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Different hues of blue painted the sky, streaked with the kind of rain that didn’t warrant complaint. The downpour wasn’t heavy, just enough to blur the edges of the world, softening the outlines of trees and buildings into something dreamlike. The wind’s caress was cool, brushing past with a gentle murmur, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of wet earth—a smell that always evoked memories. For some, it was a reminder of life, of growth. But for Shavonne, it only reminded him of things long gone.
He stood on the outskirts of the cemetery, staring past the wrought iron gates and the stone angels perched atop the mausoleum. He had vowed never to return to this place, this town where every corner seemed haunted by his past. The weight of it was too much, too unbearable, pressing on him like the rain pressing down on the soil. Each step forward was a betrayal of the promise he’d made to himself—to stay away, to never relive what had happened here.
Yet here he was.
The cold walls and marble floors greeted him as he walked through the cemetery’s narrow paths, lit softly by flickering candlelight from graves that still received visitors. His parents’ graves did not have candles. He had not been back in years.
Shavonne’s feet moved on their own, leading him to the familiar spot where two headstones sat side by side, names carved with precision, dates marking their beginning and end. His heart twisted violently at the sight. The past surged forward like a tidal wave, crashing over him, filling his mind with images he couldn’t escape.
The rain seemed to fall harder now, like the sky was weeping with him. He stood frozen, overwhelmed by the memories that flooded his mind like an endless ocean. Every drop of rain felt like a reminder of something he’d lost—his childhood, his family, his sense of self.
Each wave of memory was stronger than the last, washing over him until he could hardly breathe. His parents' laughter, their warmth, the way they would hold him close after a storm—everything came rushing back with the kind of clarity that felt almost cruel. He wanted to reach out, to grasp onto those memories, but all he felt was the cold, wet surface of the marble headstone beneath his fingertips.
With trembling hands, he knelt before the grave and placed a bundle of white lilies at its base. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke. “I miss you both so much,” he said, his words carried away by the wind as quickly as they left his mouth.
His fingers traced the framed photo set in the stone, lingering over the faces smiling back at him. His mother, his father, and himself as a child, clutching a red stuffed bird. They had been so happy then, a small, perfect family frozen in time. But time had not been kind.
The memories swarmed around him like a storm. The laughter, the warmth—it all darkened, transformed into the pain and loss he had lived with for so long. The accident had ripped them away from him, leaving him alone, drowning in his grief. The pain flared up inside him now, raw and sharp, threatening to consume him whole.
His breaths came faster, more shallow, as if the very air was too thick to inhale. He had thought he could face this place, face his parents' memory, but it was all too much. His hands shook as he pulled away from the photo, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the overwhelming tide of emotion. But just as he felt himself slipping under, sinking into the past, a soft voice pulled him back to the present.
“Shavonne,” the voice called, gentle yet unmistakable, cutting through the haze that had clouded his mind.
Shavonne blinked, his thoughts slowly returning to the cemetery, the wet grass beneath his knees. He looked up and saw a man standing a few meters away. Tall, with pale skin that seemed to glow under the gray light, and blonde curls that caught the wind as he moved toward Shavonne. His robes—a strange choice of attire for a place like this—fluttered as he approached, giving him an otherworldly appearance.
The man smiled, though it was a small, hesitant smile, as if unsure whether he was welcome. “I saw you standing here,” he said again, his voice as soft as the rain. “Thought maybe you’d like some company.”
Shavonne stared at him, too disoriented to respond at first. But there was something about the man that made him feel less alone, less trapped in the sorrow that had gripped him moments ago. He was a stranger, and yet… something in his eyes was familiar.
“Well… I didn’t have anyone to come with,” Shavonne replied, his voice quieter than usual. There was a vulnerability in admitting it, but somehow, it didn’t feel dangerous with this man.
The stranger stepped closer, offering his hand. “I’m Lewellyn,” he said simply.
“Shavonne,” came the automatic response, as he accepted the handshake. The warmth of Lewellyn’s touch startled him. It was so tangible, so real. After so long of feeling numb, he had almost forgotten what human contact could be like.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but Lewellyn didn’t linger. He excused himself, saying he had somewhere to be, leaving Shavonne alone once more in the rain. Yet somehow, it didn’t feel as lonely as before.
