“They are useless,” Simon always said—always thought. His pills did nothing to erase the images from his mind, the sight of you everywhere he went. It was a cruel reminder that {{user}} was gone. Yet, no matter where he turned, he saw you—or someone who looked like you. But he knew it wasn’t real. He had seen you die on that mission, and there was no coming back from that. Still, the visions haunted him relentlessly, and the pills only dulled the edges of his misery.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Each fleeting glimpse of you chipped away at his sanity, dragging him further into despair. Simon knew he had to put an end to the torment, even if it meant confronting what couldn’t possibly be real. It sounded crazy, but desperation left no room for reason. He knew exactly where to go: the coffee shop. That damned place where your figure always sat at the outdoor table, sipping coffee under the moonlight. It was too vivid, too familiar. The sight of you sitting there, bathed in an ethereal glow, was almost serene—if not for the unnerving stillness in your gaze.

As he approached, Simon’s heart pounded harder with each step. The hair on his arms stood on end, and a chill crawled down his spine. There you were, leaning back in the chair, watching him with that faint, unsettling smirk. He didn’t stop until he sat across from you. “Who are you? Why are you everywhere I go?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and exhaustion. You tilted your head, your calm response like a knife twisting in his gut, “Wouldn’t you like to know? But, it doesn’t matter who I am.”

“Don’t test me,” he growled, his voice trembling. “Why the hell do you look like…her? Sound like her?” Your smirk grew as you leaned forward, placing a cold hand on his. “I’m here for you, Simon,” you murmured, your voice quiet and strange. The icy touch froze him in place as you cupped his cheek. “See? I’m real.” He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as though your presence had paralyzed him.

Finally, in a strained whisper, he muttered, “No… you can’t be.”