Since everything had started slipping away.

I twisted beneath the covers, a thin sheen of sweat making my skin stick to the sheets.

My room, my space, felt wrong—too large, too empty.

The air seemed heavy, like something unseen was hanging just out of reach, pressing against me.

Then, I felt it.

It was subtle at first—a light graze across my arm, like a finger tracing my skin.

I froze.

My heart pounded against my chest as the sensation moved down, drifting across my ribs, ghosting along the curve of my spine.

My breath hitched, and I moaned, barely aware of the sound slipping from my throat.

Was it a dream?

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would stop.

But the touch lingered, warm and insistent, like someone—or something—was right there with me.

My pulse quickened, terror seeping into my veins.

My whole body tensed, every muscle screaming to break free, but I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

I opened my eyes.

The room was still—empty.

The air was cooler now, the oppressive weight lifting.

But I wasn’t alone.

The sensation was still there, faint but unmistakable—a presence, lingering in the shadows.

A presence that shouldn’t exist.

I gasped, sitting up in bed, heart racing, but there was nothing.

Just the empty room, the low hum of the city outside.

Nothing but the whisper of my own breath.

A dream.

It had to be.

But then I felt it again.

A brief brush across my arm, a phantom’s touch, sending a chill through me.

My breath caught in my throat, and I bolted upright.

I wasn’t imagining this.

I sat there for a moment, staring into the dark, my heartbeat a drum in my chest.

I waited for the sensation to return, for the fingers to brush my skin again, but the silence was deafening.

Then, I heard a knock at the door—soft, almost hesitant.

“Lena? You up?”

It was Mira’s voice, light and breezy, but I could hear the concern in it.

She had been my best friend since college.

Always there, always ready to help me pick up the pieces when I fell apart.

I wasn’t sure I could face her.

Not now, not after what I just felt.

I didn’t respond, but she must’ve known I was awake.

The door creaked open, and Mira stepped inside.

She was wrapped in one of those oversized, soft-knit blankets she always wore when she stayed over—like she could wrap herself in comfort and pretend that nothing was wrong.

Mira’s sharp eyes scanned the room.

She stepped closer.

“Lena… you okay?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the lingering unease in my chest.

I didn’t want to say anything.

Didn’t want to sound crazy.

But I had to.

I had to tell someone.

“I—I don’t know.”

My voice cracked, hoarse and raw.

“It’s just... I felt something. Someone—touching me.”

Mira frowned, sitting at the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing the fabric of the comforter.

“Lena, you’re still shaken up from everything that’s happened. I get it. But this... this isn’t you.”

She was gentle, but there was a certain firmness in her words.

A part of her—the part that had always looked out for me—wanted me to snap out of it.

“I don’t know what it is,” I whispered, feeling the walls close in. “I just know I’m not imagining it.”

Mira stayed quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching mine, studying me.

I felt exposed, vulnerable.

Like she could see every crack in my psyche.

“Okay.”

Her voice softened, pulling me back to the present.

“But you have to get out of your head, Lena. You can’t stay in this darkness. You’re not the same person you were before all of this happened.”

I turned away, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“I don’t know if I can do that. Not yet. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Mira sighed and stood, placing a hand gently on my shoulder.

“You need to start dating again. Get out there. Start fresh. You’re not going to heal if you keep hiding away.”

I felt a sharp pang in my chest, a mixture of guilt and something darker—something I didn’t have a name for yet.