That night, Shavonne lay awake in his bed, replaying the encounter in his mind. Who was this Lewellyn? And why had he appeared at just the right moment, just when Shavonne needed someone most?
His mind drifted back to that dark night so many years ago. The night that had stolen his parents from him.
The screams pierced his mind, echoing through the darkness. Broken glass, the crunch of metal—Shavonne’s body jerked awake, covered in cold sweat. His heart hammered in his chest, as if it were trying to break free, his breathing ragged as the memories from that awful day clung to him, refusing to let go.
Every night, the same nightmare. His mother’s voice begging him to run, to get help, but he never could. He was always stuck in the wreckage, helpless. No matter how many times he dreamed it, he could never change what had happened.
Sitting up in bed, Shavonne reached for the glass of water on his nightstand, his hands shaking. The clock read 3:28 AM. He hadn’t slept a full night in years.
Tears burned in his eyes, but he blinked them back. There was no use crying—not anymore. He had shed more than enough tears over the years. But still, the pain remained, gnawing at him from the inside out, a constant reminder that he was alone.
Unable to find any peace, he dressed quietly and slipped out of his apartment, hoping that a run would clear his head.
He jogged through the dark city streets, the cold air biting at his skin. After a while, he slowed to a walk, his breath coming in heavy pants. He stopped at a park bench, buying a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine. The sky was heavy with dark clouds, the rain threatening to return at any moment.
As he began to head home, a voice called out from behind him.
“Shavonne? Is that really you?”
He turned to see an old classmate approaching, her hair dyed an unnatural shade of purple. She hurried toward him, clutching her handbag. “Where have you been all these years?”
Shavonne forced a smile, though he had no desire for this conversation. “Uh… I’ve been around.”
“I thought you moved abroad after your parents died,” she said, her words tumbling out with little tact.
Shavonne barely heard her. He wasn’t in the mood for this kind of small talk. His eyes drifted past her, and that’s when he saw Lewellyn again.
The pale man stood a few feet away, holding an umbrella, his blonde curls dampened by the rain. He smiled that same soft smile as their eyes met.
Relieved, Shavonne quickly excused himself from the conversation and joined Lewellyn under the umbrella. “Thanks,” he mumbled, grateful for the escape.
Lewellyn chuckled, slipping an arm around Shavonne’s shoulder. “You’re going to get soaked if you keep standing out in the rain like that,” he teased.
Shavonne smiled for the first time that day. “Yeah, I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
Shavonne nodded. But he didn’t need to say more. Lewellyn didn’t push for details. He simply walked beside Shavonne, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.
***
That’s how Shavonne found himself in a small, cozy cat café, of all places. Cats roamed freely, lounging on couches and winding between chair legs. Shavonne sat across from Lewellyn, who grinned at him from behind a cat-themed menu.
“Well? Do you like the surprise?” Lewellyn asked, eyes twinkling.
“I do,” Shavonne admitted, though he never would have pegged Lewellyn as a cat person. “Never thought you’d be into this kind of place.”
“There’s more to me than meets the eye,” Lewellyn replied with a wink.
They sat in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks while cats curled up at their feet. The rain tapped softly against the café windows, but inside, it was warm and peaceful. Shavonne hadn’t felt this at ease in years.
For the first time, the pain that had gripped his heart for so long seemed to have loosened its hold. He glanced at Lewellyn, a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn't felt in years.
***
Their meetings became a habit, a comfort they both sought without words. Each time, they grew closer, though neither dared acknowledge the subtle shift in their relationship. Yet, it was there—in the lingering glances, the laughter that came more easily, and the silent understanding that passed between them.
Shavonne couldn’t deny it anymore. This was more than friendship.
Then, one day, Lewellyn appeared at Shavonne’s door, dressed in black robes, his eyes distant and troubled. “Are you okay?” Shavonne asked, worry creeping into his voice.
Lewellyn hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I have something to confess. And a surprise for you. Can you meet me tomorrow?”
Shavonne chuckled, relieved to see that familiar grin return. “You and your surprises.”
Lewellyn laughed softly. “This one’s special.”
