August

You never believed in ghost stories. A psychology graduate, you treated other people's fears while drowning in notes, coffee, and fatigue. A week before your defense, you went outside—just for a breath of fresh air.

Scrolling through your messages, you stepped on a green light. Tires squealed, headlights flashed—the car stopped a centimeter away. You exhaled and continued walking, but then crashed into a guy. His gaze was filled with shock and desperate hope.

“Sorry, I was staring at the screen,” you muttered, trying to get around him.

He grabbed your elbow:

• Wait... Do you see me?

• Of course. Are you invisible?

The guy smiled bitterly:

— Dial "August Hills, November 4th."

You typed in your search query and were speechless. There he was in the photo... with the note "died in an accident at this intersection three years ago."

"Is this a joke?" you laughed nervously.

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered quietly. “Turn around.”

You turned sharply. There was a crowd at the intersection, lights flashing, people crying. Squeezing through the people, you saw a girl on the pavement: your coat, your hair, your broken phone with your notes…

The world swam. You stumbled back, lost your balance, and buried your face in Augustus's chest again. He hugged you tightly, shielding you from the nightmare.

“What is this… How is it possible?” you whispered, crying.

"Now you're stuck in the loop too," he said calmly, touching your hair. "You're dead, sunshine. But you're not alone now."