As the door creaked open, Lorenzo couldn't help but stare. There, standing before him, was Isolde. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her ethereal presence seemed to glow in the dim light. The soft fabric of his old t-shirt hung perfectly on her, as if it was meant for her. It was the same one he wore in his teenage years, a reminder of a life that seemed so far away now.
He couldn't look away. Her beauty captivated him. Her pink lips, soft and inviting, seemed to call out to him, as though they were waiting for someone to kiss them. Her violet eyes, wide and full of emotion, seemed to be searching for something—someone to love her, someone to see her for who she truly was.
The clock on the wall suddenly chimed, snapping him out of his trance. He quickly scratched his head, trying to hide how deeply he had been staring at her.
"You can sleep on the bed," he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "I'll sleep on the couch."
As he began to close the door, Isolde's delicate hand reached out, stopping him. Her fingers felt like a whisper against his skin, and for a moment, he was frozen.
"I'm not used to settling in one place," she whispered, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "I'm afraid... to be here alone. It's not the same as wandering around..."
He looked into her eyes, and the fear he saw there made his heart ache. Her violet eyes, usually so calm, now shimmered with vulnerability.
He nodded slowly. "I understand."
He gestured to the couch in the corner of the room, giving her the space she needed. He closed the door behind him and turned off the light, the room plunging into darkness except for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window.
Lorenzo made his way to the couch, but his eyes were still drawn to her. She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. Time seemed to slow as he watched her, wondering what thoughts swirled in her mind. The silence stretched on for what felt like hours, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was still so far from him, even though they were in the same room.
Eventually, her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep. The moonlight cast a soft glow over her, highlighting the beauty of her pale skin. A cold breeze swept through the room, and Lorenzo felt a chill run down his spine. He quietly stood up, moving to cover her with a blanket.
As he gently draped the blanket over her, he couldn't resist the urge to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingertips barely grazed her skin, but it felt like electricity coursed through him. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering near her cheek, before he pulled back, his heart pounding in his chest.
He returned to the couch, but his thoughts remained with her. In the stillness of the night, he realized that despite her being a ghost, she was more real to him than anything else in his life. And as he closed his eyes, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, their fates were meant to be intertwined.
The moonlight reflected off her face, casting a soft glow around the room, and for the first time since he had met her, Lorenzo felt a sense of peace.
The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city beyond the walls of his apartment. It was hard to ignore the pull he felt toward Isolde, the way her presence seemed to fill the room, even when she was silent, even when she was still asleep.
The air was thick with something unspoken, an energy that only grew the longer she was near him. He tried to close his eyes, but every time he did, her face appeared behind his eyelids—the soft curve of her lips, the haunting intensity of her violet eyes. He could almost feel her hand brushing against his skin, the lightness of her touch that seemed to spark something deep inside him. It was a pull he couldn't explain, a yearning that felt so ancient, so impossible.
But he couldn't deny it. There was something between them. Something undeniable.
As he lay there, wondering how he could help her, the sound of a soft breath drew his attention back to the bed. She shifted in her sleep, her body moving with a grace that seemed too delicate for this world. The moonlight cast its glow across her pale skin, giving her an almost otherworldly glow. She looked like something from a dream, and yet, the way she lay there, vulnerable and peaceful, was as real as anything else in his life.
He sat up slowly, his body aching from the long hours spent in that same position. His eyes never strayed from her. Even in her sleep, there was something fragile about her, something that made him want to protect her. He had barely known her for a day, and yet he felt like he already knew her more deeply than anyone he had ever met.
Isolde was more than just a ghost. She was a mystery, a puzzle, a story waiting to be uncovered. And for the first time in a long while, Lorenzo felt the weight of something bigger than himself pressing down on him. It was as if he had been chosen for something—something that had been set into motion long before they met.