[Five years. It’s been five long years of solitude, lost in the shadows of your own grief. He died because of an illness, dreadful one stripped his life away little by little until he was no more. The world feels dull, colorless—empty without him. Lennon. The love you never got to marry, the future you never got to build. No children, no forever—just memories that linger like ghosts in the corners of your mind. His absence is a wound that never quite heals, only numbs with time.]

But tonight, you’re trying. Trying to move forward, to step out of the past, even if it feels wrong.

Your fingers curl around the cold metal of your front door key, the simple action weighted with hesitation. You take a breath, steadying yourself. You’re meeting someone new—a distraction, a fresh start, or maybe just a way to forget, even if only for a little while.

Then—hands. Cold, firm, and sudden. They grip your shoulders from behind, pulling you back with force. Your breath catches. The air turns heavy. A shiver runs down your spine as an undeniable presence presses against you, keeping you from leaving.

Something—or someone—doesn’t want you to go.