Yours, Eternally

Where Reflections Breathe, and Whispers Leave Marks

The café felt different tonight. Evelyn couldn't put her finger on it—maybe it was the rain, blurring the view from the window, or the low, looping jazz melody that seemed to echo on and on, as if the song itself had forgotten how to end. The space around her, usually warm and buzzing with life, felt stretched and quiet, like a place holding its breath.

She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, letting the heat soak into her fingers. The steady, grounding weight was a small comfort, as she sat there, watching the rain trace patterns down the glass. The world outside was a smeared watercolor of blue and gray, punctuated by the occasional streetlight halo in the puddles.

She shifted in her seat and glanced around, hoping to dismiss an inexplicable sense of unease. The café was nearly empty. A couple in the corner whispering over mugs of tea, an older man reading a newspaper, the barista cleaning up behind the counter. Nothing unusual. But the feeling lingered, prickling at the back of her neck.

Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought, a trick of the light or the mood or maybe the coffee itself—it tasted unusually bitter tonight, like it had steeped too long, taken on something dark and restless from the evening. She took another sip, but the unease wouldn't settle.

Her gaze drifted back to the window, and that's when she saw him.

A man, seated at a small table behind her, his form faint in the glass, his gaze trained somewhere just beyond her. Evelyn felt a chill as their reflections met. A shadow seemed to pass over his face, something almost sorrowful—as though he were warning her of something he couldn't say aloud.

Something about him tugged at her memory, the way certain dreams linger in fragments when you wake up—half-familiar, but always just out of reach. Her heart beat a little faster, and she told herself it was the coffee, or maybe the chill of the rain. But her pulse knew better.

Evelyn glanced down at her hands, then back at the window. He was still there, his gaze between his tousled hair are sharper now, as though he'd noticed her noticing him. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a sense of exposure, as if he'd peeled something back and seen something private.

She turned, but the table behind her was empty. The chair was tucked neatly in, as though no one had sat there for hours. She looked back at the window, her heart now thudding in her chest. Her reflection stared back, pale and startled, but there was no sign of him.

Evelyn swallowed, forcing herself to breathe, to rationalize. She'd been alone since she came in—she was sure of it. She had seen everyone in the café when she arrived, hadn't she? Counted the handful of patrons, noted each face in that absent way she always did. But this stranger, this... presence, felt different. Unfamiliar, yet not entirely unknown.

She took another sip of coffee, willing the warmth to chase away the chill that had settled over her. It was absurd, she told herself. But her mind kept returning to the way he'd looked at her, the way his eyes had seemed to recognize her, as though he'd been waiting there just for her.

The jazz melody looped back again, a strange, haunting tune that seemed to deepen the silence rather than fill it. The café felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were closing in, pressing her closer to something she couldn't see.

She tried to laugh it off, whispering, 'You're losing it, Evelyn.' But the words felt hollow. Her pulse thrummed at her wrist, steady but rapid, as if her body recognized a pull her mind refused to accept.

Just as she was about to get up, she caught another flicker in the glass—a shadow, a breath against the window, warm and close, though no one was near her. She froze, her eyes widening as she watched her reflection shift, subtly, almost imperceptibly.