It was never about us

Rain poured endlessly against the windows of Lucien Vale’s car, drowning the city beneath a curtain of silver and blurred lights. The streets were crowded despite the storm — people rushing home, umbrellas colliding, headlights reflecting across wet pavement like shattered glass.

Lucien watched everything silently from the backseat.

Or at least, he pretended to.

In truth, his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far away from the city, the noise, and the life he no longer cared about.

Three years had passed since Ethan died.

Three years since the funeral. Three years since Lucien last heard his voice. Three years, yet the grief still sat inside him like an open wound refusing to heal.

People always said time made things easier.

Lucien thought they were liars.

The car remained quiet except for the soft sound of rain and the occasional vibration of Lucien’s phone. He ignored every message without looking at them.

Business meetings. Family expectations. People asking if he was finally “moving on.”

None of it mattered.

Lucien lowered his gaze to the silver necklace resting in his hand. The chain was old now, slightly scratched from years of being held too tightly during sleepless nights.

Ethan had given it to him when they were sixteen.

“Now you can’t forget me,” Ethan had joked back then.

Lucien closed his fingers around the necklace slowly.

As if forgetting had ever been possible.

“Sir,” the driver spoke carefully from the front seat, “your father called again. He said tomorrow’s dinner with the investors is important.”

Lucien stared blankly out the window.

“Cancel it.”

There was a short silence.

“Sir… he already invited them personally.”

“I said cancel it.”

The driver sighed quietly but nodded. “Understood.”

The city lights passed by in silence again.

Lucien rested his head against the seat, exhaustion heavy in his chest. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ethan.

Smiling. Laughing. Leaving.

Always leaving.

His jaw tightened.

“Take the longer route home,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir.”

The car turned down a quieter street lined with small shops and dim convenience stores. Rainwater flooded the sidewalks while neon signs flickered weakly against the storm.

That was when Lucien saw him.

A boy stood outside one of the convenience stores, partially sheltered beneath the broken sign above the entrance. His clothes were soaked from the rain, a black hoodie hanging loosely from his thin frame.

He looked young. Maybe around Lucien’s age.

The cashier inside the store was yelling at him through the glass, clearly angry about something. The boy kept his head lowered slightly, one hand clenched tightly at his side.

Lucien barely paid attention at first.

Until the boy lifted his head.

Everything inside Lucien stopped.

His breathing halted completely.

The world around him seemed to disappear beneath the sound of rain pounding against the car windows.

No…

That face…

It was impossible.

The resemblance to Ethan was terrifying.

The same dark eyes. The same pale skin. The same soft features Lucien had spent years trying desperately to forget.

Even the way the boy looked at people carried traces of Ethan.

Lucien felt sick.

“Stop the car.”

The driver blinked in confusion. “Sir?”

“Now.”

The vehicle stopped immediately near the sidewalk.

Before the driver could say another word, Lucien stepped out into the rain.

Cold water soaked through his coat instantly, but he didn’t care.

His eyes never left the boy.

The closer he walked, the harder his heart pounded against his chest.

The boy noticed him approaching and finally looked up properly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Lucien stared at him as though he had just seen a ghost crawl out of the grave.

The boy frowned slightly, uncomfortable beneath the intense gaze.

“…Do I know you?” he asked quietly.

Even his voice sounded similar.

Lucien’s fingers trembled slightly at his side.

This wasn’t possible.

Ethan was dead.

Lucien had seen the body himself.

So why…

Why did this stranger look exactly like the person he had loved most?

Lucien stood frozen in the middle of the crowded street, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. The noise of the city blurred around him—honking cars, distant shouting, footsteps—but all of it felt far away, like he had been pulled underwater without warning.

The stranger was just a few steps ahead.

Tall. Still. Calm.

The same dark hair, slightly messy at the ends, as though the wind had always known it before anyone else. The same posture—quiet confidence mixed with something softer underneath, something almost familiar in a way that made Lucien’s stomach twist.

But that couldn’t be possible.

Because the person he was seeing now… was supposed to be gone.

Dead.

Lucien forced himself to take a step forward. Then another.

“Hey!” he called, his voice rougher than he expected.

The stranger didn’t turn immediately.

That alone made Lucien’s heart pound harder.

Finally, slowly, the man turned around.

And everything stopped.

Same eyes.

Not identical—but close enough to feel like a cruel trick of memory. Like grief had decided to take shape and walk in front of him just to test how much pain he could still endure.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The stranger tilted his head slightly, studying Lucien like he was trying to remember something that wasn’t quite there.

“Do I know you?” the man asked calmly.

That voice—

Lucien’s hands tightened at his sides. His mind screamed no, but his body refused to listen.

Because it sounded close.

Too close.

“I…” Lucien swallowed. His throat felt dry. “You look like someone I knew.”

A pause.

The stranger’s expression didn’t change much, but something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even discomfort.

“I get that a lot,” he said simply.

Lucien laughed once, but it wasn’t humor. It came out broken.

“No. You don’t understand,” Lucien said quietly. “You look exactly like him.”

The stranger’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“Exactly?”

Lucien nodded before he could stop himself.

And for the first time, the stranger looked away—just for a second—like something in those words had touched a place he didn’t like to visit.

When he looked back, his voice was softer.

“What was his name?”

Lucien hesitated.

Saying it out loud felt like reopening something that had never healed.

“…Ethan,” he finally said.

Silence stretched between them.

The stranger repeated it slowly, like testing the weight of it.

“Ethan…”

Then he shook his head slightly.

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

But even as he said it, his fingers flexed faintly at his side—like his body remembered something his mind refused to accept.

Lucien stepped closer without thinking.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You’re him. You have to be.”

The stranger’s eyes darkened, not with anger—but something more guarded now.

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” he said firmly.

But Lucien wasn’t listening anymore.

Because now he could see it clearly.

Not just the face.

Not just the voice.

Even the way he stood when he was uncomfortable—like he wanted to leave but didn’t know why he couldn’t.

It was all there.

And yet…

Not him.

The stranger took a step back.

“Don’t follow me,” he said quietly.

But Lucien barely heard him.

Because the moment the man turned and walked away into the crowd, Lucien realized something far worse than death.

If this wasn’t Ethan…

Then why did the world feel like it had just brought him back on purpose?