That night, sleep didn't come easily.
Arman lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the television still echoing in his mind.
Her face.
Her name.
Samantha Lessa.
Twenty-two.
Dead.
He turned onto his side and shut his eyes, but it didn't help. The images kept replaying.... the streetlight, the cream dress, the way she twirled her hair around her finger while talking on the phone.
And that smile.
That small, quiet smile she gave him.
Why did it bother him this much?
He didn't know her.
He had seen her for less than a minute.
Yet something about the news report felt wrong. Unreal. Like his mind refused to accept it.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed his face.
"Get over it," he muttered to himself.
People died every day.
He knew that.
Still… he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Eventually exhaustion pulled him under.
At first, he thought he had simply woken up again.
His room looked the same.
Moonlight spilled softly through the tall windows, painting pale silver across the floor. The curtains moved gently with the night breeze.
Everything felt quiet.
Too quiet.
Arman sat up slightly.
Something felt different.
A strange stillness filled the room, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Then he heard it.
Soft footsteps.
He frowned.
"Hello?"
No answer.
He swung his legs over the bed and stood up.
The floor felt colder than usual.
"Must be the house staff," he murmured, though it was already past midnight.
He walked toward the door and stopped.
Someone was standing near the window.
His breath caught in his throat.
The figure stood with her back to him, illuminated by pale moonlight. Long dark hair fell down her back, shifting gently with the breeze.
A cream-colored dress moved softly around her legs.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
No.
That wasn't possible.
"Samantha…?" he whispered before he even realized he said her name.
The girl slowly turned around.
And there she was.
The girl from the traffic light.
The girl from the news.
Alive.
Her eyes met his.
They were exactly the same as he remembered, calm, deep, almost strangely gentle.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Arman felt like the world had tilted sideways.
"You're…" His voice came out hoarse. "You're dead."
The words sounded wrong the moment they left his mouth.
She didn't look dead.
She looked exactly the same as the night before.
Warm.
Real.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were the strange one.
Then she smiled.
The same soft smile.
His chest tightened again.
"You saw me," she said quietly.
Her voice was light, almost like a whisper carried by the wind.
Arman blinked.
"I....what?"
"At the traffic light."
His heart skipped.
"You remember that?"
"Of course."
He stared at her, confused.
"That was yesterday," he said slowly.
Her expression shifted slightly. Not sadness exactly… but something close to it.
"To you," she replied.
A chill ran through him.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Arman took a careful step forward.
"How are you here?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead she glanced around his room curiously, as if seeing it for the first time.
Then her eyes returned to him.
"I don't know," she said honestly.
"I remember getting into the car."
Her brows knitted slightly, like someone trying to recall a distant memory.
"And then…"
Silence.
Her expression faded.
"I woke up here."
Here.
In his room.
Arman's pulse quickened.
"That doesn't make sense," he said.
"Neither does being dead," she replied softly.
The words hung heavily in the air.
Dead.
He looked at her again.
She didn't look like a ghost.
Except.....
The room temperature had dropped noticeably.
And when the wind moved through the curtains, the fabric shifted.
But her hair didn't.
Arman noticed it immediately.
His throat tightened.
"You're not real," he whispered.
Her smile faded slightly.
"I think I am," she said gently.
He ran a hand through his hair.
This had to be a dream.
Too much alcohol. Too little sleep.
"That's it," he muttered. "I'm dreaming."
She looked amused.
"Are you?"
He stepped closer.
Close enough now that he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes, the way the moonlight touched her skin.
She looked so real.
Too real.
Slowly, he lifted his hand.
For a moment he hesitated.
Then he reached out.
His fingers passed straight through her arm.
Ice-cold air.
Arman jerked his hand back like he'd been burned.
His heart slammed wildly in his chest.
Samantha looked down at her arm quietly.
"I guess that answers that," she murmured.
Arman stumbled back slightly.
"This is insane," he whispered.
The girl who had been murdered the night before was standing in his bedroom.
Looking at him like she knew him.
Like she had been meant to find him.
Then she said something that made his blood run cold.
"You're the last person who saw me alive."
Silence filled the room.
Arman stared at her.
And suddenly.....
The dream didn't feel like a dream anymore.