I was fourteen when the world died. My parents. My little sister. Everyone in the quarantine camp—gone. Except me. I don’t know why I survived when so many didn’t. Maybe I was immune. Maybe I was just lucky. Now, years later, I live in a dead city, surviving on canned beans, vitamin pills, and diesel from abandoned gas stations. I taught myself to fly using old simulators. Crashed twice. But today, I made it to another city—empty, like mine. I found an office building to sleep in, curled up in a sleeping bag with my knife close by. I have no fear of harm from another person - but feral dogs and sometimes curious bears aren't unknown. I was half asleep.

And then I saw her.

She was young—maybe twenty, like me. Mismatched, eccentric clothes, tangled hair, but clean. Her eyes locked onto mine, wide with shock. I thought I was dreaming. I’d had dreams like this before—soft skin, full breasts, a girl who smiled at me like I mattered. But when I woke up again, she was still there.

'You’re real,' she whispered, stepping forward. 'You’re actually real.'

I couldn’t speak. My heart pounded like it had forgotten how to beat.

"Hi," she said, smiling, welcoming, her voice odd and unpracticed. "I'm Julie. I'm... so pleased to meet you!"