"What is a ghost but a memory that refuses to die? A heartbeat that echoes in the silence, a shadow that lingers long after the light has faded. And what is love but the cruelest kind of haunting?"
The first time I died, it was quick. A screech of metal, a flash of light, and then nothing. No pain. No fear. Just a sudden, suffocating darkness.
The second time I died was slower.
It happened the moment Amara looked at me after learning the truth. Her eyes wide, shattered, betrayed cut deeper than any blade. I'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times in my head, but nothing could've prepared me for the raw terror in her voice when she told me to stay away.
I don't blame her. How could I? I'm a liar. A thief. A dead man who stole three more nights with her, pretending I still had the right to love her.
But God, I'd do it again.
I watch her now from the corner of her bedroom, invisible, untouchable. The morning sun slants through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across her sleeping form. She's curled into herself, clutching the pillow I'd pretended to sleep on, her face streaked with dried tears. Even now, after everything, she smells like me like us. Her shampoo, her skin, the faint trace of my cologne lingering on her sheets.
I shouldn't be here.
But I can't leave.
Not yet.
The pull of the afterlife is stronger today, a relentless undertow dragging at my bones. It's harder to stay solid, harder to remember the feel of her hands on me, the sound of her laugh. The edges of my existence are fraying, memories slipping through my fingers like smoke.
What was the name of her childhood dog?
What color were her pajamas the night we first kissed?
Why can't I remember her mother's voice?
Panic claws at my throat. I focus on the details: the freckle beneath her left ear, the scar on her knee from a hiking trip gone wrong, the way she hums in her sleep when she's dreaming of something sweet. Stay. Remember. Hold on.
But the clock is ticking.
Night falls, and with it, the fragile illusion of control. Midnight is my witching hour, the only time I can manifest fully. I wait in the shadows of her living room, counting the seconds until the hands of the clock align. 11:59 PM.
When the final chime rings out, my body solidifies a cruel mimicry of life. Cold air rushes into lungs I no longer have, and for a moment, I almost feel human again.
Almost.
Amara sits on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly at the TV. She hasn't moved for hours. The glow of the screen paints her face in shifting hues of blue and gray, and I wonder if she's waiting for me. Hoping. Hating.
I step into the light.
She doesn't look up, but her breath hitches. She knows I'm here.
"You said you'd leave tonight," she says, her voice flat.
"I will." The lie tastes like ash.
"Liar."
I flinch. She's right. I've been lying since the moment I crawled back into her world. Lies of omission. Lies of desperation. Lies whispered against her skin like prayers.
I sink onto the couch beside her, careful not to touch her. The space between us hums with tension, alive and electric.
"Why did you come back?" she asks, finally turning to face me. Her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks hollow. She looks like a ghost herself.
"You know why."
"Because you love me?" She laughs, sharp and brittle. "Love doesn't torture people, Aiden. Love doesn't make them grieve twice."
The words sting, but I deserve them. "I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did." Her voice cracks. "You died, and then you… you haunted me. You let me believe I was losing my mind. Do you have any idea what that's like? To mourn someone while they're standing right in front of you?"
Yes.
Because I'm mourning her too. The way she used to smile at me, full and unguarded. The way she'd trace patterns on my chest after we made love, her fingertips mapping constellations only she could see. The way she's looking at me now like I'm a stranger wearing her lover's face.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. It's not enough. It'll never be enough.
She shakes her head, tears spilling over. "Why can't you just stay?"
The question guts me. "I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not real, Amara!" The words burst out of me, harsh and ragged. "I'm a shadow. A echo. I'm dead."
"Then what was last night?" she demands, surging to her feet. "What was any of this? If you're just a ghost, how could I feel you? How could you" She chokes on the memory, her hands trembling. "How could you touch me like that?"
I rise slowly, my own anger flaring at myself, at death, at the universe that brought me back only to tear me away. "You think I wanted this? You think I chose to come back as some half-formed thing, desperate to pretend I'm still alive?" I step closer, my voice dropping to a growl. "I'm here because of you. Because the last thing I thought before I died was your name. Because I loved you so damn much, it anchored me here."
Her breath catches. "Then stay anchored."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'm fading!" The admission tears out of me, raw and furious. "Every second I'm here, I lose more of myself. My memories. My mind. My soul. Do you know what happens if I stay too long?" I grab her hand and press it to my chest. "Feel that? Nothing. No heartbeat. No warmth. Just… emptiness. And it's getting worse. Last night, when we" I stop, shame curdling in my gut. "I couldn't control it. The cold. The anger. I'm becoming something else. Something dangerous."
She yanks her hand back, but her eyes betray her wide, frightened, alive. "You're lying."
"Am I?" I step into her space, crowding her backward until her hips hit the edge of the dining table. "You felt it, didn't you? The way the room froze when I kissed you. The way the lights flickered. The way you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but want me, even though you knew it was wrong."
Her lips part, a shaky exhale escaping. "Stop."
"Why?" I press closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You asked for the truth. Here it is. I'm not the man you loved. I'm a ghost. A monster. And if I stay, I'll destroy you."
She shoves me, her palms slamming against my chest. "Then leave!"
I don't move. Can't move. Her hands are still on me, trembling, her nails digging into my skin like she wants to claw her way inside.
"I'm trying," I say hoarsely. "But you're holding on too tight."
For a heartbeat, we're frozen her pushing, me resisting, the air between us thick with unsaid things. Then, with a broken sob, she collapses against me, her fists clutching my shirt.
"I don't know how to let go," she whispers.
I wrap my arms around her, my throat burning. "Neither do I."
We end up on the floor, tangled in each other, kissing like it's the first and last time all over again. Her tears taste like salt and regret. My hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every scar, every shudder. I know I shouldn't. I know I'm poisoning us both. But I'm selfish. I'm desperate. I'm alive in the only way that matters.
When she undresses me, her fingers brush the jagged scar on my side the one from the accident. The one that didn't exist until tonight.
"What's this?" she murmurs, her touch feather-light.
I glance down. The skin is mottled, blackened, as if burned from the inside out. A visible reminder of what I am. What I'm becoming.
"Nothing," I lie, capturing her hand and pressing it to my lips. "Don't stop."
She hesitates, her eyes searching mine. Then, with a quiet desperation, she kisses me again, her hips grinding against mine. We move together, slow and aching, every touch a goodbye. The room grows colder, the shadows stretching longer, but neither of us cares.
Afterward, she falls asleep in my arms, her head on my chest. I stroke her hair, my fingers trembling.
Remember this, I beg myself. Remember her.
But already, the details are slipping.
What color are her eyes?
Green. No....brown. Wait....
What's her favorite song?
She used to sing it in the shower. How does it go?
Why can't I remember?
The clock ticks. 3:47 AM.
I close my eyes and hold her tighter.
When the sun rises, I'm ready.
I carry her to bed, tucking the blankets around her. She stirs, murmuring my name, and I press one last kiss to her forehead.
"I love you," I whisper. "In every lifetime."
Then I step into the lightnand let go.
"They say ghosts linger because they have unfinished business. But what if the business is love? What if the only thing left to finish is a goodbye that never ends?"