Sunday Short: My Landlord The Ghost Part 3
- Faiz Faisal
- 5 hours ago
- 4 min read
(This is Part 3 of My Landlord The Ghost Series. Read Part 2 Here)
Zara stopped sleeping.
Not because of deadlines. Not because New York never slept.
But because every time she closed her eyes, she was afraid she’d wake up… and Alexei would be gone.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m not,” she said, sketching furiously.
“You are. Your eyebrows—”
“—scrunch. Yes, I know.”
Alexei smiled.
It was softer now. Quieter.
Like a fading echo.
Zara pretended not to notice.
The designs came like memories she didn’t live but somehow understood.
Structured coats. Fluid silks. Sharp lines softened by movement.
Clothes that didn’t just dress a person—but revealed them.
“Do you remember this?” she asked one afternoon, holding up a sketch.
Alexei stepped closer.
A long coat. Dramatic. Timeless.
His expression flickered.
“…I wore something like this,” he murmured. “Lights. Cameras. I couldn’t see the crowd… but I knew they were there.”
“You weren’t scared?” Zara asked.
A small pause.
“I was,” he admitted. “I just didn’t let them see it.”
Zara smiled faintly.
“You never really let anyone see you, did you?”
He didn’t answer.
That night, the memory came back.
Not loud. Not violent.
Quiet.
“I remember the party,” Alexei said, standing by the window. “Too many people. Too much noise. I couldn’t breathe in there.”
Zara stayed still. “So you left.”
He nodded.
“It was raining. I didn’t want a car. I just… walked.”
His voice softened, like he was stepping back into it.
“I was almost home.”
A pause.
“There was someone outside my building. A man. Sleeping on the steps.”
Zara’s chest tightened.
“And there were two others,” Alexei continued. “They weren’t there to help.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I told them to leave him alone.”
Zara whispered, “Alexei…”
“I didn’t think,” he said. “I just stepped in.”
His gaze drifted, distant.
“There was shouting. Then—”
He stopped.
Zara stepped closer, heart pounding. “Then what?”
He looked down at his hands.
“I remember falling.”
Rain hitting pavement.
The cold seeping in.
Lights blurring into nothing.
“They ran,” he said quietly. “Like it didn’t matter.”
Tears slid down Zara’s cheeks before she could stop them.
“You were trying to help him.”
Alexei gave a small, almost apologetic smile.
“I think… I always wanted to be more than what people saw.”
Zara shook her head, voice breaking.
“You were.”
A beat.
“You are.”
After that night, everything changed.
Zara didn’t design for New York anymore.
She designed for him.
The collection came together like a love letter.
Every stitch carried his story.
Every silhouette echoed his presence.
Strength, softness, beauty, and something deeper—something real.
She named it:
“VOSS.”
Not for the icon the world remembered.
But for the man she had known.
“Zara.”
She looked up.
Alexei stood near the window, but something was wrong.
He was… dimmer.
“I think I’m fading,” he said.
“No,” she replied immediately. “No, you’re not.”
But even as she said it, her voice trembled.
“You don’t believe that,” he said gently.
“I can fix this,” she insisted. “There has to be something—”
“Zara.”
Her name, softer this time.
“If I stay,” he said, “I stay like this. Stuck. Not living. Not moving forward.”
Her eyes burned. “So you just… leave?”
“I move on.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It just feels like it.”
Zara shook her head, tears falling freely now.
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
The night of her showcase arrived.
The studio was transformed.
Lights, music, industry insiders. Buyers. Editors.
New York, finally looking at her.
Zara stood backstage, heart racing.
And there he was.
Watching her.
“You did this,” he said.
“We did,” she replied.
The music began.
Model after model stepped onto the runway, wearing pieces that told his story—his strength, his elegance, his quiet courage.
The room fell silent.
Then—
Applause.
Loud. Rising. Unstoppable.
Zara stepped out.
For the first time—
New York saw her.
When she turned back—
He was closer than ever.
“Zara,” he said.
Her breath caught.
“I think this is where I go.”
“No,” she whispered.
But she knew.
He smiled.
“You gave me something I didn’t have before.”
“What?”
“An ending.”
Her tears fell freely now.
“You gave me something too,” she said.
“What?”
“A beginning.”
He stepped forward.
And for the first time—
Their hands touched.
Warm.
Real.
Just for a second.
Enough.
Then—
He was gone.
The applause roared.
But Zara stood still.
Hand lingering in the air.
Heart full and breaking all at once.
Months later, the collection became a sensation.
Critics called it haunting, timeless, deeply human.
They didn’t know how right they were.
One evening, after a show, Zara noticed a man lingering near the exit.
Older. Worn. But his eyes…
Grateful.
“I saw your show,” he said quietly.
Zara smiled. “Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“…He saved me.”
Her breath caught.
“The man your collection is named after,” he continued. “That night… he didn’t walk away.”
Zara’s eyes filled instantly.
“He never did,” she whispered.
The man nodded, emotion thick in his voice.
“You made sure the world remembered him.”
Zara smiled through her tears.
“I just told the truth.”
Sometimes, late at night, she still sketched.
Still talked to the quiet.
Still smiled at nothing.
Because some love stories don’t last forever.
But they last long enough to change you.
To shape you.
To stay.
And somewhere—
In every piece she created—
Alexei Voss still lived.
The End
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