I died while he was flirting with the florist. I haunted him for three years over it. The moment I materialized, scaring off his date, the girl trembled: “Your place is haunted!” He looked unbothered, smirked, and said: “Yeah. A really hot one.” 1 The beauty screamed "You’re sick!" and bolted. Ethan Vance walked her to the door politely: "Won't you stay? She’s actually very understanding!" The girl was too terrified to hear him. She just shrieked in humiliation: "I came here to see your cat do flips! Go to hell!" Ethan chuckled, closed the door. He turned to see me, arms crossed and furious, completely unfazed by my spectral presence. "Which one is this, this month?" He sounded bored, not mad at all. "The third," I said proudly. Ethan flopped onto the sofa, and I bounced right off him—my ghost self lifted a foot in the air. "Molly, are you trying to make me a monk?" Ethan pointed to himself: "Three years of celibacy, thanks to you." I scoffed: "Look how healthy you are now." When we were dating, he was a wreck. He gave a dry laugh: "My body's fine, but living just feels meaningless." I couldn't argue with that. Ethan used to be a total playboy. He was handsome, rich, successful, and a guaranteed catch. I fell for his vibe: that lazy, seductive quality. He was a Black Baccara rose in full bloom, intoxicating and dark. When I was falling hardest, he gave me the cold truth: "I will never get married, and I won't be devoted to just one person. I live for the moment. I won't be responsible for anyone." He was cool, collected, and totally reckless. Yet, we were stuck in a messy, two-year, on-again, off-again cycle. Our story ended when the blood soaked the concrete. The last sound I heard was the dull thud of a bat hitting my head. Before the attack, I had quickly wiped my phone. The last message I received wasn't from Ethan; it was a photo from a friend. Ethan was holding flowers, and the florist was smiling up at him. A perfect pair. I knew it. The playboy wasn't going to turn his life around for me. My last thought before I faded was: "I wonder if Ethan Vance will still have the nerve to date the florist when he finds out I'm dead?" 2 Ethan picked up the white roses on the coffee table, carefully arranged them in a vase, and spritzed them with water. The droplets clung to the velvety petals. He bought flowers constantly after I died. Not for me, of course. It was because the florist was gorgeous. He used the excuse of buying flowers to flirt with her. It must have felt cursed because his first date with the florist was the day I died. So, no matter how hard the florist tried, Ethan never touched her. Ethan admired the roses and casually instructed me: "Your spectral presence is cold. Stay close to the vase. The low temperature will help keep them fresh." You know how to be practical, I’ll give you that. I got mad, and the temperature in the room dropped sharply. Ethan looked smug. He wore that "I'm the king" expression. "Want a new dress? I can burn one for you." He was obscenely rich. That's why I'm the best-dressed ghost in the afterlife. My dead friends are constantly jealous of my designer gowns. Ethan buys the clothes based on my spectral instructions. He comes home late. He sets the charcoal pit under the old oak tree and meticulously burns the clothes and some cash for me. The black smoke billows out, stinging Ethan's eyes. A passerby shouts angrily: "Who the hell is burning trash here?" Ethan coughs: "Sorry, sir! I'm just sending some things to my ex. I'll be quick!" An old lady walks up and pulls the man away: "Leave him alone. The poor guy's girlfriend was murdered a couple of years ago. It was brutal. He's gone a little crazy. I often see him talking to thin air." "Wow, how sad." "I know. No one wants to date him anymore." My hands clenched. Ethan remained calm, ignoring everything. I felt a pang of guilt. Ethan was usually a magnet for attention. "Ethan, let's go." He lifted an eyelid: "Almost done. Did you receive it?" "Yup. The underworld post office signed for it." He smiled: "Good." 3 Ethan woke up, tears tracing his temples. He wiped his eyes and whispered hoarsely: "Molly." "Hmm?" I was trying on the new dress. Seeing me, Ethan sighed, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his arm. His breathing hitched, then calmed. I put on the new Chanel jacket and twirled in front of him. "Do I look good?" He looked up. In the sunlight, his eyes were a clear, light brown. His voice was teasing: "You look better without it." I blushed: "Stop that!" He laughed, just looking at me. I sighed: "It's my birthday in two days." "I know." "Go visit my grave, would you?" He didn't answer. I sighed again. "Ethan." I held my hand up to my chest, indicating a height. "My grave grass is already three feet tall. You haven't visited once." Ethan really was stubborn. I was an orphan and not close to many people. The police could only find Ethan to claim my body. I managed a dark laugh. Figures Ethan would be the one to send me off. He claimed my body from the morgue. My body was brutal—my head bashed, covered in bruises. He couldn't see me then. I watched his hand tremble as he pulled back the sheet. A normal person would have been hysterical. But Ethan was cold. He just stood there, staring at me. He should have at least cried, just for show. We were together for three years! After a long time, he gently brushed my nose with his index finger. He said: "I hope you died for a good cause." The empty room offered no reply. He calmly told the police about my life. "She likes pink." "Her job was a reporter." "She has a small mole on her thumb web." "I was her boyfriend, not her husband. We had no legal cohabitation." It's