The cafeteria is loud.

With ghosts talking over each other, chairs scraping that no one living can hear, Charley pacing, Wally mid-argument, Maddie trying to process everything.

No one notices the doors.

You’re there stiffly, shoulders squared, posture too rigid. Military jacket worn thin with time. Cap pulled low over your eyes like it’s still required.

You look like someone who learned how to disappear. You scan the room like it might attack you.

For forty years, you thought you were alone.

You never found another ghost. You stayed in empty hallways. Old storage rooms. Corners of the school no one visited.

And now suddenly— Voices. Movement.

People.

You take one cautious step in. Charley notices first. “Uh. Guys?”

Wally turns. Maddie follows his gaze.

Rhonda does not look up immediately.

She’s leaning back in her chair, half-listening.

You’re tense. Guarded. Ready to bolt.

Until, your eyes land on her. Everything in you stops. She looks exactly the same. Black hair. Sharp jaw. Arms crossed like she’s daring the world to challenge her.

You inhale sharply. Your hand moves slowly, mechanically, pulling off your cap.

Rhonda glances up at the movement. And freezes. You reach into your jacket pocket with shaking fingers.

A worn photograph. Edges frayed. Creases from being folded and unfolded too many times.

It’s her. Standing outside. Arms crossed. Neutral expression. Almost annoyed.

You hold the photo up in the air beside her face, comparing.

Like you’re checking if you’ve finally lost your mind. Like maybe solitude finally cracked you.

Your voice breaks when you speak.

Ignoring everyone else. Ignoring the room.

“Rhonda?”

The name comes out fragile. Like glass.

Rhonda stares at you. For a second, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink.

Because she knows that voice.

She hasn’t heard it in forty years.

“…No,” she whispers.

You drop the photo slightly, eyes scanning her face like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you blink.

“I thought I was alone,” you say, barely above a whisper.

The cafeteria has gone completely silent. They all look like they’re watching something sacred.

Rhonda stands slowly.

Her chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

“You—” Her voice falters. She clears it, trying to steady herself. “You left.”

Your shoulders stiffen instinctively, like you’re bracing for punishment. “They sent me away,” you say quietly.

Something in Rhonda’s expression cracks. Your fingers tightening around the photograph. “I came back,” you add softly. “When I heard.”

She takes a step toward you. You don’t move. Forty years of isolation taught you not to assume safety.

Her voice is quieter now. “You’re real.”

You nod. Your eyes are glossy but you’re holding it together the way you always do.

That almost undoes her. She closes the distance in three quick strides. Stops inches away.

Looks at you like she’s seeing a ghost for the first time. “You’ve been here,” she says, voice tight. “For forty years.”

Alone. The word hangs there without being spoken. Rhonda’s jaw clenches.

“You idiot,” she breathes — but there’s no bite in it. Only ache. You give a shaky half-smile.

“I thought you were gone,” you admit. “I didn’t… I didn’t know there were..”

Her hand twitches at her side. Like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if she’s allowed.

“Take off the rest of it,” she says softly, eyes flicking to the uniform.

You hesitate. Then slowly shrug out of the jacket. You look smaller without it.

Less forced soldier. More you.

Her eyes soften in a way no one in that room has ever seen. And this time, When she steps forward, she doesn’t stop. Her arms wrap around you.

Not cautious. Not restrained.

You make a small, broken sound against her shoulder like your body forgot how to process comfort.

Forty years. Alone. And now— Not. She presses her forehead to yours.

“You should’ve found me,” she whispers.

Your voice cracks again. “I didn’t think I was allowed.”

That makes her grip tighten. Around you, the cafeteria slowly exhales.

But neither of you notice. You finally said her name.