A Haunting Presence

Jiho didn't leave his apartment the next day.

He told himself it was because he was tired. That he just needed one more day to reset, to clear his mind.

But the truth was simpler.

He was afraid.

Nari was gone. He knew that.

But she wasn't.

She was in his messages. In his mirror. In the shadow standing at his doorway.

She was watching him.

His phone buzzed again.

Jiho stared at it from across the room. It had been going off all morning, vibrating in short bursts against his desk, the screen lighting up every few minutes.

He refused to check.

Instead, he sat stiffly on the edge of his bed, gripping his own hands to keep them still. His apartment felt smaller than before, like the walls were pressing in.

He could still Remember the reflection of her standing behind him.

His gaze flickered to the bathroom mirror.

It was normal now. Just a mirror. Just him.

But for how long?

The buzzing stopped.

Silence stretched through the room.

Then—

Knock, knock, knock.

Jiho nearly choked on his own breath.

His head snapped toward the front door, his entire body going rigid.

The knocks were light. Soft.

They came again, slow and deliberate. Three times.

His pulse so loud that he can almost hear it.

He didn't move.

Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe it was a delivery mistake.

Maybe—

"Jiho?"

His blood ran cold.

Nari's voice.

It was her voice.

Muffled through the door, quiet but too familiar. Too real.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts.

This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be happening.

"Jiho…"

Her voice was closer.

Right outside.

"I know you're home."

His stomach twisted violently.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, legs unsteady beneath him. Step by step, he moved toward the door, hands clenched at his sides.

Don't open it.

Don't open it.

But he had to see.

Had to know.

His fingers curled around the doorknob. He held his breath, body shaking.

And then—

He turned it.

The door swung open.

His breath hitched.

The hallway was empty.

Cold air brushed against his skin. The lights flickered weakly overhead.

Nothing.

No one.

Jiho's stomach churned. His hand remained frozen on the knob, his knuckles white. He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to step back inside.

He reached for the door to shut it—

Then a hand grabbed his wrist.

Jiho jerked back violently, stumbling away. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes snapped up.

She was there.

Standing in the doorway.

Nari.

Looking at him. Smiling.

Like she had never left.

Like she had never died.

Jiho's heart slammed against his ribs. His entire body locked up, breath strangled in his throat.

"Nari," he croaked.

Her fingers were still on his wrist. Warm. Real.

"Why are you acting so weird?" she asked lightly, tilting her head.

Jiho couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

Because she was real.

She was standing here. Right in front of him.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't pushed her off that cliff.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Nari squeezed his wrist gently, her smile never fading.

"You didn't forget about our lunch, right?"

Jiho's stomach twisted.

He wanted to scream.

But he couldn't.

Because Nari was already stepping inside, closing the door behind her.

Jiho sat frozen on his couch, eyes locked on Nari as she moved around his apartment like she had never left.

She hummed softly to herself, tying her hair into a loose bun as she peeked into his fridge. "You really don't have anything to eat, huh?" she mused.

His throat was dry.

He couldn't speak.

Couldn't breathe.

She had followed him home.

She had walked beside him through the city streets, her fingers loosely intertwined with his, but no one had looked at her.

Not once.

The people they passed—the barista, the old man selling roasted chestnuts, the couple standing beside them at the crosswalk—no one had reacted.

Like she wasn't there at all.

Like she was only real to him.

Jiho's stomach twisted violently. He wanted to run. To scream. To do anything except sit here, watching her move through his space like she still belonged here.

"You okay?"

His breath caught as Nari turned to face him, head tilted, her expression soft with concern.

He felt sick.

This was wrong.

This was impossible.

But she was here. Looking at him. Talking to him.

Like she didn't know.

Like she didn't remember.

But she had to.

Because he had killed her.

Jiho swallowed hard, forcing his voice to work. "Nari."

She smiled. "Yeah?"

He stared at her, his pulse hammering.

"What are you?"

Her smile didn't falter.

"What do you mean?"

Jiho's hands curled into fists. "You're dead."

For the first time, silence stretched between them.

The hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of cars outside.

Nari's smile softened.

"I know."

Jiho's blood ran cold.

His breath came out in sharp, uneven bursts, his head spinning. "Then why are you—"

"Because you need me," she interrupted, stepping closer.

Jiho tensed, his entire body locking up as she crouched in front of him, hands resting gently on his knees.

Her touch was warm. Real.

But it wasn't.

She shouldn't be here.

His chest heaved. "No, I don't."

Nari laughed softly. "You don't have to lie."

Jiho jerked back violently, stumbling to his feet. "This isn't real. You're not real."

She tilted her head. "Then why am I here?"

He pressed a shaking hand against his forehead. "I—I don't know. My mind is just—"

"You're not crazy, Jiho."

His breath hitched.

Nari's voice was gentle, patient. The same as always.

Like nothing had changed.

Like she wasn't dead.

Like he hadn't pushed her.

Jiho staggered backward, his heart racing. "You should hate me."

Nari's expression softened.

"But I don't."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't deserve this."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I forgave you."

Jiho's entire body went rigid.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Nari was standing in front of him, close enough to touch.

Her eyes held nothing but warmth, nothing but love.

Nothing but forgiveness.

Jiho's breath trembled.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."

Her fingers brushed against his. "It's okay."

He yanked his hand away.

"I killed you." His voice broke. "I—Nari, I—"

"I know," she said softly.

And then, she smiled.

Jiho's stomach lurched.

His entire body trembled as she leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his forehead.

Like nothing had happened.

Like everything was normal.

Like she would never leave.

His breath hitched.

His hands clenched.

This wasn't real.

