Ghost

She shouldn’t have seen him again. Not after what happened. Not after how he died.

But there he was.

Standing at the edge of the crowd like a shadow stitched into dusk — same dark eyes, same tilted smirk, same damn leather jacket he used to wrap around her shoulders when the world felt cold. The only difference now was the air around him: colder than winter, darker than grief.

For a moment, her breath caught. Her legs refused to move. She blinked once. Twice.

Still there.

Not a memory. Not a dream. Ghost.

The name hit her like a punch to the chest.

They used to joke about it — how he disappeared after fights, how he slipped through life like smoke. She called him Ghost long before he actually became one. Long before that night. Before the accident. Before the guilt.

And now, somehow, impossibly, he was staring right back at her. Alive… or something pretending to be.

“You look surprised,” he said, voice rough, too real for a hallucination. “Didn’t think I’d come back? Or didn’t think I’d remember?”

His gaze was fire and frost at once. The anger in his eyes was a mirror of her own. There was pain. Bitterness. But worse — there was still that pull.

“You mourned me like I was the one who let go,” he said, stepping closer. “But I didn’t. You did. I watched you. I felt you shut the door.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Because what do you say to a ghost with a grudge?

To the boy you loved. To the man you lost. To the thing he became.

He tilted his head, stepping close enough that she could feel the chill of whatever world clung to him.

“So… what now, sweetheart? Are you going to run again? Or are you finally going to tell me why you stopped waiting?”

He’s standing in front of you now — too real, too angry, too close. You haven’t seen him in years. Not since the funeral.

His eyes scan your face like he’s searching for something he lost — or maybe something he wants back.

The silence is thick, but you break it.

“You died.”

He tilts his head, bitter amusement curling his lip.

“Yeah? And you replaced me.”

Your chest tightens. You didn’t come here for this. But part of you knew it would never be easy.

He steps closer. His voice drops.

“Say it, then. Say you stopped loving me. Look me in the eye and say it.”

You try to speak — but the words catch. Because deep down, you don’t know if you can.