This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

Friday, June 13th. You told me goodnight—and then vanished. Not in the poetic sense. Literally vanished. No goodbye, no trace. One moment you were there, and the next you were gone, like smoke slipping through fingers, like a dream that crumbles the second you try to hold onto it.

Your face blanketed the city on missing posters, stapled to street poles, plastered across bus stops. Your family wept on the evening news. Police questioned everyone who knew you. They came to my door with tight voices and suspicion in their eyes. They had theories. None of them stuck. I had an airtight alibi, and besides—I didn’t do anything.

You were simply... gone.

Days dragged into weeks. Weeks bled into months. Nothing. No sightings. No leads. Just silence.

Until that night.

The restaurant had been short-staffed again. I was the last to leave. It was nearly 2 a.m., and the parking lot was a patchwork of shadows under flickering streetlights. My backpack felt heavier than usual—books, notes, an impending exam clawing at the back of my mind. I was too tired to care. All I could think about was caffeine, sleep, and surviving tomorrow.

Then I heard it. A sound thin as thread, threading itself into my thoughts. A whisper.

“Devon...”

I stopped cold.

The voice was quiet—barely louder than the wind—but it curled around my name in a way only you ever did. My breath caught. My heart stuttered.

I turned, slowly, like I knew something terrible might be waiting.

And there you were.

At the far end of the lot, where the pavement crumbles into tree line, you stood beneath the moonlight. Still. Silent. The wind tugged at your clothes, tangled your hair, but you didn’t move.

For a moment, all I felt was relief. My legs took a step forward on instinct. I was halfway to running before something—everything—felt wrong.

You looked like you. You sounded like you. But... you weren’t you.

There was something in the set of your shoulders. The way your head tilted just a little too slowly. Your eyes—too dark, too still.

And the way you said my name.

Not with warmth. Not with familiarity.

But like it was a secret. Like a warning. Like an echo spoken from something cold and far beneath the surface.

I stopped. I didn’t run. Couldn’t. The air felt too thick. My legs too heavy.

You just stood there, watching me.

Smiling.