Running in a Prom Dress Through a Ghostly Subway Hallway

Running in a Prom Dress Through a Ghostly Subway Hallway

I woke up late for work, sprinted to the subway, and realized I was wearing my old high school prom dress instead of my usual blazer. The train doors opened onto a dim hallway that smelled like my grandma's kitchen, and at the far end I saw a man I hadn't seen since graduation—only his face was half his own and half a translucent, flickering silhouette. He smiled, and I felt both familiar warmth and a cold shiver. He reached out, and his hand passed through mine, leaving a faint, lingering spark. I tried to ask where we were, but the hallway kept stretching, turning into the lobby of the coffee shop where we used to meet for late‑night study sessions. I was embarrassed, because I couldn't find my wallet, and the barista—who looked exactly like my ex‑girlfriend—handed me a latte that turned into a small, glowing orb. I woke up just as the orb floated up and vanished, still feeling that mix of longing and the odd sense that I had almost said something important to him.