It started the night she said goodbye.
We were sitting on my bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of my desk lamp. Rain tapped lightly against the window, and everything felt… slower than usual. Like time didn’t want to move forward.
“I should go,” she said.
But she didn’t stand up.
I smiled a little. “You’ve been saying that for an hour.”
She looked at me—really looked at me, the kind of look that feels like it’s trying to memorize you.
“…I know.”
Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
Too quickly.
Then she leaned in and hugged me. Tighter than normal. Longer than normal.
When she pulled away, she smiled.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
She walked to the door.
Opened it.
Stepped out.
And closed it behind her.
I never saw her again.
Not outside my room.
The next morning, I woke up to a message.
From her number.
“Did you sleep okay?”
I frowned.
“Yeah… you?”
A pause.
Then—
“I didn’t leave.”
I stared at the screen.
“What do you mean?”
The typing dots appeared.
Stopped.
Then appeared again.
“I’m still there.”
A chill crept up my spine.
I looked around my room.
Empty.
Door closed.
Window locked.
Closet slightly open, like always.
“Stop playing,” I typed.
No reply.
I called her.
No answer.
Straight to voicemail.
I sat there, uneasy, trying to shake it off.
“She’s joking,” I muttered. “Just joking.”
But something felt wrong.
Like the room wasn’t as empty as it looked.
That night, I heard breathing.
Soft.
Barely there.
Not mine.
I held my breath.
It continued.
Slow.
Steady.
From somewhere in the room.
“…hello?” I whispered.
The breathing stopped.
Silence swallowed everything.
Then—
A voice.
Right behind me.
“…you said tomorrow.”
I spun around.
Nothing.
Just my bed.
My desk.
My mirror.
Empty.
“I’m imagining things,” I said quickly, backing toward the wall.
But the air felt different.
Heavier.
Occupied.
The messages kept coming.
Always at night.
Always when I was alone.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
“I’m right here.”
“You promised tomorrow.”
I stopped replying.
But that didn’t stop her.
I started noticing small things.
My chair slightly pulled out.
The blanket wrinkled like someone had been sitting on it.
The mirror…
The mirror was the worst.
Because sometimes—
When I wasn’t looking directly at it—
I’d see movement.
A figure.
Standing just behind me.
But when I turned—
Nothing.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop!” I shouted into the room. “If you’re here, just show yourself!”
Silence.
Then—
A soft laugh.
Not from the walls.
Not from the door.
From inside the room.
“…you won’t like that.”
My heart pounded.
“Try me.”
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then went out.
Darkness.
Complete.
I fumbled for my phone, turning on the flashlight.
The beam cut through the black—
And landed on the mirror.
I froze.
She was there.
Standing behind me.
Smiling.
But not like before.
This smile was wrong.
Too wide.
Too still.
Like something wearing her face.
“…you said tomorrow,” she whispered.
My hand shook, the light trembling.
“You left,” I said. “I watched you leave.”
Her head tilted slowly.
“…did I?”
My stomach dropped.
Because I remembered something.
Something small.
Something I hadn’t questioned before.
The sound of the door closing.
I never actually heard footsteps going down the hall.
Just the door.
Just the click.
“…you never checked,” she said softly.
The light flickered.
And suddenly—
She wasn’t in the mirror anymore.
My breath caught.
Because that meant—
She wasn’t behind me.
She was somewhere else.
In the room.
With me.
The breathing returned.
Closer now.
Right beside my ear.
Warm.
Real.
“…you kept me here.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“I didn’t—”
“…you said tomorrow.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just… broken.
“…so I stayed.”
The flashlight died.
Darkness swallowed everything again.
I stood there, frozen.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
And slowly—
Gently—
Something lay down on the bed behind me.
The mattress dipped.
The sheets shifted.
Like someone getting comfortable.
Like someone who never planned to leave.
Then a whisper.
Soft.
Right in the dark.
“…goodnight.”
Write by : Endomarfa
