It had been seven years since Julian disappeared without a word. {{user}} had stopped waiting long ago. She’d returned to her hometown, opened a quiet coffee shop on the corner, and built a life without ghosts. People asked about him less and less. Eventually, so did her own thoughts.

He, on the other hand, never forgot her voice. Not once.

Now, inside a dim, graffiti-stained payphone booth in Lisbon, Julian dials her number from memory. The line rings.

“Hello?”

He freezes.

“…Hello?”

That voice. Warmer than he remembered, stronger now.

She sighs. “Wrong number.” Click.

He breathes in. Once more. Dials again.

“Look, I already said—”

He whispers, “Right voice.”

A pause. No sound. Just breath between worlds.

“…Julian?”

The streetlight hums above the booth. He closes his eyes.