Ghost
790 Words
The rain lashed against the bus window, blurring the neon signs of the city into streaks of color as Aria pressed her forehead to the glass. Her duffel bag, hastily packed with wrinkled blouses and a single photo of her and Chloe laughing on graduation day, sat on the empty seat beside her. The bus smelled of stale coffee and diesel, but she welcomed it—anything to drown out the memory of Chloe’s shattered expression, Ethan’s cold pragmatism, and the suffocating weight of her own choices.
She’d left her phone in a gas station trash can two states ago, its incessant buzzing finally silenced. No more voicemails from Chloe oscillating between rage and heartbreak. No more terse texts from Ethan demanding she “act rationally.” No more HR notifications about her “unplanned absence.” Just the rumble of wheels on asphalt and the hollow freedom of being nobody.
---
**One Week Earlier**
“You’re *leaving?*”
Ethan’s voice crackled through the payphone outside the dingy motel, disbelief sharpening his tone. Aria twisted the coiled cord around her finger, watching a moth batter itself against the flickering fluorescent light.
“It’s a retreat,” she lied, staring at the peeling *Vacancy* sign. “A… digital detox. For creativity.”
A beat of silence. Then a bitter laugh. “You’re hiding.”
Her chest tightened. “I’m *breathing*. Something I haven’t done since you pinned me to that damn window.”
“Where are you?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She traced a crack in the glass booth, imagining his hands slamming down on his desk, his gray eyes stormy. “Don’t worry, Mr. CEO. I didn’t steal any company secrets on my way out.”
“This isn’t a joke, Aria. The board’s asking questions. Chloe’s—”
“Don’t.” Her voice broke. “Just… don’t.”
She hung up, the receiver clattering like a gunshot.
---
**Now**
The mountain town of Cedar Falls had no chain stores, no skyscrapers, and no one who knew her as the girl who’d slept with her boss and nuked her oldest friendship. At the town’s lone diner, Aria slid into a cracked vinyl booth and ordered pie she didn’t want from a waitress named Dot, who called her “honey” and didn’t ask why she’d been staring at the same crossword puzzle for an hour.
It was easier here. Empty trails, lukewarm coffee, and the kind of quiet that let her pretend the past month was just a bad dream. But at night, lying awake in her rented cabin, she’d hear it—the echo of Ethan’s *“You knew the risks,”* the rasp of Chloe’s *“You’re a team now?”*
She started writing letters she’d never send.
*Chloe—*
*I’m sorry. I’m a coward. I miss you.*
*Ethan—*
*Was any of it real? Or were we just gasoline and a match?*
---
**Three Weeks In**
The doorbell of the tiny library chimed as Aria slipped inside, her hood pulled low. She’d spent days here, shelving books for the elderly librarian, Mrs. Peet, in exchange for stale peppermints and silence. But today, a figure sat at her usual corner table—broad shoulders in a flannel shirt, dark hair peppered with rain.
Her breath hitched. *Ethan.*
But when the man turned, it wasn’t Ethan’s sharp jawline or stormy eyes. It was a stranger with a fisherman’s beard and a warm smile. “You’re in my spot,” he said, nodding to the dog-eared copy of *Wuthering Heights* in her hands.
“Sorry.” She backed away.
“Wait.” He held up a palm. “Dot said you’ve been hiding here. I’m Jack. Town hermit, part-time poet.” His grin widened. “Also, the only guy under 70 in a 20-mile radius. You running from something, city girl?”
She stiffened. “Why would you think that?”
“Because people only come here when they’re lost.” He leaned back, chair creaking. “Or when they want to be found.”
---
**That Night**
Aria dreamt of the office. Of Ethan’s hands skimming her waist, Chloe’s laughter ringing down the hall. She woke gasping, tears cooling on her cheeks.
The cabin’s landline—a relic she’d never used—rang.
She stared at it. *He couldn’t know. No one knows.*
It rang again.
Against her better judgment, she answered.
“Aria.”
*Chloe.*
Her knees buckled. She gripped the receiver, words tangling in her throat.
“I’m at the Cedar Falls Motel,” Chloe said, voice frayed with exhaustion. “Room 12. If you’re not here in an hour, I’m gone.”
The line went dead.
- Writer
