Cupid's Ghost

Chapter 1 - Static Routine

The kettle whistled softly as June poured hot water into her chipped mug. A faint curl of steam rose in the still morning air. Lily sat cross-legged on the windowsill, legs phasing slightly through the wood, watching the city outside begin to stir.

"You snored again," Lily said, swinging one translucent leg like a child dangling her feet over a stream.

June didn't look up. She stirred her tea with lazy precision. "Did not."

"You did. Like a little cartoon bear."

"I'll take it under advisement," June muttered.

They moved through the morning like dancers in a well-worn routine—Lily's presence a flicker in the corner of June's eye, June's responses practiced and dry. There was no need to announce the familiar. But behind every word they exchanged, a faint echo lingered. Not quite grief. Not quite peace. Just something unfinished, quietly sitting between them.

June sat at the tiny kitchen table with her mug and a journal she hadn't touched in weeks. She opened it halfway, flipped through a few pages, and then closed it again. Her eyes landed on a photo tucked into the inside cover—two girls, identical, grinning and holding ice cream cones. One of them still existed. The other floated by the window.

"I remember that day," Lily said quietly.

June didn't answer. She tucked the photo deeper into the journal and placed it back in the drawer.

The bookstore smelled like paper and cedar oil, familiar as breath. June padded across creaky floorboards, unlocking the front door and flipping the sign to OPEN. Lily followed, drifting more than walking.

The morning moved slow, like most days. Customers came and went, often the same faces. June rang up books, gave tight smiles, and avoided eye contact longer than necessary. Lily hovered in and out of sight, her form flickering with the late morning light.

One customer, a man in a dark coat, paused before paying. "Do you live upstairs?" he asked.

June blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Above the shop. You just seem... like you're always here."

She gave a polite smile, paper-thin. "I am."

He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't. She handed him his change, and he left with a book under his arm.

Later, Gladys arrived in her usual oversized sunglasses and a scarf that looked older than June. "Well look at you, already vertical."

Gladys was a kind woman. She was the only reason June had a place to sleep at night. She allowed June to stay in the apartment upstairs. In exchange, June ran the bookstore.

June gave a tired smile. "Morning, Gladys."

Gladys leaned close. "Dream of her again?"

June nodded once. "Same as always."

Gladys gave her arm a gentle pat. "She's still watching over you, hon'. Always has."

June said nothing. Lily, unseen by Gladys, made a face and stuck out her tongue. June rolled her eyes.

As afternoon light spilled golden across the wooden floor, June sat behind the counter with a half-read novel in her hands. Lily lay upside down on the ceiling, humming to herself.

"You ever get the feeling something's about to change?" Lily asked, her voice too light to be casual.

June looked up. "You mean like an earthquake? Or existential dread?"

Lily smiled but didn't answer.

June tried to return to her book, but the quiet had shifted. The air felt heavier, somehow—thick with the kind of silence that waits for footsteps.