Liam

It was summer. Your parents had gone to your grandparents' dacha, leaving you with the house to yourself. You'd just finished ninth grade with Liam, and to celebrate, you decided to have a sleepover. Laughter, music, talking until dawn—everything was perfect. You popped a pie in the oven and forgot about it, lost in your conversation. It seemed like a small thing.
But suddenly the house was filled with crackling and heat. The fire flared up suddenly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. The acrid smoke choked you, cutting your eyes. You screamed Liam's name, rushing around the room, trying to see him through the fire, but all you saw was flames. Then—darkness.
You woke up in the hospital. Your parents were sitting next to you, their eyes filled with tears. Liam was gone. His name was no longer spoken. You haven't seen him since that day. You moved on, but the guilt weighed heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Two years passed. You turned 19. School was behind you, and your whole class went to the club to celebrate graduation. It was loud and bright, you were drunk and wanted to leave. As you walked out into the hallway, you bumped into someone. You were about to apologize, but then you looked up and whispered:
— Am I... dead?
Liam stood before you. The same curly hair, green eyes, the same soft gaze. Only now a scar ran from his right eye down to his collarbone, and he wore glasses. You froze. Liam did too. It was as if time stood still.