For a second, the entire restaurant vanished.
The clinking of cutlery, the soft hum of investor conversations, the low violin music in the background
all of it faded into a distant echo the moment the doors opened…
and she walked in.
Elara.
My chest tightened so fast I forgot how to breathe.
Her figure—slender, familiar, with that same confident stride—moved through the dim gold lights of the restaurant like a memory stepping out of my past. My fingers froze around the smoothie glass.
A cold spread through my palm. My eyes refused to blink, terrified she would disappear if I did… or worse, terrified she wouldn't
But then the woman turned her face.
And it wasn't her.
Not even close.
My heart beat sank in relief or tension I don't know.
The nose was sharper, the skin paler, the hair straighter… nothing like Elara's wild curls or warm smile. But my mind—my foolish, grief-soaked mind—had already run miles ahead before reality could catch up.
"Elara…?"
The whisper slipped out before I could stop it.
Damien's head snapped toward me instantly. His brow furrowed.
"What?"
I blinked hard—once, twice, three times—forcing myself to look again.
The woman was laughing with someone at a table across the room, oblivious to me, oblivious to the pain, oblivious of the old wounds she had reopened simply by existing at the wrong moment, with the wrong walk, in the wrong dress. Sadly these are scars that are not healed completely, these are scars that cannot even be completely healed rather. She succeeded in bleeding them again, making them as fresh as it was in the beginning.
Memories came flooding in like a dam failure where there is an uncontrollable release of impounded water.But this time I must try to control this one, I shouldn't break down here, not now, not in front of these people. I don't want too many questions nor do I want to ruin anything for Damien.
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard.
It wasn't her.
It could never be her again.
I forced a shaky breath. "Nothing. I… thought I saw someone I knew."
Damien studied me too long, his eyes narrowing like he could see straight through the lie I hadn't even fully formed. His voice softened—just barely.
"You're pale," he murmured. "Do you need a break?"
"No," I lied, sitting straighter. "I'm fine."
Fine.
The most useless word in the dictionary.
I reached for my smoothie again, pretending my hand wasn't trembling. The glass felt heavier now, like it held every memory I tried so hard to bury. Elara's laughter. Elara's stupid jokes, Our silly little fight, Her voice Elara's hand gripping mine the night she told me she wasn't scared, even though I was terrified enough for us both.
Damien's hand brushed mine accidentally when he shifted his wine glass, and I flinched—too quickly.
He noticed. Of course he did.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
How was I supposed to explain that my mind had just conjured a ghost in the middle of his investor dinner? That grief doesn't ask for permission before slapping you across the face? That sometimes loneliness twists reality into shapes of people who are long gone?
I straightened my back and forced myself to exhale. "Long day," I answered. "Really long day."
He didn't push further. For once.
Instead, he lifted his fingers slightly, signaling the waitress.
"Get her something light. Soup. And tea. No questions."
I almost laughed. So this was Damien's version of concern?
Commands masked as care?
The waitress hurried off.
Conversation resumed around the table, but my ears still hummed with the ghost of a heartbeat that wasn't mine. I kept my eyes on the tablecloth, refusing to glance back toward the doorway. I didn't trust my mind enough to look again. I don't want to fall into another trance, I don't want to inconvenience Damien and his colleagues and also I don't want to drift into sad thoughts. Tonight is a moment to pull out and be happy even if it's a little bit.
Then Damien leaned slightly closer, pretending to read a paper in front of him when in reality his voice was quiet—just for me.
"Whoever you thought you saw… they must have meant something."
It wasn't a question.
He wasn't prying.
He was observing.
And that was worse.
I swallowed hard. "She did."
He nodded once, almost respectfully, before turning back to the conversation with the man beside him. But I could feel it—his attention still tethered to me, even if his eyes weren't.
Maybe he knew something was wrong.
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe he just didn't like his wife—his contract wife—falling apart in public.
My soup arrived. I lifted the spoon with a steadiness I didn't feel.
Elara was gone.
And the reminder hurt as sharply as the day I lost her. That day I felt like the whole universe was against my happiness, like everything is moving against me.
She was literally my only friend, a friend that became a sister, she was one person I could run to when I do something stupid and won't cast me out. After my mom's demise she became my solace, my confidant, my everything , my little mom, we were glued and locked in, my forlifers, before the cold hands of death decided to snatch her away from me, decided to make her my past without asking me if that's what I wanted.
Life has sure put me into many different tests that sometimes I am even surprised I'm here and still trying to push through. It basically forced me to live without my favorite person.
Life forced me to mature, stole my childhood away from me. I became an adult trapped in a child's body, even though I cry and breakdown most times I still put my shit together and get things done because if I don't who would?
Sometimes I wish she was here to tell me what to do next because she always does what's right.
Again I reminded myself elara is gone and I wasn't going to fall apart at Damien Blackwell's dinner table.
Not tonight.
Not ever again.