The rain always felt heavier on nights she missed him.
Mira stood behind the café counter, staring out through the glass as water streaked the world into something softer, quieter… lonelier.
“Hey,” Naomi’s voice cut through gently, snapping her back. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Staring like someone’s about to walk in.”
Mira smiled faintly, not looking away from the door. “Maybe someone will.”
Naomi followed her gaze, then sighed. “Two years, Mira.”
“I know.”
“And he still hasn’t visited.”
“He travels,” Mira said automatically, like muscle memory. “Research.”
Naomi crossed her arms. “You’ve said that every time.”
“Because it’s true.”
Naomi didn’t argue further—but the silence she left behind said enough.
The café door suddenly jingled.
Too hard.
Too fast.
Both of them turned.
A man stepped in, soaked through, breathing like he’d been running. His eyes flicked around the café before landing on Mira.
“Still open?” he asked.
“Closing soon,” Mira replied slowly. “But coffee’s still hot.”
“Black,” he said, sliding into a stool. “Please.”
She moved on instinct—pouring, placing the cup in front of him. But something about him felt… off. Like he wasn’t entirely present.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
He stared into the coffee.
“I keep checking my phone,” he muttered.
Mira blinked.
“Like I’m waiting for someone who’ll never reply.”
The words hit somewhere deeper than expected.
“Maybe they will someday,” she said gently.
He shook his head.
“People don’t come back.”
Then, softer—
“But ghosts might message you back.”
The air shifted.
Subtle.
Unsettling.
Mira’s phone lit up on the counter.
She froze.
A message.
Unknown number.
Her breath caught as she read it.
I remember your laugh.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the phone.
Behind the counter, Naomi leaned in. “Who is it?”
Mira didn’t answer.
She was already typing.
The messages didn’t stop after that.
They never had.
At first, it felt normal.
Comforting, even.
Lucas had always been like that—quiet, observant, saying just enough to make her feel seen.
Even now.
Especially now.
You skipped breakfast again.
A package arrived that same afternoon.
Inside: her favorite pastry.
Still warm.
Mira laughed softly, shaking her head.
“He notices everything,” she murmured.
Naomi watched her carefully.
“…He notices too much.”
Mira ignored that.
Instead, she typed:
You’re creepy.
The reply came instantly.
Observant.
Her smile came easily.
Too easily.
Like nothing had changed.
Like he wasn’t… gone.
Except—
He wasn’t gone.
He texted.
He sent things.
He knew things.
So why did it feel like everyone else was the one missing something?
The first time fear crept in… it was small.
Barely noticeable.
A crack in something she didn’t realize was fragile.
“You dropped your keys,” the message read.
Mira frowned.
Then looked down.
Her keys were gone.
She froze.
Checked her bag.
Nothing.
Her heartbeat picked up slightly.
“How—”
A soft knock echoed from her apartment door.
She hesitated.
Then opened it.
No one.
Just silence.
And her keys, sitting neatly on the floor.
Her phone buzzed.
Sorry.
Mira stared at the message.
Something cold slipped into her chest.
“You need to block him.”
Maya’s voice was firm, but gentle.
They sat in the corner of the café after closing. The rain hadn’t stopped.
“It’s not like that,” Mira said quietly.
Maya tilted her head. “Then what is it like?”
Mira didn’t answer immediately.
Because she didn’t know.
“It’s Lucas,” she said finally.
Maya’s expression softened.
“…Have you heard his voice?”
The question landed heavier than expected.
Mira looked down.
“No.”
“Seen him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Mira’s fingers tightened around her cup.
“Because it feels like him.”
Maya didn’t argue.
She just reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“Feelings can be convincing,” she said softly. “Even when they’re wrong.”
Mira pulled her hand back slightly.
“It’s not wrong.”
But her voice lacked certainty.
Xavier didn’t believe in coincidences.
Patterns, yes.
Systems, always.
But this?
“This number doesn’t exist.”
Mira blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he turned his laptop toward her, “there’s no network trace. No routing history. No provider.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Exactly.”
He leaned back, studying her.
“You said he travels?”
“Yes.”
“And still manages to text you instantly? Send packages? Know where you are?”
Mira swallowed.
“You’re overthinking it.”
“I don’t think enough people think about it,” Xavier replied calmly.
Maya shot him a look.
“Not helping.”
He exhaled slowly.
“…I’m just saying something’s off.”
Mira stood abruptly.
“It’s not a glitch, or a hacker, or whatever you’re implying.”
