By late afternoon, Arman was starting to accept one thing.
Samantha Lessa was not leaving.
She had spent the entire day in his house like a quiet, confused guest who didn't quite belong there. She walked around slowly, studying things with curiosity, the staircase, the living room, the huge glass windows overlooking the garden.
Not touching anything.
Because she couldn't.
Every time she tried, her hand simply passed through it.
Arman had tried not to stare.
But it was hard not to.
Having a ghost in your house tended to ruin any sense of normal.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her quietly as she stood near the dining table.
"You've been following me all day," he said.
Samantha looked up.
"I'm not following you."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You've been in every room I walked into."
"That's because you keep walking into the rooms I'm in."
He huffed a quiet laugh.
"Sure."
But something else had been bothering him.
Something strange.
Every time he moved too far away from her, something happened.
The first time was in the hallway.
He had walked toward the front door while she stayed in the living room.
Five seconds later, she appeared beside him.
Not walking.
Not running.
Just suddenly there.
Like the distance between them snapped shut.
The second time happened upstairs.
The third time happened when he stepped outside to the garden.
Each time, Samantha seemed just as surprised as he was.
Now she stood near the dining table, arms loosely crossed, thinking.
"I think…" she said slowly.
Arman waited.
"I can't go far from you."
He blinked.
"Excuse me?"
Samantha sighed softly.
"When you move away, I… follow."
"I noticed."
"I don't mean to."
"That's comforting."
She looked mildly annoyed.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Arman rubbed his face.
"This is insane."
"I died yesterday," she replied calmly. "Insane feels appropriate."
He couldn't argue with that.
Silence settled between them again.
Then...
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
Samantha looked at him.
Arman groaned.
"Fantastic."
"You're hungry."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He stared at her.
"Because I'm alive."
"Oh."
She seemed to consider that.
"You should eat then."
He laughed dryly.
"Brilliant idea."
He grabbed his keys from the counter.
"Let's go."
Samantha frowned.
"Where?"
"To get food."
She looked confused.
"Why are you telling me?"
Arman pointed toward her.
"Because apparently you're coming with me everywhere."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"…right."
A few minutes later they stepped outside.
The evening air was cooler now, the sky fading into deep blue as the sun disappeared behind the city skyline.
Arman walked toward his motorbike parked in the driveway.
Samantha followed.
Well.
Not exactly followed.
More like… appeared beside him as he moved.
He swung a leg over the bike and grabbed his helmet.
Then he paused.
Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
Samantha stood beside the bike, staring at it curiously.
"What?" she asked.
"You're not afraid?"
"Of what?"
"This thing."
"It's a motorcycle."
"Some people find them terrifying."
"I'm dead," she said simply. "Speed doesn't worry me anymore."
He snorted.
"Fair point."
He started the engine.
The bike roared to life.
The sound vibrated through the quiet evening air.
Arman adjusted his gloves.
Then he glanced back again.
"So… how is this supposed to work?"
Samantha tilted her head.
"With what?"
"This."
He gestured behind him.
"You riding with me."
She looked at the seat.
Then at him.
Then back at the seat.
"I suppose I sit."
"Can you even do that?"
"I don't know."
"Well… try."
She stepped closer.
For a moment she hesitated.
Then she climbed onto the bike behind him.
Arman waited.
Nothing felt different.
No extra weight.
No movement.
But when he glanced in the mirror.....
She was there.
Sitting behind him.
Her hair moved gently in the breeze, her expression curious.
"This is strange," she admitted.
"You're telling me."
He handed a helmet backward out of habit.
She tried to take it.
Her hand went straight through it.
They both paused.
"Right," Arman said.
"No helmet."
"Safety first," she replied dryly.
He chuckled.
Then he kicked the bike into gear.
The motorcycle rolled forward down the driveway and out into the street.
The night air rushed past them as he accelerated.
Streetlights blurred into long golden streaks.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Samantha leaned slightly closer.
"I remember this."
Arman glanced in the mirror.
"Motorcycles?"
"The wind," she said softly.
"The night."
Her voice carried a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness.
He slowed slightly.
The city stretched around them, glowing under thousands of lights.
Then something unexpected happened.
Samantha moved closer.
Her arms lifted slightly, as if she wanted to hold onto him.
But she stopped halfway.
Remembering.
She couldn't touch him.
Her hands hovered just above his sides.
Close.
But not quite there.
Arman felt it.
Even without contact.
The closeness.
The warmth of her presence behind him.
It wasn't frightening.
It wasn't eerie.
If anything…
It felt strangely peaceful.
Like she belonged there.
He didn't understand why that thought crossed his mind.
But it did.
"You're smiling," Samantha said suddenly.
He blinked.
"I am not."
"You are."
"That's the wind."
She laughed softly.
The sound carried through the night air behind him.
And something inside his chest shifted.
For the first time since he saw her on the news.....
The weight of her death didn't feel so heavy.
Because somehow…
She was still here.
Riding through the city with him.
Two strangers.
One alive.
One not.
And yet....
Neither of them felt alone.
Not anymore.