The house had grown quiet again.
It was the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel louder than it should. The refrigerator hummed softly in the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car drove past, its tires whispering against the asphalt.
Arman had changed into a loose black t-shirt and was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his laptop again.
Ghost forums.
Paranormal research articles.
Urban legends.
Half of it sounded ridiculous.
The other half… felt disturbingly possible.
Across the room, Samantha stood near the living room window — the place she seemed to drift back to again and again. The glass reflected the warm light of the house, while beyond it the street was dark and quiet.
She liked watching the world move.
People walking their dogs.
Cars passing.
The occasional laughter from neighbors across the street.
Small reminders that life was still continuing.
Even if hers had stopped.
Arman glanced up at her from time to time.
He noticed things about her now that he hadn't earlier.
The way she tilted her head when she was thinking.
How her hair moved gently even when there was no wind.
How sometimes she forgot she couldn't touch things and reached for objects anyway.
It was strange.
But it was also… comforting.
Then suddenly....
Samantha stiffened.
Arman noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes were fixed outside.
Wide.
Unmoving.
"Samantha?"
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
"He's here."
Arman frowned.
"Who?"
Slowly, she lifted her hand and pointed toward the street.
"The man from the docks."
Arman stood immediately.
"What?"
"He's outside."
His stomach tightened.
He walked toward the window beside her and looked out.
At first he didn't see anything.
Just the quiet street.
Streetlights glowing pale yellow.
Then, a pickup truck parked across the road.
And inside it....
A figure.
Watching the house.
Arman's jaw tightened.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Samantha stepped back slightly from the window.
Her breathing had changed.
Faster.
Uneven.
"He followed us," she said.
Arman turned to look at her.
For the first time since she had appeared in his life....
She looked genuinely frightened.
"Samantha," he said softly.
"What?"
"He can't see you."
Her eyes flickered.
"But he looked at me."
Arman hesitated.
That thought had been bothering him too.
But he didn't want to make her panic.
"Maybe he thought he saw something," he said.
"People imagine things."
She shook her head slowly.
"No."
Her voice was firm.
"He saw me."
The tension in the room thickened.
Arman moved a little closer to her.
"Hey," he said gently.
"Look at me."
Samantha slowly turned.
Her eyes still carried that flicker of fear.
"I don't like this," she admitted quietly.
He softened immediately.
"Of course you don't."
She looked back toward the window again.
"He was staring right at me at the docks."
Arman noticed something else now.
She had moved closer to him without realizing it.
Not because she wanted to.
But because instinct had pushed her there.
For safety.
The realization stirred something warm inside his chest.
"It's okay," he said softly.
She gave him a small, uncertain look.
"You're not exactly convincing."
He smiled slightly.
"Fair."
He walked closer until he was standing directly in front of her.
"Listen," he said.
"If that guy tries anything, he'll have to deal with me."
Samantha blinked.
"You say that like I'm the one in danger."
"You are."
"I'm already dead."
"That doesn't mean I'm letting weird dock workers stalk you."
She stared at him for a moment.
Then something in her expression softened.
"You're very protective for someone who met me two days ago."
Arman shrugged.
"You're my ghost now."
She laughed softly.
The sound eased some of the tension in the room.
But the truck was still outside.
Watching.
Samantha shifted slightly closer to him again.
Her shoulder almost touched his chest.
Almost.
She stopped herself just before contact.
The small hesitation made Arman notice something.
"You can try," he said quietly.
"Try what?"
"Touching me."
She blinked.
"I can't."
"You never really tried properly."
Her gaze dropped to his hand.
For a moment she hesitated.
Then slowly…
Very slowly…
She lifted her hand.
Arman didn't move.
Her fingers hovered near his arm.
Close enough that he could almost feel the cold presence around them.
But just before she reached him, her hand passed straight through.
She sighed softly.
"I told you."
Arman smiled faintly.
"Still worth trying."
She looked up at him again.
Their faces were closer now than either of them realized.
For a moment neither spoke.
Outside, the dock worker shifted slightly in the truck.
Watching.
Inside, the room felt warmer somehow.
Samantha studied Arman's face.
"You're not scared of me," she said quietly.
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"Should I be?"
"You're talking to a ghost."
He shrugged.
"I've talked to worse people."
She laughed again.
The sound was soft, genuine.
And for a moment.....
She forgot about the man outside.
Forgot about the docks.
Forgot about the night she died.
Because right now....
She felt safe.
Standing here.
With him.
Then suddenly, the truck engine outside started.
Both of them turned toward the window.
The pickup slowly pulled away from the curb.
Driving down the street.
And disappearing into the night.
Arman frowned.
"That was weird."
Samantha's expression grew thoughtful.
"He was looking for something."
"Or someone."
Her eyes met his.
"Yes."
The word lingered quietly between them.
Because if the dock worker really had seen her…
Then something about Samantha's ghost wasn't normal.
And that meant the danger surrounding her death....
Was only beginning.