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by user07977943

by user07977943

The sharp clang of the fork hitting the ground snapped me out of my thoughts. James seemed lost too, not even noticing it had fallen. Instinctively, I bent down to pick it up, but my hand passed right through it. I froze for a moment, and then the fork was picked up by another hand.

"What are you eating?" Emma's soft voice broke the silence.

I stared at my now barely visible hands, which were starting to blur and lose form. Then, I looked at her hands—long, delicate, and pale. A wave of insecurity washed over me. I used to have pretty hands too.

Before I died, I could cook a whole meal, and I could breeze through any game. But now, I couldn't even touch a fork.

"What kind of apple pie is this? It smells weird," Emma said as she casually took another fork, slowly stirring the pie in James' bowl.

James frowned slightly but still answered, "Celery."

Emma didn't seem to mind, nodding as she looked up at him. "Why did Annie say today is your birthday?"

James froze for a moment.

Emma smiled openly. "I saw your chat history when your phone was on the couch earlier." Then she added, "I didn't expect your lock screen password hasn't changed—150802, the day we first met."

James kept his head down, making it hard for me to read his expression.

Still, my heart ached.

I had once playfully asked James to change his password to the day we started dating. He refused, and now I knew why. It was because of her.

"Come on, answer me. Why did Annie say today is your birthday?"

I glared coldly at Emma. James had promised me—this would be our secret. He wouldn't tell anyone—

"Five years ago, a lot of bad things happened that day," James said in his usual low, calm voice. "She suggested moving my birthday back a week and insisted on celebrating it for me every year."

I bit down hard on my tongue, the taste of blood filling my mouth, spreading and crashing over me like a wave. I suddenly wanted to laugh—laugh at myself.

Emma went quiet for a moment. "She was really good to you."

"This apple pie—did she make it? For your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"So, you put me to bed early just to eat this? To keep your promise to her?"

James didn't answer.

The room fell into silence.

Emma swiftly stabbed a piece of pie with her fork and said, "I want to eat it."

"No!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, but no one could hear me.

I reached out to grab her fork—nothing.

James' gaze darkened as he grabbed her wrist, his voice low and warning, "Emma."

Emma stared into his eyes, her voice deliberate and firm, "I want to eat it."

"From now on, I'll be with you on every birthday," she whispered, leaning closer, forcing him to choose.

James' jaw clenched, his dark eyes flickering with inner conflict. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly let go of her hand.

Emma got her wish. She ate the pie.

I stood there, frozen, tears streaming down my face. It felt like a thousand knives slicing into my heart, the pain excruciating and relentless.

It wasn't just a pie. It wasn't just a pie.

For days after that, I floated in the corner of the room, watching them with a numb, hollow feeling in my chest, as if I'd lost the ability to feel anything.

But whether it was my imagination or not, after that day, James seemed colder toward Emma.

Apart from playing games together, they had no other intimate interactions, and James even seemed to deliberately avoid her touch.

One day, Emma suddenly asked, "I keep forgetting to ask—where's Annie?"

James paused briefly, his voice calm, "We had a fight a few days ago. She's on a business trip."

Emma chuckled. "It's been so long without contact. Maybe she's already thinking of breaking up with you."

James' gaze darkened, and with certainty, he replied, "Impossible."

As he spoke, he instinctively pulled out his phone, staring at our chat history. A rare flicker of unease and frustration appeared on his usually calm face.

Oh, he still didn't know I was dead.

Suddenly, I felt a strange curiosity.

What would his reaction be when he found out?