She Waited Every Thursday. But No One Ever Came.

Every Thursday at 4:07 PM, I sit on the same park bench.
Same time. Same spot. Same drink — peach bubble tea with extra pearls.

I always order two.

One for me.
One for you.
Even now.

Yours sits unopened on the bench beside me. I never touch it. That’s the rule. That’s your seat. Whether you show up or not.


---

People walk by and stare sometimes. A girl sitting alone, talking to no one, laughing at her own jokes like she’s not completely alone.

But I don’t care.

Because when I close my eyes, you’re there. Legs crossed, straw twirling, teasing me for being “so extra.” You always said I needed more chaos in my life.

You were my chaos.


---
The first time you didn’t show up, I waited until sunset.
Then I waited until dark.
Then I kept waiting for weeks.

No goodbye. No note. Not even a ghost of a clue. Just… gone. Like someone hit erase on you.

I filed a report. Made posters. Walked streets I’d never dared walk before. But the world swallowed you whole and gave me nothing in return.


---

Months passed. Then years.

People told me to move on. Said you were just a phase. A friend I imagined in childhood who somehow lingered too long. A twin flame that never really existed.

Even my therapist asked,

> “Are you sure she was real?”



How do you answer a question like that?

When all you have left is a toothbrush in your bathroom. A playlist only you knew how to shuffle. And a void that somehow knows your name.


---

I used to swear you were the brightest thing in my world. The kind of person who made the sky feel too small. You believed in everything — ghosts, past lives, soulmates — and maybe that was your gift. Or your curse.

Sometimes I wonder if you were never meant to stay.

Maybe people like you are just meant to be remembered.


---

Last week, a little girl passed by with her mom. She looked at the drink beside me and asked,

> “Who's that for?”



I froze.

Then I smiled and said,

> “For someone who’s late. But worth waiting for.”



She nodded like she understood. Like she had her own someone to wait for, too.


---

I know what people say about grief.
That it plays tricks on your mind. That it bends memories. Blurs reality. Turns loss into invention.

But if you're not real, why does my chest still ache like this?
Why does your voice echo every time I hear that one Fleetwood Mac song you hated?
Why do I still make room for you in every photo I never take?


---

Maybe you were never really here.

Maybe I built you from silence.
From childhood loneliness.
From the part of me that always needed saving.

But even if that’s true — does it matter?

I loved you.
I waited for you.
I still wait for you.

And that has to mean something.


---

Today, the sun sets earlier. The shadows stretch longer. The bubble tea beside me sweats in the late summer heat.

4:37 PM.
You were always exactly 30 minutes late.

I finish my drink.

Yours stays sealed.

I brush my hand over the bench, pretending to feel the warmth of your palm. Pretending you're about to say something sarcastic. Pretending you're real enough to come back.

And just before I leave, the wind shifts. Soft. Familiar. Like the kind of breath you take before a laugh. Or before a goodbye.

I look beside me.

Empty.

But I smile anyway.


---

Because whether you were ever really here or not…
I was.
And sometimes, that's enough.

fiction, grief, mystery, short story, love and loss, emotional fiction, imaginary friend, memory, psychological, loneliness, Vocal Challenge

This is my very first story—a deeply emotional and cinematic piece that explores themes of memory, grief, and the blurred line between reality and imagination. Through a quiet, moody atmosphere, I invite readers to step into a world where waiting becomes a poignant journey, and unseen companions linger in the spaces between. It’s a personal exploration of loss and hope, told through subtle moments and heartfelt reflection.