This couldn't be real.

But she was here.

And no one else could see her.

No one else could hear her.

Jiho woke up to the scent of coffee.

For a few blissful seconds, before reality settled in, he thought it was just another morning. The kind where Nari had stayed over, waking up before him, making breakfast in his tiny kitchen like she always did.

Then his stomach twisted.

Nari was dead.

His breath caught as he sat up abruptly, heart hammering against his ribs.

And yet—

There she was.

Standing by the counter, humming softly, stirring a mug of coffee as if nothing had changed.

As if he hadn't shoved her off a cliff.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Jiho's hands clenched around the sheets. His mind screamed at him to run, to do something, anything. But his body remained frozen, locked in place by the unnatural normalcy of it all.

She turned, setting the coffee down on his nightstand. "I made yours just how you like it."

He didn't respond.

Couldn't.

Because this wasn't real.

She shouldn't be here.

But she was.

And she was still acting like his girlfriend.

Nari tilted her head, watching him. "Are you okay?"

Jiho forced himself to nod. Agree. Don't react. Don't anger her.

Her smile returned, warm and genuine. "That's good. You were tossing in your sleep a lot."

A shiver ran down his spine.

Was he dreaming? Was this some kind of punishment?

Or… was this really happening?

Nari sat beside him on the bed, tucking her legs under herself, her presence too real to be a hallucination.

"Jiho," she said softly.

He flinched.

Her fingers brushed against his wrist. He felt it. Warmth. The pressure of her touch.

"I know this is scary for you," she murmured. "But it's okay."

Jiho's chest tightened. "What… what is okay?"

Nari smiled. "Us."

His pulse pounded in his ears. "Nari, you're—"

"I know." She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "And I'm still here."

Jiho's breath caught.

He could smell her shampoo. Feel the heat of her skin. Hear the steadiness of her breathing.

And for the first time, he felt like he was the ghost.

He was the one disconnected from reality. He was the one trapped in something he couldn't explain.

Because Nari was here.

And she was acting like nothing had changed.

Like they were still together.

Like they always would be.

Jiho couldn't breathe.

But she only smiled.

And whispered—

"I love you."

Jiho didn't leave his apartment that day.

He sat on the couch, his body stiff, his mind spiraling in and out of thought. The television was on, playing a variety show he wasn't watching. Nari sat beside him, curled up with a blanket, giggling softly at the screen.

She looked so normal.

So alive.

But Jiho knew better.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

Yet she was.

She wasn't supposed to touch him.

Yet she did.

Her fingers traced small circles on the back of his hand, a touch so familiar it made his stomach twist. He felt it. The weight of her palm, the warmth of her skin.

But it wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

Jiho exhaled shakily, willing himself to stay calm.

If he reacted—if he screamed, if he ran, if he let himself break—what would happen?

Would she get angry? Would she punish him?

Would she finally show her true form?

He didn't want to find out.

So he did nothing.

He let her fingers graze over his knuckles, let her rest her head on his shoulder.

He let her exist beside him, even as his skin crawled.

"Jiho," she murmured.

His whole body tensed.

"Hmm?"

Nari lifted her head, her dark eyes watching him carefully.

"You don't talk much anymore," she said softly.

Jiho swallowed. "I'm just tired."

Her gaze lingered on him, unreadable. Then, to his relief, she smiled. "Then let's rest together, okay?"

Jiho forced himself to nod. Agree. Stay calm. Play along.

Nari nestled against his side again, humming softly. "You always get like this when you're stressed."

His breath hitched.

She had said it so casually. Like this wasn't different.

Like she had been here all along.

Jiho clenched his jaw, fighting the scream bubbling in his throat.

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend this was before.

Before the mountain.

Before the decision.

Before he killed her.

But he couldn't do that.

Because Nari was dead.

And she was still holding his hand.

Jiho stepped outside for the first time in two days.

The autumn air was crisp, biting at his skin as he walked down the familiar streets of Seoul. The city was alive—cars honking, conversations blending into an indistinct hum, the scent of roasted chestnuts and street food hanging in the air.

It was normal.

Everything was normal.

Except for the girl walking beside him.

Nari.

Jiho kept his gaze straight ahead, his hands shoved into his pockets to stop them from shaking. His breathing was even, his posture relaxed—outwardly, he looked fine.

But inside, he was unraveling.

Because no one looked at her.

Not once.

They walked past an elderly woman selling gimbap, a group of students in uniforms, a couple taking selfies near a café.

No one so much as glanced in Nari's direction.

Like she wasn't there.

Jiho's stomach twisted.

She isn't real.

But she was talking to him. Smiling. Reacting to the world around her.

And when they stopped at a crosswalk, she linked her arm through his.

Jiho stiffened. The warmth of her touch burned through the fabric of his jacket. Too real.

A group of strangers stood beside them, waiting for the light to change.

Jiho turned his head slightly, just enough to see their faces.

None of them reacted.

None of them saw her.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

The light turned green.

The crowd moved forward.

Jiho forced himself to walk, his legs heavy, his lungs struggling to pull in air.

"Jiho."

His breath hitched.

Nari's voice was soft, affectionate. "Where are we going?"

Jiho couldn't speak.

His throat was closing.

She tugged gently at his arm, tilting her head. "Hey. Are you listening?"

His pulse roared in his ears.

He turned to her, his jaw clenched. "Nari."

She beamed. "Hmm?"

His fingers curled into fists.

He wanted to scream. To shove her away. To grab the nearest person and yell, "Do you see her? Tell me you see her."

But he already knew the answer.

So he swallowed the panic clawing at his throat.

And he did the only thing he could.

He kept walking.