HE ONLY EXISTS WHEN I'M ALONE

Lina had always been good at being alone. Not in a dramatic, lonely-girl kind of way. She wasn’t the type people whispered about or pitied from across the room. She still showed up. Still blended in. Still existed in the spaces people expected her to occupy. She went to class. She submitted her assignments—sometimes early, sometimes right on the deadline, never late enough to draw attention. She replied to messages… eventually. Hours later. Sometimes the next day. Just enough to keep people from asking questions. She laughed when something was actually funny. Not forced, not exaggerated. Just enough. To anyone looking from the outside, her life was… normal. But there was a difference between being around people and actually feeling them. And Lina had stopped feeling that a long time ago. It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no dramatic breaking point she could point to. No singular moment where everything changed. It was quieter than that. Slower. Like something gradually dimming until one day you realized the light was gone and you couldn’t remember when it started fading. Conversations became noise. Faces blurred together. Even emotions hers and other people’s felt distant, like something she was observing instead of experiencing. It didn’t hurt. That was the strange part. So nights like this didn’t bother her. A quiet room. Dim light spilling softly from her desk lamp. The faint hum of the ceiling fan cutting through the silence in a steady, almost comforting rhythm. Her phone resting in her hand, thumb lazily scrolling through posts she barely registered. Thoughts drifted in and out of her mind without ever settling. It was peaceful. Or at least… It used to be. Tonight, something felt off. She didn’t notice it at first. There was no sudden noise, no obvious disturbance. Just a subtle shift—like something invisible had changed in the air itself. Like the room had taken a breath it wasn’t supposed to take. Lina paused mid-scroll, her thumb hovering over her screen. The silence felt… heavier. Not louder. Not sharper. Just… thicker. Like it had weight. Her eyes flicked up from her phone, scanning the room without really focusing on anything. Her desk. The chair. The closed curtains. The faint shadow of the ceiling fan blades spinning above her. Everything looked exactly the same. But it didn’t feel the same. She frowned slightly, glancing toward the door. Closed. Locked. Just like always. She always locked it at night. Not out of fear, but out of habit. Routine. Something automatic, like turning off the lights or plugging in her phone before bed. Still… That feeling didn’t go away. “You’re overthinking,” she muttered under her breath, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet room. She tossed her phone onto the bed beside her, the soft bounce of the mattress barely making a sound. It had to be nothing. Stress, maybe. Or one of those strange, fleeting moments where her mind decided to act up for no reason. It happened sometimes—brief, unexplainable discomfort that faded as quickly as it came. She pushed herself up from the bed and swung her legs over the side, her feet brushing against the cool floor. The sensation grounded her. Normal. Everything was normal. She stood and stretched slightly, rolling her shoulders as she walked toward her desk. The familiar layout of her room settled around her—the books stacked unevenly at the corner, her laptop sitting closed, a pen lying diagonally across an open notebook she didn’t remember writing in. The ceiling fan hummed steadily above. Normal. So why did it feel like someone was watching her? Lina stilled. The thought came out of nowhere—sharp, sudden, and completely unwelcome. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the desk, gripping it without realizing. Don’t turn around. The words slipped into her mind so abruptly it made her chest tighten. Don’t turn around. Her breath caught. That was ridiculous. There was nothing behind her. There couldn’t be. Her door was locked. Her windows were shut. She hadn’t heard anything—no footsteps, no creak, no movement. Nothing. Slowly, she exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax. “You’re being stupid,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, like she could physically dislodge the thought. It lingered anyway. And then— She turned. He was there. Not by the door. Not near the window. Just… there. Standing a few steps behind her, like he had always been part of the room. Like he belonged there more than she did. Lina’s breath caught in her throat. Everything in her body locked at once. Muscles frozen. Thoughts scattered. The only thing she could hear was the sharp, uneven pounding of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. He didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just watched her. Dark hair, slightly messy, falling just enough over his forehead to soften his face. