"Love is not a ghost. It does not linger in the places it once lived. It is the knife that carves us hollow, leaving a void only memories dare to fill."
The morning after Aiden vanished, I woke to silence. Not the quiet of an empty room, but the deafening kind the kind that claws at your eardrums until you're convinced the world has stopped breathing. His scent still clung to the sheets, a cruel mockery of warmth. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks like they held answers. One. Two. Three. How many days since he died? How many nights since he began haunting me?
By dusk, I couldn't stand it anymore.
I climbed to the terrace, the same one where we'd danced under the stars, where he'd whispered promises that now tasted like ash. The city sprawled below, indifferent to my grief, its lights flickering like distant fireflies. I gripped the railing, the metal biting into my palms, and screamed. A raw, ragged sound that tore through the night.
"Why did you come back? Why did you make me love you again?"
The wind swallowed my words.
And then, softly: "Because I had no choice."
I turned.
He stood in the shadows, half-formed, like a painting left unfinished. Moonlight slipped through him, casting a silver sheen on edges that wavered, unstable. His eyes God, his eyes were the same haunting blue, but darker now, storm-clouds gathering in a face I'd memorized in life and death.
"You're supposed to be gone," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"I tried." He stepped forward, and the air thickened, charged with the static of a coming storm. "But you're still holding on."
I laughed, bitter. "You don't get to blame this on me."
"I'm not blaming you." His gaze dropped to my lips. "I'm begging you."
"For what?"
"To let me go. Before I" He broke off, his form flickering. A crack split the air, sharp as a gunshot, and the terrace lights shattered. Glass rained down, glinting like tears.
I didn't flinch. "Before you what? Hurt me?"
"Yes." The word was a growl, low and feral. Shadows coiled around him, alive, hungry. "You think this is love? This… thing I've become? I'm a parasite, Amara. I feed on your grief. On your hope. And if I stay…" He closed the distance between us, his hand hovering over my cheek. Cold radiated from him, frost blooming in his wake. "I'll destroy you."
I leaned into his touch, even as it burned. "You already have."
His resolve fractured.
One moment, we were standing apart. The next, his lips were on mine, a collision of ice and fire. His kiss was desperate, punishing, as if he could carve his apology into my bones. I bit down, drawing a gasp from him or maybe it was a sob. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and I clawed at his back, needing to feel something real, even if it was pain.
We stumbled against the railing, the city spinning below us. His body pressed into mine, solid and spectral all at once, a paradox I'd never understand. His fingers found the hem of my shirt, sliding beneath to trace the scar on my hip a reminder of the hiking trip we'd taken last summer, when we were still alive. Really alive.
"Do you remember?" he murmured against my throat.
"Every second."
He stilled. "Even the bad ones?"
Especially the bad ones.
I didn't answer. Instead, I unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric disintegrating like ash under my touch. His chest was marbled with veins of shadow, pulsing faintly, a map of his decay. I pressed my lips to the darkest one, tracing it with my tongue. He shuddered, a broken sound escaping him.
"Amara"
"Don't." I kissed him again, swallowing his protests. "Just this once. Let me pretend."
He hesitated, his hands trembling where they gripped my waist. Then, with a groan that shook the air, he gave in.
We didn't make it to the bed.
The terrace floor was cold, unforgiving, but I barely felt it. His touch was everywhere, a blizzard of want and regret. His mouth trailed down my body, leaving frost in its wake, and I arched into him, my skin pebbling with goosebumps. When he entered me, it was with a slowness that bordered on agony, his eyes locked on mine, unblinking.
"Look at me," he whispered. "Remember me."
I did. Even as the temperature plummeted. Even as the shadows thickened, swallowing the moonlight. Even as his skin grew translucent, revealing the void beneath.
Afterward, we lay tangled in silence, the stars blotted out by clouds. His fingers traced idle patterns on my arm, each stroke leaving a trail of ice that melted too quickly.
"I found the letter," I said.
He froze. "What letter?"
"The one in your notebook. The proposal."
His breath hitched. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Why?" I turned to face him. "Because it's easier to haunt me than to marry me?"
"Because I'm dead!" He sat up, his form flickering violently. "That letter belongs to a man who doesn't exist anymore. A man who had a future. A man who could give you"
"I don't want a future!" The words tore out of me, raw and bleeding. "I want you. However I can have you. Even if it's just scraps. Even if it's just midnight."
He stared at me, his eyes hollowing into voids. "You're a fool."
"Then let me be a fool."
For a moment, I thought he'd vanish again. Instead, he pulled me to him, his kiss a bruising mix of love and fury. "One more night," he said against my lips. "One more, and then you let me go."
I didn't agree.
But I didn't say no.
"The heart is a reckless alchemist. It turns grief into gold, pain into poetry, and ghosts into lovers. But even alchemy has its price and every spell eventually breaks."