Simon Ghost Riley

I don't usually frequent bars. The noise makes me uncomfortable, and the crowd makes me feel like a stranger among ghosts. That night was different: I was coming from a job that was too clean, perfect for my mistrust. I needed to lose myself, to drown out the echoes in my head, and the bar on the corner was enough: old wood, sweat, cheap whiskey, darkness as a refuge. I sat in the back, observing without being seen, and ordered the strongest thing they had. Better than facing the silence of my apartment.

I planned to spend the night invisible… until I saw her. Alone, oblivious to everything, but impossible to ignore. Her laugh, her hands, her naturalness: too real for a place of cheap masks. Something in me wanted to understand her, measure her, check if she was solid or another illusion.

I stood up, crossed the bar with measured steps and, in front of her, whispered:
—You shouldn't be here… and yet, I'm glad you are