Shavonne didn’t know what to expect, but as Friday approached, a quiet anticipation filled him.
It felt like something was finally about to change.
---
Shavonne couldn't contain his happiness. The idea of spending Friday with Lewellyn and hearing his confession had his heart racing, almost as if everything in his life had been leading up to this moment. He dressed in his best, fixing his hair with more care than usual and wearing the cologne he hadn't touched in years.
He arrived at the cat café early, as usual. It had become their routine, their safe space where the world outside didn’t exist—just him, Lewellyn, and the warmth of the place. The soft patter of rain on the window added to the atmosphere, making the café seem like a little sanctuary in the storm. He ordered a coffee while waiting, the same as he always did, but he found his hands trembling with anticipation.
Minutes passed, then an hour. Shavonne stared at the clock, the smile on his face slowly fading. Where was Lewellyn?
He checked his phone for messages. Nothing. It was unlike Lewellyn to be late. He was always there before Shavonne, waiting with that mischievous grin. But today, there was no sign of him.
An unsettling feeling began to take root in Shavonne’s stomach, like a storm building on the horizon. He called Lewellyn’s number. No answer.
Shavonne’s chest tightened as he left the café and began walking, his footsteps echoing through the rain-drenched streets. He made his way back to the columbarium, a place he had once dreaded but now seemed like a second home. Maybe Lewellyn was there, waiting for him, trying to surprise him.
The cold air bit at his skin as he stood in front of the wall of framed pictures. His parents smiled back at him, frozen in time. Shavonne clenched his fists, trying to shake the growing unease gnawing at him.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the silence. It was a message—from an unknown number.
"Shavonne, I’m sorry for disappearing. Meet me at the place we first met. I need to explain everything."
His heart skipped a beat. The place they first met… Shavonne knew exactly where that was—the cemetery.
He wasted no time and rushed there, each step heavy with fear and hope. The rain had picked up, turning the ground to mud, but Shavonne didn’t care. His mind raced with questions. What could Lewellyn possibly have to say that couldn’t wait? Why did he disappear like this?
When he arrived at the cemetery, his breath caught in his throat. There, in front of his parents’ gravestone, stood Lewellyn. His blonde hair, usually vibrant, was now damp, sticking to his forehead. He was dressed in black robes again, the same ones Shavonne had seen him wear that strange morning. But something was different about him. His face was pale, almost translucent under the dim light.
"Lewellyn…" Shavonne called out, but his voice cracked as he took a few hesitant steps forward. "What’s going on?"
Lewellyn didn’t meet his gaze at first. His eyes were fixed on the gravestone, and his expression was one of deep sorrow. When he finally turned to Shavonne, tears were brimming in his eyes.
"I didn’t want you to find out like this," Lewellyn whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. "I thought I could keep it from you longer, but… there’s no point in hiding it anymore."
Shavonne’s heart sank. He took another step forward, his mind racing. "Keep what from me? Lewellyn, what are you talking about?"
"I’m not… real, Shavonne," Lewellyn said, his voice trembling. "I never was."
Shavonne froze, his world shattering in an instant. He shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "What… what do you mean? This isn’t funny, Lewellyn. Stop messing with me."
"I wish I was messing with you," Lewellyn murmured, his face twisted in pain. "I’ve been dead for years."
The words hung in the air, suffocating Shavonne. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, staring up at Lewellyn in disbelief. "No… no, that’s not possible. We’ve… we’ve been together all this time. The café, the walks… You’re standing right in front of me. You’re real."
Lewellyn crouched down in front of him, his hand gently brushing Shavonne’s cheek. His touch was cold, almost ghostly. "I died six years ago, Shavonne. I was just like you… grieving my parents, lost and alone. But I couldn’t move on. I lingered here… until I found you."
Shavonne’s chest tightened, and he felt the world spinning around him. "No… please, no."
"I never meant to hurt you," Lewellyn whispered, tears falling freely now. "But I couldn’t leave… not without helping someone like me. Not without helping you."
Shavonne shook his head, his heart breaking. "But I love you…"
Lewellyn’s smile was bittersweet as he cupped Shavonne’s face in his hands. "I love you too, Shavonne. That’s why I have to go now. You’re healing, you’ve found happiness again. It’s time for me to rest."
