The nights were the hardest. Four months had passed since Jasmine was gone, but {{user}} still couldn’t sleep without replaying every memory they had shared. Her laughter, her voice, the way she used to hum off-key when brushing her hair—all of it haunted {{user}} in the most bittersweet way. The ache in her chest never dulled, not really.

She spent her days trying to move forward, visiting Jasmine’s grave often and speaking to the stone as if she were still there. But at night, her heart broke all over again. Tonight was no different.

As the clock ticked past 2 a.m., {{user}} finally let exhaustion pull her under. Her breathing evened out, and her body relaxed into the mattress.

“{{user}}...”

It was a soft whisper, barely audible, but it jolted her awake. Her name, spoken so gently, so familiarly, sent a shiver down her spine. She blinked groggily, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of her room.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. But then she saw it—a faint, white figure standing in the corner. Her breath caught in her throat as the figure became clearer, unmistakable.

“Jasmine?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure moved closer, glowing faintly in the moonlight that spilled through the window. Jasmine’s face was exactly as {{user}} remembered—beautiful, warm, but now tinged with a strange sadness.

“It’s me,” Jasmine said, her voice soft, almost ethereal.