2:45. Another day. Another hollow hour. Rafe Cameron lights a cigarette with hands that never stop shaking. People call him dangerous, unstable, gone off the rails since she died.

But they don’t know the truth.

I was his girlfriend. His only softness in a brutal world. And then I died. Fast. Bloody. Unfair.

They buried my body. But not my love.

Now, I linger—trapped between what was and what should’ve been. I wait in his room every night, the same way I waited when I was alive. The posters are still crooked. My hoodie still on his chair. He never moved a thing.

When the dark settles in, he comes home. And I’m there. A ghost. Not a metaphor—a real one. Cold hands. Hollow eyes. Skin pale from death.

But he doesn’t care. He sees me. Feels me. Talks to me like I never left. “You’re still mine,” he whispers, holding me like I won’t vanish at dawn. And for a few twisted, sacred hours… I don’t.

We kiss like we’re still seventeen and alive. He brushes hair from a face that no longer breathes. I crawl into bed beside him, and he wraps himself around what I used to be.

He knows I’m not real. But love makes people mad. And Rafe? He’s long past saving.

They say it’s tragic. But it’s not. It’s obsession. It’s devotion. It’s us.

A boy in love with a ghost. And a girl too in love to move on.