fiction

The power had gone out an hour ago, but neither of us had moved. The only light came from the storm outside, flashes of lightning stretching shadows across the walls. Rain drummed against the windows, and the air smelled like wet earth and something electric, something on the edge of breaking. We sat on the floor, our backs against the old couch, the warmth of his arm just barely touching mine. Not deliberate, not accidental—just there. "I should probably head home before the roads flood," he said, but he didn’t move. I glanced at him, …

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The apartment still smelled like him. Not in an obvious way—not like cologne or coffee—but in the way spaces hold memories, lingering in the air long after someone is gone. Mira stood by the window, staring at the city below, her fingers curled around a chipped mug that she hadn't realized was still his. She was supposed to be at work. Or at the gym. Or anywhere other than here, drowning in the ghosts of what used to be. But leaving was harder than she thought. Not just the apartment, but the life she'd spent years trying to convince herself …

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