funny. Ethan told me upfront: "Don't look for security in me. I don't have it. Don't try to change me with love. I will never get married, so if that's your goal, leave now." Everyone thought we'd crash and burn. But he knew me best. His eyes were hollow, his thin lips reciting my habits. I wondered if he knew my favorite position. I couldn't help but criticize him— Ethan, couldn't you pretend? You're too calm. Won't the police suspect you're involved in the murder? But my ghost worries were unnecessary for the living. Finally, Ethan leaned forward, clasping his hands. "I want to see the security footage of the incident." Ethan watched the footage and then left. He never went back to the precinct. He never came to see me. The mountain didn't come to me, so I went to the mountain. I watched him quit his job. Not for me, of course. He wanted to start his own company. Being an investment banker was lucrative, but Ethan wanted to be the boss. The startup phase was hard. So, I understood why he missed my funeral. The funeral home occasionally called him for payment confirmation. He always said: "Use the most expensive option." He was most attractive when he was being financially ruthless. 4 "But no one has visited my grave in three years." I felt genuinely upset. Ethan was unmovable. "I hired someone to clean it." And paid them well. I scoffed: "You could burn that money to me, and I could sweep it clean with a single gust of cold air." He smirked: "I'll burn you more later." "Are you really not going?" I held up three fingers aggressively. "Three years! Don't you even wonder if my looks have changed?" He laughed: "How would you change?" "Get old?" He denied it: "No. Your life is permanently twenty-five." That hit both of us. I died three years ago. The day after I died was my twenty-sixth birthday. I would never be twenty-six. The air grew heavy. Ethan asked: "What's the afterlife like?" "It sucks." "How so?" I shook my head mournfully: "A male ghost hit on me the other day. I was lonely and almost said yes, but he drank the River Styx water and didn't remember me five seconds later." I gave him the finger: "Are all you men so forgetful?" He changed the subject: "So you're dating other guys behind my back?" I was equally sharp: "Aren't you dating other girls behind my back?" We were even. Ethan smiled and shook his head: "At least I brought them home for you to inspect." I dismissed that. But I was curious: "You've been celibate for three years. Seriously, no urge?" He shrugged: "I even lost interest in porn." I leaned in, unbuttoning my second button, raising an eyebrow suggestively: "How about this?" He glanced at my chest. "What is that? A ghost movie?" He really knows how to kill the mood. I got angry and turned to leave. Ethan instinctively reached out, but his hand passed right through me. He looked lost for a moment. He quickly recovered. "Fine, I'll go." "Huh?" "I'll visit your grave. Should I bring fried chicken?" My eyes turned into stars: "And beer~" He smiled: "Deal." Ding-dong. Ethan's phone displayed a news notification. Headline: "Three Years Ago: Vicious Assault and Death of Young Woman, One Participant Released from Prison." It featured a photo of a man with a buzz cut in an orange jumpsuit. He looked clean-cut, but the image of him smoking, the red glow of the cigarette at his lips, sent shivers down my spine. I clenched my hands, trying not to lose my composure in front of Ethan. I gave a casual wave: "Gotta run." "Where to?" "Stop being so clingy, dude. I'm a busy ghost." I have a ghost life to live. I need to sleep and work. 5 Ethan doesn't know this. Standing next to him all day drains my energy. I have to go back to my grave to recharge. That's where my ashes are. And every day, the old man who cleans the cemetery comes by and tells me about his slow-burn romance with the cafeteria lady. It's a special kind of torture. I never told Ethan any of this. He doesn't want to visit me anyway. The old man is the only living person who talks to me. I shouldn't let Ethan take that away. I'd be bored to death. Under the moonlight, I shared my offerings with my dead friend. Her name is Chloe. She died of cancer. She's my neighbor and senior ghost. "Molly, why haven't you moved on yet?" I took a bite of cake and shook my head: "Not yet." "Why?" "You haven't moved on either." She laughed: "I'm staying to watch my jerk ex and his 'true love' suffer." Hilarious. After Chloe died, her ex realized she was his soulmate and went completely insane. Chloe stayed just for the drama. He also had one redeeming quality: he kept burning designer clothes for Chloe. "What about you? Why are you staying? Is it to watch what happens to the people who killed you?" What happens? They are powerful. They hired people to take the fall. They didn't spend a single day in jail. Bad people always win. Life is unfair. "I don't care how they die..." The wind howled, making the quiet cemetery even more desolate. "I'm just worried about someone." I said quietly. There's no one in the graveyard at night. The living only visit in the daytime, when the sun is warm. And I, a ghost. I only live in the dark. I accepted this fact, and Ethan should too. "Are you talking about your ex? Didn't you say he's still clubbing and working? Take it from a seasoned ghost: the living move on quickly. You might not be as important as you think, babe." Chloe wasn't being cruel. We ghosts can't linger too long. We start to fade and forget the way to the Underworld. My memory has been getting foggy lately. The price of lingering for the wrong person is too high. But Ethan is worth it. He is worth it.
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