Nova Reyes thought she'd gotten used to the weirdness.
The missing footage.
The static-filled replays.
The way Eli seemed to short-circuit every camera he walked past — like reality itself refused to frame him.
But that morning, sitting in her room surrounded by sticky notes and energy drink cans, she decided she needed proof. *Offline proof.*
Her Media Studies project was due in a week, and her idea — *"What happens when you film the unfilmable?"* — had already caught the attention of her teacher, Ms. Kaito. It was supposed to be conceptual, symbolic, experimental.
But Nova wasn't making it up anymore.
It was *real*.
She stared at the camcorder in her hands — an old silver Sony model her dad used back when people actually said "home video." No Wi-Fi, no Bluetooth, no connection to the Cloud. She'd had to dig it out of the attic, brush off a layer of dust, and charge it overnight with a borrowed adapter.
The device blinked to life with a soft mechanical hum, and for a second, Nova smiled.
It felt almost alive — like it was ready to remember something the world had forgotten how to see.
---
Eli wasn't thrilled about the idea.
"Wait, you want to *record* me again?" he said, leaning against the fence behind the school's greenhouse. His voice carried that low, hesitant edge — the kind that came right before a storm or a secret.
"It's not like before," Nova said. "This one's offline. No data. No uploads. No interference."
He frowned. "You think the internet's what's been... glitching me out?"
"I think it's something about visibility," she said, pressing the camcorder's red record button halfway, not enough to start it, just enough to feel the tension. "When you exist online, the system has to process you. Maybe it can't. But if we go offline—"
"—then what? I magically stay visible?"
Nova shrugged. "That's the experiment."
Eli sighed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "You realize how creepy this sounds, right? 'Hey Eli, mind if I film you with 2008 technology like you're a haunted artifact?'"
Nova grinned. "Exactly. Authentic horror-core aesthetic."
He gave her a look. "You're not helping."
---
By late afternoon, they'd moved to the school's back field — the kind of forgotten space where the grass grew too long and the air smelled faintly of old rain. The bell had rung thirty minutes ago, and most students were already home or glued to their feeds.
Nova hit "record."
The camcorder whirred quietly, its lens blinking open like an eye. Eli stood a few meters away, shifting awkwardly under its gaze.
"Okay," she said softly, "just… move around a little."
Eli rolled his shoulders. "Like what? Modeling for a camera that probably records in potato quality?"
"Pretend you're existing," Nova teased.
He smirked, and for a moment, she saw him — *really* saw him — through the lens. No static, no distortion. Just a boy framed in the dying sunlight, his shadow long and real across the grass.
Nova exhaled. "It's working."
Eli stopped. "You're serious?"
She turned the camera toward the tiny screen, showing him the playback. His reflection stared back — solid, clear, perfectly in focus.
It was the first time either of them had ever seen him on a screen without interference.
For a long, heavy moment, neither of them spoke.
---
"Okay, this is officially weird," Eli said finally. "Why does this one work?"
Nova lowered the camera slowly. "Because it's not connected. No data flow, no sync, no feed. It's just… here."
"So the problem isn't me," he said carefully. "It's the system."
"Or maybe it's both."
They sat under the tree line, the camcorder between them, replaying fragments of the short clip. Each second felt sacred — a fragile proof that Eli *existed*.
He leaned forward, studying the tiny screen. "So what now? You upload it?"
Nova shook her head. "No. If I do, it'll vanish. Like every other clip."
"So we just keep it offline?"
"For now," she said. "This isn't about going viral anymore. It's about… understanding why you can't."
Eli chuckled under his breath. "You say that like it's not the weirdest sentence anyone's ever said to me."
---
As the sun dipped, painting the clouds orange and violet, Nova rewound the tape again — just to be sure.
It was still there.
Eli, walking. Breathing. Real.
But as she paused the footage, something flickered.
For a split second, just before the recording ended, the image *warped*. The frame bent — as if reality itself had inhaled sharply. Then, a single voice crackled through the camcorder's tinny speaker:
"**You shouldn't have recorded him.**"
Nova froze.
The voice wasn't Eli's. It wasn't hers either. It was calm. Cold. Male.
She looked up fast. "Did you hear that?"
Eli blinked. "Hear what?"
"The voice—" She rewound, hit play again. Silence. Just wind and rustling leaves.
Nothing.
Her pulse drummed in her ears. "I swear, someone—"
"Maybe feedback," Eli said quietly, though he didn't sound convinced. "These old things glitch sometimes."
Nova shut the device and held it close. "No. This was different."
---
They walked home in silence, cutting through the quiet streets where the lampposts flickered unevenly. Every few steps, Nova glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see someone there — a figure in the distance, a shadow in the glow. But the road was empty.
When they reached the junction where they usually split paths, Eli turned to her.
"Nova."
"Yeah?"
He hesitated. "If… if something's watching us — or trying to stop this — you should delete the tape."
She met his eyes. "I won't."
"It's safer."
"I don't care."
Eli's jaw tightened, like he wanted to argue but didn't know how. Finally, he just said, "Be careful," and disappeared into the narrow street leading to his neighborhood.
Nova stood there for a while, holding the camcorder like a secret heart.
---
That night, she set it on her desk and watched the footage one more time before bed. Every second still looked real, untouched — except for that flicker at the end.
Then she noticed something else.
A reflection.
For a fraction of a frame, standing *behind* Eli in the shot — there was someone. A blurred silhouette. Too tall to be a student. Too still to be human.
Nova's throat went dry.
She leaned closer to the screen, squinting, but the frame stuttered again. When it cleared, the silhouette was gone.
She pressed pause.
Then rewind.
Then pause again.
Still gone.
Like it had been erased between one breath and the next.
---
Outside, thunder rolled softly over the city, far enough away to sound like a warning.
Nova turned off the camcorder, tucked it beneath her pillow, and tried to sleep.
But in the dark, her mind kept looping the same image — Eli, perfectly visible, framed by the dying light — and that whisper that didn't belong to anyone.
**You shouldn't have recorded him.**
For the first time since they'd met, she wondered if visibility was a blessing…
or a curse waiting to upload itself into their lives.