The next day,
James arrived first.
He sat under the weeping willow, the same one where they met, two coffees in hand. The cemetery was quiet — a gentle, respectful silence broken only by birds and the distant hum of traffic. He wore a dark sweater this time, and in the morning light, he looked less like a ghost and more like someone misplaced in time.
The wind tugged lightly at his collar as he waited. He'd never waited for anyone before. Not really. Not like this.
The cup in his left hand was for Sophie — milk, no sugar. He remembered. He always remembered.
---
She showed up five minutes late, walking like she wasn't in a rush to die. Just like the first time, Sophie carried a notebook tucked under her arm. Her jeans were cuffed, her curls were pinned up with a pencil, and her smile bloomed like sun through rainclouds.
"You actually brought coffee?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
James stood, awkwardly. "You said you liked it with milk."
Sophie grinned. "I say a lot of things. Didn't think you were listening."
"I was."
Their fingers brushed as she took the cup. Hers were warm. His were cold — always cold.
---
They sat on the bench beneath the willow, sipping in silence for a moment. Then Sophie spoke.
"So... what brings you back? Don't tell me you're here every day."
"Only when I want to see you," James said honestly.
She choked slightly on her coffee, laughing. "Okay. Creepy smooth. I'll give you points for style."
"I wasn't trying to be smooth."
"I know," she said, tilting her head. "That's what makes it worse."
He smiled, small but real. It made her pause.
"You don't smile much, do you?"
"I used to," he said softly. "A long time ago."
---
Sophie stared at him over her cup. "Let me guess. Heartbreak?"
James's silence was answer enough.
"Same," she said, tapping her chest. "Except mine's the kind you can't see on an x-ray."
He turned toward her slowly. "You joke about it a lot."
"It's easier than crying about it," she replied, then looked away. "I've done enough of that."
James studied her. The warmth in her. The bravery it took to sit beside death and laugh in its face.
"Have you ever been in love?" he asked.
Sophie blinked. "That's sudden."
"I'm just curious."
She considered. "Once. When I was sixteen. He told me we'd grow old together."
"And?"
"I'm growing old a lot faster than he expected," she said, smiling sadly. "He didn't stay."
James felt something tight coil in his chest. Anger. Sympathy. Guilt. He couldn't tell which.
"Your turn," Sophie said, nudging his shoulder. "You ever been in love?"
He hesitated.
Then: "Yes."
"What happened?"
"She grew old," he said quietly. "I didn't."
---
Sophie laughed. "Wow. Dramatic. What does that even mean?"
James didn't answer. Just looked out across the rows of gravestones, eyes far away.
Sophie sipped again. "You're weird, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
"I like weird." She nudged him again. "Makes me feel normal."
And then she did something that startled them both.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
It was brief — a second, maybe two — but it sent something electric through him. Not passion. Not desire. Something older. Recognition.
She didn't know who he was. What he was. But she wasn't afraid of him.
That alone made her different.
---
They stayed like that for a while. Sophie talking about poetry and dreams she didn't have time to chase. James listening, remembering what it felt like to exist in someone's world, even for a moment.
Eventually, she stood.
"Same time next week?" she asked.
James nodded. "I'll bring the coffee."
She hesitated, then grinned. "Don't fall in love with me, James."
"I won't," he lied.
And then she walked away.
---
When she was gone, James sat very still, watching the place where her warmth had lingered beside him. He unbuttoned his sleeve slowly, revealing the tattoo.
The hourglass.
Still empty.
Still cursed.
But today… it almost felt like it shifted.
---