Where Souls Linger

Where Souls Linger

The end, when it came, was both sudden and agonizing. Nathan remembered only fragments: the crushing exhaustion behind his eyes after another endless day; the momentary lapse when he gave in and closed them, just for a second; the bend in the road, unseen until it was too late; and the way gravity pulled his car into a deadly descent.

His life didn’t flash before his eyes. Instead, in those fleeting moments of consciousness, regret filled him like a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. At thirty-two, happiness seemed more like a concept he had been chasing in the wrong places than a memory.

He thought of a relationship that had dragged on far too long—kept alive by convenience even as it disintegrated. Of missed birthdays and friendships that had withered in his neglect. Of holidays skipped, leaving his parents with nothing but disappointment. What had he built from the years he’d worked so tirelessly? A bank account that no longer mattered. Promotions that felt hollow. A fancy car that had once been his pride, now reduced to twisted, lifeless metal.

Yet, amid the gloom of his failures, one memory emerged like a fragile ray of sunlight: the smile of a woman he’d never had the courage to pursue.

From the first time Nathan met Clara, she had captivated him. She appeared one cold December morning behind the counter of the coffee shop he visited daily, leaving him fumbling for words he had spoken hundreds of times before. Her eyes twinkled, her smile disarmed him, and he knew he was staring too long. Somehow, he stammered out his order, though his voice felt foreign to him.

When she handed him his drink, their fingers didn’t touch, but their eyes met again and again, even as she turned to the next customer. Taking a sip, Nathan gagged on an explosion of gingerbread sweetness, far removed from his usual bitter Americano. Clara froze in mortification, mumbling apologies about it being her first day when she realized that she had handed his drink to the harried-looking woman that had just left the shop. 

“It’s just… too hot,” Nathan said, forcing a smile to soothe her panic. “Honestly, I’d have never thought to order it, but it might be my new favorite.” Her answering grin radiated warmth, igniting something in him.

From that day on, Nathan ordered a gingerbread latte every morning, though he hated the sugary concoction. It was worth enduring for the conspiratorial wink she gave him as she slid the cup across the counter. Their little joke became a ritual, and those fleeting moments with Clara soon became the highlight of his day. Weekends stretched like unbearable gaps between his mornings with her.

But although he would fantasize a million times about asking her out, he never did. Time, he thought, was limitless.

As his body succumbed to the crushing agony of the crash, that thought haunted him. Memories of Clara blurred, eclipsed by the pain. At last, his rattling breath ceased, and he surrendered to the void.

For a man who lived on caffeine and told himself he could sleep when he was dead, Nathan found it ironic that did he wake up again.

At first, relief washed over him—the pain was gone. But as he glanced down, he realized that his body had vanished beneath him. His form shimmered faintly, weightless and strange. The world around him felt both familiar and alien.

No one noticed him as he stood in the street, transparent and untethered. Was this the afterlife? Was he destined to wander like this forever?

As his confusion deepened, Nathan turned and saw something achingly familiar: the coffee shop. As if drawn by an invisible string, he floated inside.

Clara was there, tending to customers, her eyes flicking to the door with a flicker of hope before dimming into resignation. The sight twisted his heart—or what was left of it. She hadn’t seen him. She never would.

He lingered, watching her with an ache that grew unbearable. When the shop emptied and she began cleaning with her colleague, Nathan stayed. Her voice, soft and uncertain, broke the silence.

“Have you seen Nathan?” she asked.

The phantom sensation of his pulse quickened.

“Who?” the other barista replied.

“The guy who orders the gingerbread latte every morning…” Clara hesitated, then added, “I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

A pang of bittersweet joy filled him. She had noticed.

“Oh, the guy you’re always drooling over?” her colleague teased.

Clara flushed, fumbling for words. Nathan wanted to laugh—or speak, or touch her, anything to bridge the impossible gap between them. Instead, he could only watch as she pulled a small note from her apron and unfolded it.

In Clara’s neat handwriting, the words struck him like a lightning bolt:

Dear Nathan,

I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while… Would you like to get dinner with me? If you’re not interested, please just ignore this, and we’ll never speak of it.

Clara x

With a sigh, she tucked the note back into her apron. Nathan’s heart shattered. She would never know the truth—that he hadn’t stopped coming to see her, that he had wanted nothing more than to say yes.

Nathan followed her home, unable to let go. Her small apartment radiated warmth, adorned with Christmas decorations and photos of joyful moments. Yet Clara herself seemed weighed down, her steps heavy. With dragging feet, she moved to the fridge, where she looked at its contents without seeming to really see it. A full minute later she closed the door again and moved to the small kitchen table with empty hands. Over her shoulder he could see her scrolling through her contacts on the phone, lingering on a few names before dropping the phone on the table with a clattering sound. Nathan promised himself he wouldn’t follow her to her bedroom but quickly failed when the sadness emanating from her seemed so heavy and profound that he simply couldn’t bear to leave her alone. She curled onto her bed, still in her coat, and began to cry.

In a parallel universe he could see himself coming home to her, leaving the office on time to spend every possible minute with her. Cooking dinner together, taking her into his arms to slow dance through the kitchen. He would twirl her around until her long brown hair was a blur around them and her laughter louder than the music. Looking around now, the loneliness surrounding her was almost tangible. 

Nathan’s longing to comfort her was unbearable. He willed his ethereal form to move, to make himself known. For a fleeting moment, Clara’s sobs quieted. She looked up, her eyes searching the room as if sensing something. Visibly annoyed with herself, she wiped her cheeks and gave her head a firm shake. Hope and desperation warred inside him as he renewed his efforts.

Then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

Pain, sharp and searing, tore through him. Light exploded behind his eyes as he was yanked away.

“He moved his finger!”

The voice was distant but insistent, tugging Nathan toward consciousness. His mother’s voice. A primal part of him recognizing the sound of the first voice he had ever heard. 

With immense effort, Nathan opened his eyes. The hospital room swam into focus—his parents at his side, their faces etched with joy and disbelief. His body felt broken, his throat raw, fighting against the unfamiliar tube in his mouth. 

The beeping of the heart monitor echoed in his ears, a stubborn, persistent rhythm. He couldn’t speak, but he didn’t need to.

He had been given another chance.

In the haze of pain and gratitude, Nathan clung to one image: Clara’s smile. A promise of something he wouldn’t let slip away again.

He was alive. And there was a note in an apron, waiting for him.