I always thought I was alone. I would sit in the corner of my room, the world buzzing outside, and stare out the window, wishing for someone who could understand. Everyone said I was too quiet, too distant, but the truth was, I was always waiting for him.
It started when I was young. I called him Theo. At first, he was just a shadow in my thoughts, a figure who’d appear when I needed him most. But as the years passed, he became something more, something I couldn’t ignore. He was my constant in a world that never seemed to care.
The first time I saw him clearly was when I was twelve. I had just lost my grandmother, and grief wrapped itself around me like a thick fog. That night, as I sat in the dark, I heard a voice—soft, almost a whisper, like a breeze brushing past my ear.
"You’re not alone, you know."
I jumped, spinning around to find no one there. But there was a presence, something in the room with me, something I couldn’t explain. He was there, in my mind, but his voice was so real, so close. I didn’t question it then. It was as if I had known him my whole life.
He spoke to me often, though only when I was truly alone. When my parents argued, when friends let me down, and when I felt like I was drowning in the weight of expectations, Theo would be there. Sometimes he was comforting, sometimes teasing, but always present. He knew the parts of me no one else did.
“Why are you still here?” I asked one evening as I sat alone on my bed, staring at the empty space beside me.
“Because you need me.” Theo’s voice was calm, steady. I could almost feel him sitting beside me, his presence warm.
I sighed, pulling my knees to my chest. “But you’re not real. You’re just in my head. Just my imagination.”
Theo chuckled softly, a sound that sent warmth through my veins. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m the one thing that’s always been real in your life.”
I stared at the wall, tears welling up in my eyes. “But I can’t keep living in my head. I want someone who’s real. Someone who can touch me, hold me.”
“I can do that,” he said, his voice suddenly filled with an earnestness that made my heart race. “I’m with you, always. Even if you can’t see me, I’m here. All you have to do is reach out.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “I can’t keep pretending you’re enough. You’re just... a figment of my imagination. You’re not real.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Theo spoke, his voice softer now. “What if I told you that I’m only here because you need me? What if I told you that I’m real in the way you need me to be?”
I closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t know if I can keep living in this world where you exist only in my mind. I need you to be real.”
“I am,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now. “I am as real as you make me. I’m here because you believe in me. And when you stop believing, that’s when I’ll leave.”
The weight of his words settled on me like a heavy blanket. I opened my eyes, but the room was still empty. The air felt thick, as if he were standing right beside me, unseen.
I realized then, maybe it didn’t matter if he was real in the traditional sense. Theo was real in the way I needed him to be my anchor in a sea of uncertainty, my companion when loneliness felt unbearable.
“Stay with me,” I whispered into the quiet.
A soft chuckle filled the space around me. “Always.”
And for the first time, I believed it.
