Hello, Neighbor

I stared at the man I had just seen glitch into reality like a broken VHS tape, his form flickering before it became solid. He looked... harmless enough. Solid. Real. Almost too real.

I hesitated for a moment before reaching out and poking his cheek.

He flinched slightly, his eyes squeezing shut like I'd jabbed him with something burning. His skin was warm—too warm, almost like he had stepped straight out of the sun.

The faint scent of sampaguita, that damn floral warning bell, filled the air. I couldn't escape it. It was the same scent I had smelled before—a clear sign that something unnatural was stirring.

The yellow lights on the balcony buzzed softly above us, casting long shadows on the wooden floorboards. Somehow, in my stunned autopilot state, we had ended up standing out here, facing each other under the dimming light of the setting sun. Apparently, my brain had decided this was as good a place as any for a conversation. Sure. Why not.

"I came here because..." he began, his voice soft, unsure. He cleared his throat. "Will you please take a seat?"

I blinked. Only then did I realize I had been pacing in tight, anxious circles. I sat down slowly, my arms instinctively hugging myself. The breeze picked up, greedy, as if it wanted to steal whatever warmth was left in the fading daylight. I was wearing nothing more than a laced sando and shorts. I had planned to watch the sunset, not host some sort of paranormal guest.

I squinted at him. Was he a guest? A ghost?

A ghost.

"Multo!" I shrieked, pointing directly at his face.

He blinked in surprise, looking genuinely offended. "I'm not a ghost. I'm human."

I narrowed my eyes. "You think you're human."

"I am," he insisted, with more confidence now, as if the matter was settled.

"Then explain how this is even happening!" I shot back. "I saw you earlier! And last time, when I tried to touch you, my hand went through your torso! You were a damn ghost with cheekbones!"

In a burst of adrenaline-fueled impulse, I grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. The living room was still dim, cluttered with books and remnants of my failed attempts at finding peace. I shut the balcony doors, pulled the curtains shut, locked the door behind us, and turned to face him—only to find him already inside, standing calmly in the middle of my living room.

He didn't move, just looked around the space like he had every right to be there. His gaze flicked to the cluttered mess I had been avoiding for days.

"You're surprisingly confident, letting a strange man into your house," he said, his voice low and dry, as though studying the chaos around him.

I didn't flinch. "You're not going to hurt me."

"Oh?" His brow arched in mock curiosity. "What makes you so sure?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head like I was some delightful puzzle. Without asking for permission, he eased down onto my tiny sofa, the cushions creaking beneath him like they were about to give out. His knees spread slightly as he settled in, casual but not crude, rolling up his sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with faint freckles—or were they burns?

I couldn't decide if I should be more concerned with his casual demeanor or the fact that I hadn't yet figured out how he even existed.

I couldn't help but observe him more closely. His hair was dark, almost black, and messy, like he'd just run a hand through it in a hurry.  He had a square jaw and high cheekbones that gave him an intensity, but his expression softened enough to remind me he was, well, human—or at least looked it. His posture, too, was odd, a careful blend of casualness and restraint, like he wasn't entirely sure how to act, but was committed to keeping things steady.

"You were... dancing," he said suddenly, his voice gentle but oddly amused. "By your window."

Oh no.

My entire face flushed crimson.

Yes, I did dance by the window. Often. Enthusiastically. Sometimes wearing nothing but an oversized shirt. Other times, nothing at all. I thought the house next door was abandoned.

I covered my mouth as dread pooled in my stomach like a bad hangover.

There was a night. A very specific night. No shirt. Just socks. Pop music blasting in my ears. I thought I was alone in the house.

"You... you saw?" I croaked, barely able to form words.

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching with amusement.

"Hmm?" he teased, like he hadn't just witnessed my life implode.

"You saw me?" I waved a hand vaguely over my torso, silently pleading for him to deny everything.

He grinned. "Just... a bit."

"A bit?!" I couldn't believe it. "What kind of 'bit' is that supposed to mean?"

He leaned back into the sofa like it was just another Tuesday. "You have a birthmark," he said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. "Stomach to chest. It's... quite enchanting, by the way."

My soul left my body.

But the scar—or birthmark, or both—had been with me since I could remember. Lola used to say it was a seal from the heavens, a kiss left by something powerful enough to cross worlds. I used to roll my eyes at that. But now...

The mark stretched from just beneath my ribs to the curve of my left collarbone—irregular, like a brushstroke dragged across canvas by an uncertain hand. Not grotesque, not jagged. Just... unusual. Faintly raised, like my skin remembered something my mind had forgotten.

It wasn't one color either. It shifted—warm cinnamon at the edges, paling in the center to a muted pink, like sun-faded ink. The shape defied logic, curling slightly at the ends, a soft whirl of flesh-toned calligraphy.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to ask why, but I couldn't. I didn't want to hear more, but I needed to understand.

He didn't laugh. He didn't tease.

Instead, he looked at me like I'd just confirmed something.

But I wasn't ready to ask what.

So I said instead, "Why did you come here? Really."

He sat back, thoughtful. "Because you finally saw me."

I stared.

"I've been trying to stand in front of you for a long time," he continued, eyes unreadable. "But in your world, I don't... exist. Not fully. And in mine, neither do you."

I didn't speak. I couldn't.

The silence thickened. I felt the weight of it settle over my shoulders, heavier than any night before.

He glanced toward the window, then back to me. "There's something between our worlds like fault line"

A breeze brushed past us even though the windows were shut. My skin tingled.

And in the dark, under that awful yellow light, I swore I could hear sampaguita blooming again—quiet, ghostly, like the breath of someone I used to know.

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Author's Note: Hi, reader! Are you enjoying so far? Don't forget to leave some comments and reactions for each episode. I'm excited to let you read the rest of the story. Happy reading!