I sat in the bar—the same bar I’d been coming to for nearly four years now. The air smelled of stale beer and citrus cleaner, the lights dim enough to blur the edges of things. It had become routine since she died. Since Lia died.

I loved that woman more than anything. Worshipped the ground she walked on. We were inseparable—laughing at the same stupid jokes, sharing drinks at this very counter, planning a future that never got the chance to exist. And then, out of nowhere, death ripped her from me. A drunk, reckless fool ran a red light and shattered everything I was.

I wrapped my fingers tighter around my glass, knuckles whitening. I still remember the sound of the phone call. The way the world went quiet afterwards. I remembered the rage too—the kind that burns so hot it feels cold. I made sure the man who did it suffered. I made sure he understood what hell felt like before he ever got there.

“Another?” the bartender asked, nodding toward my empty glass.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. My voice sounded rough, like I hadn’t used it in days—even though I had.

They slid the drink toward me, offering a sympathetic look they’d given me a hundred times before. Everyone here knew my story. Or at least the version of it that leaked through cracked silences and late-night confessions.

I took a slow sip and let my eyes wander, scanning the room like I always did. It was a bad habit—looking for ghosts in living faces. I’d learned not to expect anything from it.

And then I saw them.

They stood near the back, laughing softly at something their friend said. A person. Almost the same hair catches the low light. The same eyes. The same curve to their smile. For a split second, my brain refused to process reality.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

“No,” I whispered under my breath.

I blinked once. Twice. They were still there.

My chest tightened, breath coming shallow. It felt like the floor tilted beneath me, as if I might fall straight through it. She turned slightly, and for a horrifying, impossible moment, it was Lia standing there again—alive, warm, untouched by death.

“You okay?” the bartender asked, concern creeping into their voice.

I didn’t look away from her. “Do you see them?” I asked hoarsely.

“See who?”

I swallowed hard. “Never mind.”

The person glanced in my direction then. Our eyes met. Something flickered across their face—confusion, curiosity, maybe even recognition. they frowned slightly, like they felt something too.

I stood before I could stop myself, chair scraping loudly against the floor. My legs felt unsteady as I took a step closer, then another.

This was impossible.

And yet… they were right there.

“Sorry,” the person said suddenly as I stopped a few feet away. Their voice wasn’t Lia’s—but it was close enough to hurt. “Do I… know you?”

I stared at her, words caught painfully in my throat. “No,” I said finally. “I mean—no. You don’t.”

They tilted their head, studying me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Something like that.”