Some wounds don't bleed.

They settle in the chest-quiet, invisible-and turn into shadows that follow you through years, across cities, into rooms where no one else sees them. Grief like that doesn't ask for permission. It just becomes a part of you. Like breath. Like hunger.

This isn't a story about healing.

It's about what happens before that. About the moments when you still talk to ghosts. When you mistake strangers for people you once loved. When your heart tries, against all logic, to believe in something it already lost.

In a quiet corner of a city wrapped in rain and silence, two people meet. And nothing is ever the same again.