Reflections of the Past

My phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number telling me to meet at the abandoned

café on Elm Street at 7 PM. My heart raced because only one person knew about that

place, but Sarah died in the car accident I caused three years ago.

I stood outside the crumbling building, hands shaking, when the door creaked open.

A figure stepped out wearing Sarah's old jacket, but when they turned around,

it was my own face staring back at me.