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed—like this wasn’t strange or impossible. Like he was standing in a place he had every right to be. His hands rested loosely in his pockets. His expression hovered somewhere between neutral and faintly amused. But his eyes— They were steady. Focused entirely on her. Not curious. Not surprised. Certain. Like she was exactly where he expected her to be. “You took your time,” he said. His voice was quiet. Smooth. Controlled. And familiar in a way that made something deep in her chest twist uncomfortably. Lina blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain struggled to process what her eyes were seeing. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The door was locked. There was no way— “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended, cutting through the silence like something fragile snapping. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. Not confused. Just… curious. Like she’d asked something strange. Something obvious. “You don’t remember?” he asked. A cold chill slid slowly down her spine. Remember? “I’ve never seen you before,” she said quickly, taking a step back, her voice tightening despite her effort to stay steady. “How did you get in here?” “I didn’t come through the door.” The answer came immediately. No hesitation. No explanation. Just a statement. Her stomach dropped. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to explain. Didn’t even look bothered by her reaction. He just watched her. And somehow, that made it worse. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. “Lina.” Her name. The way he said it—soft, certain, almost… familiar—made her chest tighten. “How do you know my name?” she asked, quieter now, more cautious. A faint smile touched his lips. “I’ve always known your name.” No doubt. No hesitation. Just certainty. Her pulse spiked. “Stop saying things like that,” she snapped, the fear finally bleeding into her tone. “I don’t know you.” “Not recently,” he said. The words landed heavier than they should have. Not recently. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice dropping, uncertainty creeping in despite herself. He took a step closer. Just one. But it felt like too much. Instinctively, Lina moved back until the edge of her bed pressed against the back of her legs, grounding her in place. “You forgot,” he said. Her breath hitched. “I didn’t forget anything,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Because even as the words left her mouth, something inside her twisted. Not a memory. Not exactly. Just a hollow space. Like there was supposed to be something there… something important… And it was gone. He studied her for a moment, his gaze softening in a way that felt almost—almost—understanding. Then he gave a small nod. Like he’d expected this. “That’s okay,” he said softly. Okay? Nothing about this was okay. Her heart was racing now, panic finally catching up to her thoughts. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides. This had to be a hallucination. Stress. Sleep deprivation. Something explainable. It had to be. Because the alternative— “Wait here,” she said suddenly, her voice unsteady as she turned and grabbed her phone from the bed. He didn’t move. Didn’t question her. “You can try,” he said. Try? Her fingers shook slightly as she unlocked her phone, nearly fumbling it in the process. The screen lit up, too bright against the dim room, and she quickly tapped a contact without overthinking. The ringing tone filled the silence. Too loud. Too sharp. She kept her eyes on him. He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Just watched her. Waiting. The call connected. “Hello?” a voice answered on the other end. And just like that— He disappeared. No sound. No movement. No transition. One second he was standing there— The next, he was gone. Lina’s breath hitched sharply. Her eyes snapped to the empty space. Nothing. No shadow. No trace. Just her room. Exactly the way it had always been. “Hello? Lina? Are you there?” the voice on the phone repeated, slightly distorted through the speaker. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to work. “Yeah… I’m here.” But her gaze stayed fixed on the spot where he had been standing. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her mind racing faster than she could keep up with. Because she knew— She hadn’t imagined him. The way he spoke. The way he looked at her. The way he said her name. That wasn’t something her mind could just create out of nothing. And if he disappeared the moment someone else was present— The thought settled slowly. Cold. Unwelcome. Heavy. Was he still there? The silence in the room returned. But it didn’t feel the same anymore. It wasn’t empty. It was… waiting. “…Lina?” the voice on the phone called again, softer now. “You sound weird. What’s going on?” She opened her mouth to answer. But nothing came out. Her eyes shifted just slightly toward the mirror across her room. And for a split second She thought she saw something move behind her. Her breath stopped. The room held still. And deep in her chest, beneath the fear, beneath the confusion Something else stirred. Not recognition. Not quite. But something close enough to make her wish she had never turned around in the first place.