Hey, long-time lurker, first-time poster. So, this is my story, for context, I, 32M, and I recently got transferred for work to another country. My wife (26F) and I were super stoked about this new chapter. It had a better climate and cheaper cost of living, and I was even keeping my same salary. And finally, we could think of building our family. Win-win, right?

The challenge was that we decided I'd move first to settle down, find a place, etc., and then she'd join me. She didn't want to quit her job that she loved without a gig first. Being away from my wife for more than a few days is a new kind of torture. We had only been separated twice for two to three days due to our jobs. We have been together since high school and have never been parted. She is my best friend above all. But adulting requires sacrifices, so off I went.

I scored this itty-bitty but totally clutch studio apartment. We're talking room and kitchen squished into one teeny space. Def not couple-friendly unless you're into living like canned sardines, but it'll do the trick for a few months.

The moment I walk in, I get hit with this wave of déjà vu. It's like I've time-travelled back to my college days. Picture this: the same crappy IKEA furniture that's been through more relationships than most of my friends. The walls? That kind of beige that screams, "I'm not a prison cell, but I'm not a home, either." But, man, the nostalgia kicks in hard.

I couldn't help but think, "This is just like that dingy studio I had next to campus when I was getting my feet wet in the world of adulting." Those were the days of instant ramen and two-day-old pizza, a time when you wake up to the smell of... let's call it 'herbal essence' wafting through the thin walls from the who-knows-which neighbour.

It’s got that same chaotic but cosy vibe that says, "Hey, life's a mess, but at least you've got a roof over your head." So, yeah, I was sold and took the place. It's like life's giving me a do-over or at least a chance to relive my less complicated days. Still baffled me how the universe managed to duplicate that in a different country is beyond me. It's a nice little slice of nostalgia while I hunt for our dream home.

The new workplace? Weirdly identical to my old one. It's like they CTRL+C, CTRL+V'd the whole setup. Made it easier but comforting at the same time. Which made it harder to miss home. The job functions were pretty much a carbon copy, but the people: totally new faces, especially for this one girl—let's call her Fatima.

Now, Fatima is a bit, let's say, unconventional. Keeps to herself but is a total whiz at the job. I've actually learned a ton from her. But here's where things got odd: whenever people need help, and both of us are there, they bypass her and come straight to me. Mind you, I'm the newbie, and she's the seasoned pro. I can't describe how uncomfortable it makes me feel. I had no idea why people would avoid her and not speak at all to her.

The time zone thing was kicking my ass. My wife and I barely got to talk, thanks to a substantial time difference and our wonky schedules. We've been reduced to texting, but every "I love you" and "I miss you" from her makes the distance feel a little less painful. But still, I really miss her, especially the end-day chat when we would tell each other how our days went on.

The most hard part is the house-hunting has been an absolute disaster. I mean, I've done everything short of begging on my knees. Visiting places, offering more, offering cash—even going above the asking price. No dice. At this point, it feels like the universe is saying, "You shall not pass!" in its best Gandalf voice.

Work? Yeah, no... It's reached the point where I'm so bored, I've considered doing cartwheels in the office just to feel something. And with the time zone differences, I can only text with my wife, friends, and family. Nobody has much to say except "miss you" and "hope you're well." It's like living in a vacuum of loneliness over here.

But the juiciest bit of all? The whole Fatima rumours situation. Now, I've always known that office gossip spreads faster than wildfire, but this is next level. People have started labelling her as a "stalker" and not in a cutesy, rom-com way. We're talking full-on "I'll find you wherever you go" vibes. A coworker told me she's been seen popping up at places like grocery stores, gyms, and even outside people's homes. He thought she might be obsessed with him and had watched her staring at him more than twice. It's pretty weird since I talked to Fatima daily, and she never mentioned any interest in anyone, less at work.

Also, I work beside her, I sit literally side by side with her, and I haven't noticed anything stalker-ish about her. She's always been nice, albeit a bit on the quiet side. Sure, her dark humour is a bit unsettling for some, but it keeps me entertained. You need something when you're stuck in perpetual déjà vu. And she was able to make it less dull.

So, another big nail to my coffin, Halloween is just not a thing, which kind of sucks. Halloween holds a very special place in my heart; it's the day my wife and I first met when we still were kids. But here, no ghouls, no trick-or-treating, no joyous screams in haunted houses—none of that good stuff. Is just something that nobody does here.

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But they've got this alternative—All Saints Day on November 1st, also known as "the day of the dead." To be not mistaken with the cool Mexican holiday with the awesome sugar skulls, this one is a bit more sombre.

Fatima broke it down for me: folks here go all out visiting cemeteries, laying down flowers, and essentially having a cryfest after lunch and then go home. It’s like a gathering of spirits, asking them to "return home."

And here's where Fatima dropped another one of her cryptic gems. When I asked her what she meant by "return home" (like, heaven, maybe?), she paused for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Wherever they belong."

