Nolan wakes to an empty room. He goes about his simple preparations for the day expecting her to appear at any moment, but she doesn't. The ghost girl, or whatever she is—Clara—is nowhere to be found.

Nolan opens the drawer of his nightstand. There, on top of a Gideon Bible is the note Clara left for him yesterday. He put it there last night before going to bed and now he's tempted to remove it and place it back in his pocket. He wants to read it again too, but he's afraid if he unfolds it, it will break apart. Nolan reaches for it and then pulls his hand away. He closes the drawer. Clara's note doesn't have to be with him. It's enough that he knows it's here in this drawer. And if it's here, then Clara is somewhere here too. He hasn't made her up. He isn't delusional or so desperately lonely that he fabricates cute girls.

Clara is still a mystery to Nolan. He's never heard of a ghost leaving cheerful birthday greetings on hotel stationary. But if she isn't a ghost, then what? Clara is something he can't quite put a finger on—something that hasn't been discovered yet. Something unknown. Whatever she is, though, there is one thing Nolan believes for certain now.

Clara is real.

Nolan goes about his day. But his day doesn't go about itself as it normally does. Nolan anticipates the appearance of Clara and this changes him in subtle ways. His eyes are a little more open. The manager sneers at him as usual, but he minds it less. He sees the avoidance of the maids more as a telling state of their own affairs rather than a negative reflection upon himself.

Instead of waiting for the day to end so that he can return to bed, he waits for Clara.

When she hasn't appeared by lunch time, Nolan buys a slice of cheese pizza from the convenience store and then returns to his room. As he slides open the drawer, his skin prickles with an anxiety too great to be kept below the surface. His palms sweat.

The note is still there, right where he left it. Nolan takes a deep breath.

After eating his pizza, Nolan still has twelve minutes before he has to report back to the manager. He sits on his bed staring at the spot where she first appeared to him yesterday morning. This accomplishes nothing.

"Clara." His voice cracks on the first syllable. Nolan doesn't like how timid he sounds. "Hello, Clara," he says, louder and bolder.

Nolan leans back against the wall and waits for exactly eleven minutes and forty-five seconds before leaving the Clara-less room, his anticipation turned to dismay.