Not just her

Ron didn't sleep much that week.

The first day, he told himself she'd be back by lunch.

The second, he spent every break period sitting on the courtyard steps, just in case.

By the third day, his head was pounding from overthinking—and no one was giving answers that made any sense.

He showed up at her house again. Her mom answered like she expected him.

"She's still away," she said, voice calm and tired. "Please, Ron, I promise she's okay."

"Where is she?"

"She's resting. Getting the help she needs."

He blinked. "Help?"

"Time away. A break. That's all."

Every time she said it, it felt more like a line from a script.

Ron's jaw clenched. "She wouldn't just leave without telling me."

Her mother exhaled softly. "Sometimes people don't know how much they're hurting until they're too deep in it. She needed space."

He almost said she needed me, but he didn't.

He left before he said something unforgivable.

---

That night, Ron lay on his bed, phone against his chest, screen gone dark.

The ceiling spun slightly above him, and his room felt too small for his thoughts.

He kept remembering the last time he saw her. The tired smile. The way she clutched the pendant like it was more than just metal.

Something had happened. Something no one else was admitting.

"Where are you, Sam?" he whispered, voice cracking.

His vision blurred. Whether from sleep deprivation or fury, he didn't know.

He curled in on himself. Breathing shallow. Mind racing. Chest tightening.

Maybe he was going crazy.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe none of it—

His breath stopped.

There was someone in the corner of the room.

His body went cold.

He sat up, slow, deliberate, heart in his throat.

A shadow stood by the bookshelf. Cloaked. Still. The air around it thick and quiet, like the moment just before a thunderclap.

The figure didn't move. Didn't speak.

Ron's mouth was dry. "...Are you real?"

The hooded figure said nothing.

"Is this what she saw? You?"

Still nothing.

Ron stood, feet bare on cold floorboards. Every instinct screamed at him to run.

But curiosity anchored him.

"I thought she made you up," he admitted. "She said she saw you near the river. Then the window. I laughed. I laughed."

His voice cracked again.

The figure tilted its head—slowly, unnervingly.

"Why are you here now?" Ron asked.

He took one step forward. Then another.

The air shimmered faintly. Just like Sam described.

"You're real," Ron whispered. "You're actually—"

Then the lights flickered.

The air dropped five degrees.

And the figure vanished.

Gone.

Like smoke.

Ron stood alone in the silence, fists clenched, chest heaving.

He didn't know whether to scream or fall to his knees.

But one thing was certain now.

It wasn't just happening to Samantha anymore.