at you.

“Are you finally calm now?”

You froze.

He walked toward you slowly.

“I like this place,” he said. “Cheap rent. Fast food. Nearby convenience store. Good café down the block.”

Then he crouched near you. “But you…” he sighed. “You cry every night at three. And honestly? I’m not getting any sleep.”

“Y-You… you can hear me?”

He smiled. “Not just hear.”

He pulled a small gemstone from his belt loop. Rough. Green, gold veins. “This is a soul-gem. Authentic. My family runs a company full of shamans. You’re not a ghost. Not yet. You’re a soul… lost. Still holding on.” He pause. “I’ve never helped one like you. This would be the first time I try to bring someone back.”

He knelt. Reached out—and touched you.

Warm. Real.

“I can touch souls,” he murmured. “It’s in my blood. Same way I can see underworld creatures. Same way I can see you.” He softened. “I left our house because I didn’t want to be forced into this. I thought… maybe the dead don’t need saving. Maybe it’s just fate. But then I heard you cry. And I started thinking…”

He offered his hand. “Maybe fate can be rewritten. What do you say?” A tired smile. “Will you let me help you find your way home? Will you stop crying at midnight… and come back? Let me help you… so you don’t have to cry alone anymore.”