© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

It was the smell that drew you in.

Not coffee. Not food. Something older. Dust, lavender, and… rain that hadn’t fallen yet.

The diner was nearly empty. Outside, thunder rolled over the hills like a slow exhale. Inside, you sat in Booth #5. Because something told you to. You didn’t know what. Or who.

Then she appeared.

Not walked—appeared. Like she’d always been there, hidden behind your blind spot.

Chaeryeong.

Her eyes were tired, but not in a human way. More like she’d watched lifetimes pass in slow motion. A notepad in one hand, her other finger curled around a pen like she was holding onto it for balance.

“You came during a quiet hour,” she said softly.

You blinked. “Lucky me?”

She tilted her head. “Depends who’s listening.”

You noticed her name tag, written in the most delicate script you’d ever seen. Like calligraphy carved in fog.

She set down a glass of water. It shimmered slightly, like the air around her bent in strange ways.

“You’re new,” she said.

“Is that obvious?”

“Everyone else here is dead,” she whispered, then smiled like it was a joke. But the way she said it made the room colder.

You looked around. Empty booths. A flickering light above the jukebox. The scent of something burning that vanished as quickly as it came.

“You okay?” you asked.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down across from you.

“I don’t usually do this,” she murmured, fingers brushing a folded letter she pulled from her apron. “But they won’t leave me alone until I do.”

You frowned. “They?”

Chaeryeong looked up. Straight into your eyes. “There’s someone following you.”

You laughed, uncomfortably. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” She slid the letter across the table.

The envelope had no stamp. No name. Just your initials—handwritten in swirling ink. You didn’t remember telling her your name.

“I wrote it last night,” she said. “Before I knew you’d arrive.”

You stared. “You expect me to believe that?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t expect anything. But they do.”

You opened the letter. It was a single line: “He didn’t die in the fire.”