Zeyon’s POV
The night was too quiet.
I stood behind the counter, arms resting on the polished wood, just watching the soft flicker of the fairy lights we’d left hanging around the café’s windows. They didn’t blink like before. Now they just glowed gently. Soft. Warm. Still.
It’s been five months.
Five whole months since that day. Since she left. Since everything flipped like an old page in a book I didn’t want to read anymore.
“All the chairs are set, boss,” Leo said, voice lazy as he stretched his arms up. He tossed the cleaning cloth on one of the back tables and looked at me.
I nodded, barely looking at him. "Thanks."
“You’re gonna wait again?”
I didn’t answer. He already knew the answer.
Leo gave a small, understanding sigh and started gathering his stuff. “Alright. Just don’t sleep here again, man. It’s not good. This place might start to think you’re married to it."
I gave a half-smile. Not because it was funny. But because I needed to smile at something that didn’t ache.
After Leo finally left and locked the front door behind him, silence settled like a thick fog.
The air smelled like cinnamon and late-night coffee.
I sat down at the booth near the window — the same one. The one she used to sit at. Her favorite seat. The one facing the door.
Like maybe, just maybe, I’d see her walk in again.
But she never did.
I pulled the small, crumpled letter from my pocket. It’s worn now. Folded so many times I knew its creases better than my own hands.
"Zeyon,
I’m sorry. Not for leaving. But for not saying goodbye again. There are things I need to do. Things I need to know. I hope you’ll understand one day. Please be safe. You matter more than you know.
A."
The same words. Every time. They echo. They carve. They burn.
I don’t hate her.
I hate that I miss her this much.
I closed my eyes, resting my head against the glass. Rain started outside, not strong. Just that soft, misty kind that makes everything feel like a memory.
Back then, when the man, her father’s agent, or whoever he was, drove us home after that alumni night, I should’ve known. The way he spoke, calm but firm. Like he knew everything and we were just two kids in a story we didn’t write.
“Don’t try to find her,” he told us. "It’s not safe. Not for you. Not for her."
Safe.
What a joke.
How could anything be safe without her?
My phone buzzed. A message from Elisse: U up?
I stared at it. Then typed: Yeah. At the café.
Few seconds later: You're always at the café, Zey.
I didn’t reply. She didn’t expect me to.
The wind outside hit the windows harder. The lights flickered slightly. Still, I didn’t move.
And then… the door creaked.
My heart stopped.
No one knocks. Not at this hour. Not when the lights say CLOSED and everyone’s supposed to be asleep.
But I didn’t stand.
What if it’s her?
What if it’s not?
I waited. A few seconds passed. Nothing. Just the wind.
Maybe I imagined it.
I stood, walking slowly toward the door. My steps careful, quiet, like even the floor didn’t want to disturb the moment.
But there was no one.
Just the sound of the street. The rain. And my own breath.
I turned back inside, flicking the switch near the door. One light stayed on above the counter. Dim, soft.
I needed coffee.
As I poured water into the kettle, I thought about that night she first helped us open the café. She broke two cups. Laughed about it. Said, “I’m helping! In my own chaotic way!”
She was chaos. But beautiful.
And now?
Now she’s just a ghost. Not dead. Not alive. Just a shadow that refuses to leave.
The doorbell rang.
I jumped, nearly spilling the hot water.
I turned, expecting nothing. Hoping everything.
Leo.
“Hey,” he said, soaked from the rain. “I forgot my phone.”
I just nodded.
He walked in, picked it up from the back table, then stopped. Looked at me for a long second.
“You okay?”
No.
I lied. "Yeah."
He didn’t believe it. But he let it go.
He turned to leave, then paused. “She’ll come back, Zeyon. Maybe not today. Maybe not soon. But I think she will.”
I didn’t reply. Just stared at the cup in front of me.
“She’s not the type to leave forever,” he added, then left.
I sat again. Stirred the coffee. Let the bitterness sink.
I remembered the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams. About justice. About making the world better.
She always carried a storm inside her. And maybe I was just the boy too scared to get wet.
But I still waited.
Because sometimes… ghosts return.
And I wasn’t ready to forget her.
Not yet.