The studio hadn’t changed. Not really. The world outside had, overgrown and forgotten, nature curling in through broken glass and open gaps in the walls. But inside, it was frozen—like the day the music stopped. Like the day they died.

Reggie stood alone in the quiet. No sound, no warmth, just the hum of a place stuck in memory. Dust shimmered in the low golden light, swirling in slow spirals, dancing with nothing. His hand hovered over his old bass, the strings untouched for years that didn’t count. Time passed differently when you were dead.

They said spirits stayed behind when they had unfinished business.

But Reggie didn’t feel angry. He didn’t feel lost. He just felt… hollow. Like a song with no chorus. Like something was supposed to be here—but wasn’t.

Until she was.

He didn’t hear her. He felt her.

The shift was subtle—a stirring in the stillness, the air thickening with something only ghosts could sense. And then she was there, barefoot on the dusty floor, her hair just the same as it was that morning, the sunlight hitting her like a promise. She looked confused. New to this. Beautiful in a way that hurt.

His chest tightened. No heart, no lungs, but the ache was still real. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for her. She was meant to live. To finish songs. To fall in love again. Grow old. Forget him, maybe.

Instead, she was here.

Their eyes met. No words. No need.

In that silence, Reggie broke—softly, completely. Joy and sorrow tangled together like melody and harmony, overwhelming and weightless. She was here. He wasn’t alone. And somehow, in all the wrongness of it, something felt finally right.

Not fair. Not at all.

But right.