The Ghost Of The Past

The Ghost Of The Past
The sunlight was soft that day. Not harsh or blinding—just gentle, like the way her fingers used to comb through my hair. I could feel it again, the warmth of her touch. The meadow smelled like jasmine and sun-dried grass, and the world was still.

Elena was humming—God, I had forgotten that tune, but now it played so clearly. A song she had picked up from some French film neither of us ever finished. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

I lay with my head in her lap, my eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of her breath and the occasional turn of a page from the book she held. The breeze moved her soft chestnut curls across my forehead, tickling my skin.

"You’re not even pretending to read anymore," I murmured, my lips curving into a lazy smile.

She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that stirred something deep in me. "That’s because you make a better view," she teased, gently tapping the spine of the book against my forehead.

I opened my eyes, tilting my head up slightly. She looked radiant. The sunlight danced in her brown eyes, and her cheeks held the kind of blush that needed no makeup. Her white dress fluttered with the wind, and for a moment, I could almost believe time had stopped just for her.

“I could stay here forever,” I whispered.

Her smile faded just a little, not with sadness, but with gravity. She looked down at me, her fingers brushing back my hair from my forehead. “Then let’s make it forever, Tris.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

She bit her bottom lip, nervous—a rare sight for someone so sure of herself. “I mean… maybe it’s time. Maybe we’re ready.”

My heart stuttered. I sat up slightly, leaning into her touch. “You mean—”

“I want a baby,” she said quietly, her voice soft as the wind. “With you. I want a little you running around, climbing trees and asking too many questions. Or maybe a little me, bossing us both around.”

I stared at her, stunned by the surge of emotion rising in my chest. “You’re serious.”

She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

I kissed her then. Not out of lust, not even out of excitement—but from a place deeper than that. A kind of awe. A kind of reverence. Because somehow, out of all the chaos and mess I was, she had still chosen me. And now she wanted to build something with me. A life. A family.

“I’d give anything to see that future,” I whispered into her hair.

She wrapped her arms around me. “Then let’s make it happen.”

And in that moment, under that endless blue sky with her arms around me and hope filling every hollow part of my chest, I believed we could.

I believed we would.

…

But then the sky darkened.

The meadow faded.

And I awoke with a jolt in a cold, empty room.

My chest ached like it had been torn open all over again.

Because I did see that future… and I lost it.

I woke up choking on air.

My chest heaved like I had just come up from drowning—except there was no water. Just silence. Just this god-awful emptiness that clung to my skin like damp sheets. The soft light pouring through the slits of the curtains did nothing to warm me. If anything, it only reminded me that the sun in my dream was gone. She was gone.

My palms were clammy. I brought one to my face, trying to steady my breathing, but the ache in my chest only worsened. It wasn’t just a memory—it was a wound. And tonight, it had been sliced open again like it had never even started to heal.

“Elena…” I whispered, her name falling from my lips like a prayer I no longer had faith in.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head hanging low. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and I kicked them away like they were suffocating me. My heart wouldn’t slow. It was hammering against my ribs, like it wanted to escape the cage of my guilt and grief.

The dream had felt so real.

Her laughter.

Her voice.

Her hands in my hair.

Her eyes full of life and light and promise.

God, her eyes.

I could still smell the wildflowers. I could still feel the warmth of her lap, the softness of her dress, the way she had looked at me like I was her entire world.

And now here I was.

Alone. In a room that felt too cold. In a body that had aged more than it should have. In a life that I had built from rubble and still couldn’t call whole.

My fingers shook as I ran them through my hair, gripping the roots like the pain could somehow tether me. I couldn’t breathe past the lump in my throat.

A bitter laugh escaped me—ugly and dry. “Some protector I turned out to be,” I muttered into the empty room.

I buried my face in my hands. Maybe if I pressed hard enough, I could erase the dream. Or the memory. Or myself.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to forget her.

I just didn’t know how to live with her absence.

The door creaked faintly in the distance—someone was probably up. Maybe Hazel. Maybe a staff member passing by. I didn’t care. I couldn’t move. Not yet.

I stayed there for a while, suspended between past and present, aching for a woman I’d once held in my arms and now only saw in broken fragments of sleep.

The guilt, the longing, the what ifs—they were all part of me now. A twisted inheritance.

And no matter how far I tried to run from it, or how close I let someone else come… the pain a
lways found its way back.

Because the truth is, I didn’t just lose her.

I lost myself with her.