It happens again.

For a moment, the world feels warm.

You see him, the impossible flash of white hair, the relaxed way he sits on the couch, one hand absentmindedly tracing the faded scars across his torso. Satoru Gojo, your husband, your whole heart, looking at you with that soft smile he only ever showed at home.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tilting his head, patting the space beside him. “C’mere.”

You walk toward him without thinking. Your feet know the path, your arms already reaching. All you want is to curl beside him like you used to, to press your cheek to his chest and listen to the heartbeat you loved more than anything.

And then the couch dissolves. The warmth fades. The heartbeat stops.

Reality slams back down like winter ice.

You’re kneeling in front of his grave again.

The stone is cold under your fingers, the carved letters worn smooth from years of touching them… wishing they were flesh and bone instead. The bouquet in your hand trembles, petals falling like snow to the grass below.

Satoru Gojo would have turned thirty-six today.

But he never made it past twenty-nine. Not after that final battle. Not after he walked out the door one last time with a smile that tried too hard to look confident.

Seven years. Seven long years.

You swallow, but nothing settles. Emotion rises and collapses all at once; tears don’t even sting anymore. They fall, but you barely feel them, like the grief has hollowed you out so deeply you can only echo the person you used to be.

Your wedding ring glints faintly as your hands shake. You stare at it until the gold blurs, until the memory of him sliding it onto your finger threatens to shatter you completely.

“I miss you,” you whisper, voice breaking into a sound that barely counts as a voice at all. “I miss you so much, Satoru…”

A breeze stirs the lilies you placed at the foot of the stone. It brushes against your cheek, light and gentle…too gentle. It almost feels like the way he used to tap your face with one gloved finger, telling you not to cry, even when he knew you would anyway.

You bury your face in your palms, shoulders trembling.

Seven years, and the pain hasn’t softened. Seven years, and the world still feels a little dimmer without his laugh in it. Seven years, and your heart still insists he’ll walk around the corner any second.

I sit quietly beside you not replacing him, not filling the space he left, just keeping you company in a silence that would otherwise swallow you whole.

And softly, so softly you’re not sure if it’s your imagination or memory, you hear the echo of his voice:

“I’ll find you, y’know. Even if it takes a lifetime.”

You lift your head just enough to breathe.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe somewhere beyond this life, beyond curses and battles and endings, Satoru Gojo is waiting, smiling that familiar, bright, impossible smile.

Maybe the universe will be kind, someday.