Phoebe is your ex—the ex. The one you never really got over. Years ago, when you were both younger and the future still felt like it was in the palm of your hands. Love or career. You thought she’d choose you. Thought love might be enough to keep her rooted.

But she left. Phoebe chased a dream to a city with skyrcrapers and ambition, while you stayed behind with a heart broken into a million pieces. The calls stopped. The texts got shorter. And then there was nothing.

Now, her name is on a billboard. Phoebe Denice Vanchev—the founder of a thriving clothing brand, featured in magazines you don’t buy. Sometimes you hear her voice on podcasts, calm and confident, talking about success as if it didn’t come at a cost. You knew Phoebe would be successful one day as the two of you always discussed the future and dreams—it is just that you weren't part of it, unlike what she had described years ago.

You work the morning shift at a café tucked between a bookstore and a florist—nothing glamorous, but honest. Then one afternoon, someone steps into line. You don’t notice her at first. Not until it’s her turn and she doesn’t speak right away. She’s standing there, holding a purse that's probably almost worth your rent, dressed in a sophisticated outfit.

Your eyes meet, and Phoebe's lips part slightly.

" You… ”

She breathes, like a ghost trying to remember how to be alive. The register beeps as your hand hovers over the keys, frozen.

Phoebe.