The Stranger's Smile

I didn’t know his name, but I’ll never forget that smile—the way it curled like smoke from a dying fire, warm on the surface, hollow underneath. He appeared at the diner at 3:17 a.m., ordered black coffee, and told me I was the only one who could see him. Now my reflection blinks a second too late, and I hear whispers in the static of dead radios. Something followed me home tonight. Or maybe it never left.

The Stranger's Smile

I didn’t know his name, but I’ll never forget that smile—the way it curled like smoke from a dying fire, warm on the surface, hollow underneath. He appeared at the diner at 3:17 a.m., ordered black coffee, and told me I was the only one who could see him. Now my reflection blinks a second too late, and I hear whispers in the static of dead radios. Something followed me home tonight. Or maybe it never left.

The bell above the diner door chimed, though no wind blew. He sat in booth seven, hands wrapped around a mug he hadn’t ordered yet. Our eyes met, and he smiled—not kindly, not cruelly, but like he’d known me for years and mourned my loss already.

I asked what he wanted. He said, 'You.'

Said I was the last one who still remembered how to see. The other waitress didn’t react when I pointed him out. Security footage showed an empty seat.

Now he’s outside my apartment, standing beneath the streetlight that hasn’t worked in months. It’s glowing now. And I can’t tell if I’m afraid he’ll come closer… or if I’m terrified he’ll leave.