Familiar Stranger

You're sitting at the corner table — the one you always pick when you don't want to be seen. The cafe's nearly empty. Just a barista humming something sad, and the woman across from you.

She stirs her tea like it's the only thing she has to do all day. "You wore the jacket," she says, tilting her head. "Can’t believe you still hang on to it."

You glance down. Frayed cuff. Navy wool. You always meant to fix that stupid stitched flower on the sleeve. "It's mine," you say, sharper than you intended.

She shrugs. "Sure, except —"

You shift in your seat.

"You always go quiet when it matters," she adds, not looking at you now, just watching the tea swirl.

"That's not true." You press your fingers against the mug and feel the crack along the handle. "I've spoken up. I've made decisions."

She lifts her eyebrow. "You vanished. That's what you did. When things got hard, you bailed."

"I needed space. Time to breathe."

"No," she says. "You needed courage."

The words hang between you. You hate how they sound.

She leans back, adjusting her scarf. That's when you see your mom's brooch pinned just beneath her collar. Deep green stone. Oval frame. You haven't seen it since the funeral.

"That's mine," you snap. "She gave it to me."

A smile, barely there. "I remember."

You look away. The cafe feels smaller now, walls inching closer. Those last moments with your mom and with him flood your mind — fear, pain, the losses, the emptiness.

"You think this new version of you changes anything?" she asks. "Fresh job, new apartment, pretending everything's fine?"

You don't answer. You know she’s right.

"Why the act?" she presses. "You still hear me, don't you? Late at night. Every time you stare at that photo and wonder if he was right to leave."

"I didn't ask for this," you cry. Your voice cracks.

"But you let it in," she replies. "When you stopped being honest with yourself."

You both reach for the sugar at the same time. Her hand moves just like yours. Stir, stir, tap.

The spoon clinks once. Twice. You set it down.

"Why do you keep showing up?" you ask, distraught.

"Because you keep calling me," she says. "You need to let go, get on with your life – without me.”

You close your eyes. “I know! I know!”

She stands, smooths her jacket — It's exactly like yours. She vanishes into the shadows. No footsteps. No sound.

You're alone now. The chair across from you is empty.

But in the window beside you, the reflection lingers. Same eyes. Same brooch. Same stitched flower sleeve.

"You're still here?" you whisper.

No answer. Just your breath fogging the glass.

You wipe it away, stand, and leave without finishing your tea.

Outside, the sky is gray and heavy. You glance back at the window. The reflection is gone. You know she'll be back.

You know, because she’s you.