Uh, okay, very comforting, Fatima. Especially when said in the same tone, one might use to ask if you want fries with that. I laughed it off. Some folks here hate to talk about politics and religion. So, one must respect that.

So, between the monotony of work, the never-ending quest to find a home, and now navigating through these strange customs, I decided to work on All Saints Day. That way, I could get the 24th off and actually go back to my own country to see my wife for an extended weekend.

Naturally, I asked Fatima what she was going to do, and she gave me this existential nugget: "I never enjoy any holiday." I mean, I knew she was a workaholic and a lone wolf and all, but that response was so deadpan that it surprised me. She was quiet, but she usually was witty. Something about this day made her gloomy. I wondered many times if she avoided the holiday to not go to the cemetery. That was the only reason I could think of.

Then, just to crank up the creepy factor to 11, remember the dude who told me that Fatima was stalker-ish? Well, he's gone. Like, disappeared, vanished, POOF! No one knows if he quit, got abducted by aliens, or what. Two other people who whispered the same thing about Fatima? Also gone. I asked Fatima about it, and she looked me dead in the eyes and said, "They went home." Now, I've got a twisted sense of humour, but even I found that reply a tad... chilling.

On the flip side, Fatima's dark humour does make me chuckle. We even have this thing now where we trade bad jokes and dark one-liners back and forth. It's our little after-work ritual, and it's the closest thing to normal I've experienced in this cultural funhouse.

I know, I know, some folks at the office have been giving me the side-eye, probably thinking something's going on between us. But nope, it's just friendship. Fatima's dry, dark humour is pretty much the highlight of my monotonous days.

So, cut to the 31st. I volunteer to work, right? Get to the office building, and something's seriously off. This place usually screams corporate classiness, but now it looks like a construction site's ugly stepsibling. No elevators. Had to climb up five flights of stairs, and let me tell you, the atmosphere was downright eerie.

Once I get to my floor, it's like I've stepped into another dimension. Gone are the cubicles, computers, and even doors. The whole space is barren except for candles and incense. It felt like a mix between a séance and an art installation.

But here’s where things go full-on. Twilight Zone: There are framed portraits set up around the space. And not just random faces—these are pictures of my coworkers, people I've met and talked to. The kicker? Some of these are the folks who've mysteriously gone "home," as Fatima so cryptically put it.

Needless to say, my heart was pounding like crazy. I'm not sure if this was some elaborate All Saints prank, if it was even a thing, or if I've stumbled upon some ritualistic altar. I mean, if this was back home, I'd be marvelling at the effort someone put into this. This would be the best Halloween setup ever! But being in a foreign country, far away from everything familiar? And no Halloween. It feels downright unsettling.

So, there I am, standing in what looks like an abandoned building and in walks Fatima. She's got this ghostly vibe, you know? I'm not one to go all woo-woo or whatever; I'm a feet-on-the-ground, facts-in-my-face kind of guy. But, man, I'm shook. She points to a chair, and I sit. No questions asked, okay? Fight or flight, and my ass chose 'sit,' apparently.

"What's going on?" I asked her, and for some reason, I was eyeballing the cracks on the floor before I asked again, "What happened here?"

She gives me this half-shrug and mutters, "You're the last one."

Last one? That's some horror movie shit dialogue right there, and I'm thinking I might become the next unsuspecting victim in a true-crime documentary on Netflix. She must sense my alarm because she suddenly asks, "Did you call home?"

Seems like a left-field question, but whatever and answered, "Texted."

She glared at me like a psycho or insert horror movies here and told me, "Call. Maybe you'll understand if you call." She wasn't asking.

So, it's late as hell, right? It's like 3 a.m. in my time zone, but Fatima insists. I call. My wife picks up. She's a sobbing mess, blubbering about how I need to leave her alone and that she's moved on. To not call her, to not text her, just to leave her alone. I can't even get a word in before she hangs up. What the actual fuck, right? At this point, I'm praying to a god I don't give a crap to make this just a very bad-taste prank.

I immediately called back. This time, she just screams and hangs up. My heart's pounding like I've downed five Red Bulls.

I turn to Fatima for an explanation, but she's looking all impatient, checking her watch like she's got somewhere better to be. "

“You still don't get it?" she asked.

I'm about to tell her she's nuts for asking such an absurd question when she hits me with it: "Five years ago, a plane crashed in the Atlantic. One hundred thirty-seven people died."

"So?" I said. "What's that got to do with me?"

She just said, "They never found your body."

I wish I could argue that I didn't believe her, that I needed proof. It wasn't possible I was dead. But it all made sense. Everything looked familiar because I never truly left. I never reached where I was supposed to. I knew about All Saints because I commented with my wife how creepier it was than Halloween. A day to cry and mourn the dead.

Fatima handed me a laptop. "Time to go home," she said. "Write your story. Tell them where you really are."

So, here I am. If you're reading this and, for some ungodly reason, you believe it's real, you can find my body at 14.5994° S, 28.6731° W. Look, I don't know how this internet ghost shit works, but I really want to go home, okay?