The club was dim, lit with pulsing violet and gold lights that made everything feel a little too dreamlike. Elena swayed lightly on her feet, her head heavy from the drinks she probably shouldn't have had alone. But the night had felt too lonely, and the silence in her heart had felt like it would swallow her.
She sat tucked away in the corner booth, ice clinking in her half-empty glass. Her dark curls framed her flushed cheeks, and her eyes drifted lazily over the crowd. She wasn't really here. Not mentally.
Then he came.
Out of the shadows, as if summoned by her loneliness, a young man approached tall, with sharp, knowing eyes that didn't quite belong in a place like this. He moved like someone who had been watching for a long time. Quiet, sure.
"Elena," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear over the music.
She blinked, confused. "How... how do you know my name?"
He smiled a faint, crooked smile that somehow warmed and unsettled her all at once. "Let's just say, I've known it longer than you've known mine."
She chuckled drunkenly. "That sounds creepy.What's yours then"
"Aiden" he replied
"It sounds true," sliding into the booth beside her. "And I think... you've been waiting to hear it."
They talked. About nothing and everything. His voice was strange, like it held pieces of another world. He said things like, *"There are echoes of you in the stars."*
She giggled. "You're insane."
"Maybe. But even fate pauses when you smile."
She was drunk. He was poetic. And somehow, they clicked ,two strangers, floating in the same dark sea. She leaned on him without realizing it, head falling softly to his shoulder. He didn't move. He didn't speak.
Then, in a sleepy blur, their lips brushed. Accidental. Brief. But it happened.
Before she fully passed out, she mumbled something about giving him her number. He took her phone, fingers cool against the screen. "Sleep," he whispered. "We'll talk again."
***
Elena woke with a dry mouth, her head pounding like war drums. She groaned, trying to recall what happened last night. Bits came back—music, lights, a stranger's voice that didn't feel like a stranger. A kiss?
Her phone buzzed. She blinked at the screen.
*Unknown Number Calling...*
She answered groggily. "Hello?"
"Elena," the voice said—soft, deep, achingly familiar.
She shot upright in bed, her heart skipping. *That voice... that night...*
"Aiden?" she whispered, the name falling from her lips without her knowing how she remembered it.
The line crackled. "So you do remember."
She didn't. Not clearly. But her skin did. Her bones did. Something about him had carved itself into her in ways she couldn't explain.
And that was how it began.
A name whispered through the blur of music and alcohol. A stranger who didn't feel like one. A single night she couldn't forget—even though she couldn't fully remember.
Elena had never been the type to fall so easily. She was sharp, guarded, always a little too stubborn for her own good. But there was something about *him*—the way he said her name, the calmness of his voice cutting through the noise, the weight of his stare that lingered like gravity.
And now, back in her bed, in the sobering light of morning, the memory refused to leave her.
She picked up her phone again. No saved number. Just a call log with *Aiden* and a voice she recognized immediately.
"Elena," he had said, like he had always known her.
She pressed the phone to her chest and exhaled.
She wasn't supposed to be affected this much. One night. One encounter. Maybe a kiss that felt too real for something so accidental. She told herself it was the alcohol, the loneliness, the rush of escaping routine. But deep down, something else tugged at her. Something she couldn't name.
Later that day, she sat on the edge of her dorm bed, sketchbook open in her lap. Her pencil moved without thought, tracing lines that became eyes, lips, shadows. *His* eyes. *His* face.
She stared at it. Then tore the page out.
"No," she muttered to herself. "I can't do this."
It wasn't just about Aiden. It was the mystery. The way he appeared from nowhere. The strange sense that he'd been watching her far longer than she knew.
Was he even real?
She needed answers—but more than that, she needed control. She wasn't going to fall for someone whose presence was as fleeting as mist.
That afternoon, she went for a walk, headphones in, hoodie up. The city bustled around her, but all she could think about was how easy it was for him to disappear. How safe she'd felt when he was around… and how terrifying that realization was.
She wasn't sure what was worse: not knowing who he really was—or how much of her heart was already tangled in that mystery.
As the wind brushed against her cheeks, Elena made herself a promise.
She would figure this out.
But she wouldn't fall for shadows.
Still…
She found herself whispering under her breath,
"…Aiden."
She returned to her dorm, shutting the door behind her with a sigh heavy enough to carry the weight of her thoughts. The room felt colder, emptier—as though something had been there and was now missing. Or maybe someone.
Elena flopped onto her bed, curling beneath the throw blanket, staring up at the ceiling. "You're not real," she whispered, though the words tasted like a lie. Her fingers curled into the fabric as memories flickered behind her eyes—his voice, his warmth, the way his arms had wrapped around her like the world couldn't hurt her if he held her tight enough.
She should've been afraid. Instead, she'd felt safe.
That terrified her more than anything.
She couldn't fall for someone who only lived in moonlight and mystery. Someone who knew everything about her, while she barely knew his last name. He wasn't normal. There was something ethereal, almost unreal about Aiden. Was he even human?
Her heart answered before her logic could: *You already care.*
She sat up, pressing her palms into her eyes . "No. I won't be that girl. I won't fall for a ghost."
And yet…
The silence around her seemed to hum with his presence. Like he was still there.
A chill swept over her skin, and her gaze drifted to the window.
The wind whispered through the crack in the glass.
"Elena…" It was almost a voice.
Or maybe just her imagination.
Either way… she wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.