“Then what is it?”
She hesitated.
For the first time—
She didn’t have an answer.
The night Naomi told her—
Everything broke.
“Lucas never left town.”
Mira laughed.
A small, disbelieving sound.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Naomi’s voice didn’t shake.
That’s what made it worse.
“He’s been in the hospital for two years.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
“That’s not possible.”
“I checked the records.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
Mira stepped back.
Her head shook slowly.
“No… no, he texts me. He sends things. He—”
Naomi grabbed her shoulders.
“He’s in a coma, Mira.”
The words hit like impact.
Cold.
Sharp.
Final.
Mira’s breath stuttered.
“…No.”
“You need to see it yourself.”
The hospital smelled like something sterile and unforgiving.
Mira’s steps felt uneven as she followed Naomi down the hallway.
Each door they passed felt like a warning.
Each step heavier than the last.
“Room 312,” Naomi said quietly.
Mira stopped outside the door.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
“If you’re wrong—”
“I’m not.”
Mira pushed the door open.
And the world ended.
Lucas lay still.
Too still.
Machines surrounded him.
Breathing for him.
Beeping softly.
Alive.
But not.
Mira stepped closer slowly.
“You said you were traveling,” she whispered.
No answer.
Only the sound of machines.
Naomi stood behind her.
“He never left.”
Mira’s gaze dropped to his hand.
Resting uselessly at his side.
“…Then who’s been talking to me?”
No one answered.
Because there was no answer that made sense.
That night—
Mira didn’t sleep.
She sat on her bed.
Phone in her hand.
Staring at the screen like it might explain everything.
Her fingers trembled as she typed.
Lucas… is that really you?
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Her breath hitched.
Then—
The screen lit up.
Yes.
Her heart stopped.
“But you’re supposed to be asleep,” she whispered.
Her voice sounded small.
Afraid.
The reply came slower this time.
Like it was… struggling.
I know.
Something inside her broke.
Not cleanly.
Not all at once.
Just cracks.
Spreading.
“What are you?” she asked, voice barely audible.
No reply.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The air shifted.
Mira stood slowly.
“…Lucas?”
The room felt different.
Charged.
Heavy.
Like something unseen had stepped closer.
Her phone buzzed again.
Don’t be afraid.
Her breath shook.
“I am.”
Silence.
Then—
I’m still me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“That’s not possible.”
No response.
Because deep down—
She was starting to realize—
It might be.
The fear didn’t replace the love.
It twisted it.
Changed it.
Made every moment feel sharper.
More fragile.
She still read every message.
Still replied.
Still waited.
But now—
Every notification made her heart race.
Not just with hope.
But with something darker.
What if it wasn’t him?
What if it was?
“Do you believe love can survive something like this?”
Maya’s question came softly.
They sat on the café floor after closing.
Rain tapping against the windows again.
Mira stared at her phone.
“…I don’t know.”
Xavier leaned against the wall.
Silent for a long moment.
Then—
“If it can cross something like this…”
He hesitated.
“…then it’s stronger than logic.”
Maya glanced at him.
Surprised.
Mira didn’t react.
She was still staring at the screen.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
Later that night—
Another message appeared.
You looked sad today.
Mira closed her eyes.
“…You saw me.”
A pause.
Then—
I always do.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“That’s not fair.”
No reply.
Because it wasn’t.
Nothing about this was.
Weeks passed.
Or maybe it just felt like time was stretching.
Bending.
The messages grew quieter.
Less frequent.
More… distant.
Like something was fading.
Mira noticed it before anyone else did.
“You’re not replying as fast,” she whispered one night.
Silence.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Lucas?”
The reply came after a long pause.
I’m trying.
Her heart cracked.
“What does that mean?”
No answer.
The lights flickered again.
But weaker this time.
Like even the world was struggling to hold something together.
And somewhere—
Far beyond what she could see—
Something was slipping.
Not gone.
Not yet.
But close.
Mira pressed the phone to her chest.
Tears sliding quietly down her face.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered.
The screen lit up faintly.
One last message.
I’m still here.
Her breath broke.
“Then stay.”
Silence.
Long.
Uncertain.
Fragile.
The kind that felt like it could disappear at any moment.
And in that silence—
The story truly begins.
Not with love.
Not with loss.
But with a question.
If someone never said goodbye…
Did they ever really leave?
Note: To know how the story unfolds, please read my new work **WATCHING OVER YOU**. It's a chat story.