"No!" Shavonne grabbed Lewellyn’s wrist, his tears mixing with the rain. "Please… don’t leave me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you."
Lewellyn leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Shavonne’s forehead. "You’re stronger than you think. You’ll be okay. I promise."
And then, just like that, Lewellyn began to fade, his body dissolving into the rain. Shavonne reached out, trying to hold onto him, but his fingers grasped nothing but air.
"Don’t go…" Shavonne whispered, collapsing onto the wet ground, sobbing into his hands. "Please… don’t leave me…"
But Lewellyn was gone. The only thing left was the cold emptiness in Shavonne’s chest, the gaping hole where Lewellyn’s presence had once been.
Shavonne stayed there, crying in the rain, clutching the ground where Lewellyn had stood. He was alone again. And this time, the pain was unbearable.
The rain continued to fall, soaking through Shavonne’s clothes, but he barely noticed. His entire body was numb, cold in a way that reached beyond the skin, settling deep into his bones. Lewellyn’s words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade. “I never meant to hurt you… but I couldn’t leave… without helping you.”
He wanted to scream, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had brought Lewellyn into his life only to take him away. But there was no one left to hear him. No one left to hold him, to offer that strange comfort he hadn’t realized he craved so desperately.
Hours passed. The sky, once dark and heavy with clouds, lightened to a dull gray as morning approached. Shavonne remained where he was, staring at the gravestone of his parents, the ground beneath him wet and unforgiving. His mind wandered through memories—of the café, the walks in the rain, the moments when he’d allowed himself to hope, to feel something other than grief.
How could it have all been a lie?
But it wasn’t a lie, was it? Lewellyn had been there, real in ways that mattered. He had given Shavonne something no one else could—a chance to heal. Slowly, painfully, Shavonne pushed himself to his feet, his body aching from the cold and the hours spent kneeling on the wet ground.
The cemetery was quiet now, the rain reduced to a light drizzle. Shavonne wiped the tears from his face, his breath shaky as he looked down at the gravestone one last time. Lewellyn wasn’t coming back. That much he knew. But he had been right about one thing—Shavonne was stronger than he had ever given himself credit for.
His heart still ached, the loss of Lewellyn fresh and raw, but the weight that had once crushed him felt lighter now. He could breathe again, even if the air was tinged with sorrow.
With a final glance at his parents' resting place, Shavonne turned and began to walk away. His steps were slow, each one a small act of defiance against the pain that lingered in his chest. The world around him seemed quieter, softer in the aftermath of the storm. For the first time in years, Shavonne didn’t feel like he was drowning in his grief. The wound was still there, but it no longer defined him.
As he left the cemetery, a thought crossed his mind—Lewellyn may have been a ghost, but the love he had shared with Shavonne was real. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep moving forward.
The rain had stopped by the time Shavonne reached his apartment. He stood outside for a moment, staring up at the window, before finally stepping inside. The apartment was quiet, just as he had left it. But it no longer felt like a tomb. It felt like home.
And for the first time in a long while, Shavonne believed he could live again.
…as he closed the door behind him, Shavonne paused, looking around with new eyes. The silence that once felt so oppressive now seemed calm, almost welcoming. The empty spaces in the room, once reminders of loneliness, were now markers of possibility. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he took his first real step into a future without Lewellyn—a future where he could carry Lewellyn’s memory forward, like a whisper of warmth.
With each passing day, Shavonne found himself piecing together the fragments of his life. He filled the silence with memories that felt less painful over time, and in moments of quiet, he allowed himself to think of Lewellyn—not with sorrow, but with gratitude for the brief yet beautiful presence he had left behind.
One evening, he returned to the cat café, their favorite haunt. The warmth, the soft clinking of cups, and the gentle purring of cats reminded him of Lewellyn’s smile. As he sat by the window, he smiled softly to himself. Lewellyn might be gone, but the love he’d sparked remained—a quiet, steady light, guiding Shavonne toward healing.
And so, he continued, step by step, his journey marked not by shadows of the past but by the quiet promise of hope—a new beginning, inspired by a love that transcended even the boundaries of life and death.
---
**End.**