I went back to the café the next night. I didn't plan to. My feet just led me there, like they'd learned the way without me deciding.
She was there again. Same corner seat. Same tired hoodie. Like she'd been waiting, but I knew she hadn't.
This time, she didn't ask if I was okay. She just slid my coffee across the table as I sat down.
"You came back," she said quietly.
"Yeah," I said. "I don't know why."
She smiled, but it was the kind that doesn't quite reach the eyes. "Sometimes that's the best reason."
The city outside was a blur of headlights and neon, but here, time slowed.
"I didn't think I'd still be here," I said, surprising myself. The words came out heavier than I meant.
"I know that feeling," she said. She sipped her coffee. "I used to think about disappearing all the time. Not in a dramatic way. Just… slipping out of the noise. Letting the world forget I was here."
"Did it help? Thinking about it?"
She shook her head. "No. But talking did."
"Talking to who?"
She hesitated. "No one who stayed."
That hit harder than I expected.
We sat in silence again. But this time, it felt like we were both waiting for the other to break it.
So I did.
"Do you think people like us ever really come back from it?" I asked. "From the edge, I mean."
She studied me for a long moment. "I think we can step back. But I don't know if we ever stop hearing it."
Her honesty left me exposed. I wanted her to lie. I wanted her to say yes, of course we come back, of course it gets better.
But maybe that's why I stayed. Because she didn't.
"Do you still hear it?" I asked.
"Sometimes."
"And what do you do?"
Her eyes softened. "I came here. And I talk to whoever shows up."
Outside, the city kept rushing past, unaware of the two ghosts sitting by the window.
And in that moment, I didn't know if I felt seen or more invisible than ever.
But I was still there. And so was she.