The year was 1963. The pulsating beat of the music reverberated through my bones, the vibrations almost louder than the deafening thrum of my heart. The club was a swirl of lights and colours, a hazy dream that seemed to exist outside of time. I barely registered the faces around me, just blurs of expressions that were there one moment and gone the next. It was yet another night at yet another club, just like all the others. The names of these places and the people who filled them didn't matter. They never did.

I was just another ghost among them, drifting through the smoke-filled air, trying to drown out the noise in my head. The same noise that had been there for as long as I could remember, a low hum of restlessness and despair that never quite went away. The nights blurred together in one endless haze, a continuous loop of dancing, drinking, and taking whatever was offered, just to feel something. Anything.

My date for the night had disappeared hours ago. I couldn't even remember her name, let alone the colour of her hair. Blond? Maybe. Or was she a redhead? It didn't matter. What mattered now was the woman whose body was pressed against mine, our bodies swaying together in a dance that was more about survival than enjoyment. I had my hands tangled in her short, dark brown hair, my fingers tracing the line of her neck, while her lips pressed against the back of my shoulder, leaving a trail of warmth that did nothing to ease the cold inside me. Her hands, rough but confident, roamed my body with a desperation that matched my own, and I knew she was just like me—just trying to numb the pain.

She could have had me right there on the dance floor, and I wouldn't have cared. But instead, she grabbed my hand, pulling me through the crowd toward an empty booth. The privacy blinds clattered shut behind us, offering only the illusion of seclusion. The music outside still pounded, and the noise of the club filled every crevice, but in that booth, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

She pushed me down onto the seat, her body following mine as she straddled my lap, her hands moving to cup my face as she stared down at me with eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. For a moment, I thought I saw something in her gaze, something familiar, something like recognition. But the next second, she was kissing me, and all thoughts were swept away by the heat of her mouth and the taste of her on my lips.

Her name, she'd said earlier, was Andy. Or was it Anna? I couldn't remember, and I wasn't sure if it really mattered. What mattered was the way she made me feel—alive, for the first time in longer than I cared to admit. My hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, needing the warmth of her body against mine. There was a franticness to her movements, a wildness that mirrored the storm inside me, and I clung to her like she was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

But then, everything changed.

It started with a flash of light, so bright it seared my vision, followed by a sound so loud it seemed to split the world in two. For a moment, I thought it was just an electrical fault, until the shockwave hit us, knocking me sideways and sending Andy tumbling to the floor.

The next few seconds were a blur. There was a ringing in my ears that drowned out everything else, the music replaced by a cacophony of screams and the sharp bursts of gunfire. Smoke filled the booth, the acrid scent of burning chemicals stinging my nose and eyes as I struggled to sit up, my head spinning from the impact.

Andy was next to me, lying still on the floor, her eyes wide and unfocused. For a terrifying moment, I thought she was dead, until I saw her chest rise and fall, shallow but steady. There was blood on her face, splattered across her cheeks, down her neck and all along her side, staining her dress.

I reached for her, my hands shaking as I tried to pull her up, my mind racing with panic. We had to get out of here. We had to move. But as I touched her, she winced, and I realized with horror that the blood wasn't just on her—it was coming from her, seeping from a wound in her side that was quickly turning her dress dark with crimson.

"Shit," I muttered, pressing my hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Shit, shit, shit."

She groaned, her eyes fluttering open, and she looked at me with a mix of confusion and pain. "It's okay," I lied, my voice shaky. "You're gonna be okay. Just stay with me, alright?"

But even as I said the words, I knew they were empty. The blood was pouring out of her too fast, soaking through my fingers and pooling on the floor beneath us. I glanced around, desperate for help, but the booth was enclosed, the blinds cutting us off from the chaos outside. The sounds of the club—the screams, the gunshots, the blaring music—were muffled, distant, as if we were trapped in some kind of nightmare.

I turned back to Andy, my heart pounding in my chest. She was pale, her skin cold and clammy, and I could see the fear in her eyes as she looked at me, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise. "Please leave me here and go."

"I can't. I won't," I insisted, unable to leave her alone to die. I'd seen too many wounded soldiers to know the signs, and she wasn't going to last long. Yet still, I was trying to hold on to someone who was slipping away right in front of me.

And then, something impossible happened.

It started as a tingling sensation under my fingers. Subtle at first. I could feel more than see the skin in the wound I was trying so desperately to hold together shifting under my fingers. I blinked, startled, as I watched the blooding begin to slow, the edges of the gash knitting together under my touch.

For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating, the stress and fear warping my perception. But as I stared in disbelief, the wound continued to heal, the skin pulling itself back together until there was nothing left. Not even a faint scar.

I pulled my hand back, stunned, and looked down at Andy. Her eyes were wide, the fear replaced by something else—panic, maybe, or disbelief. She reached up, touching her side where the wound had been and held her hand there, trying to cover the the smooth, unblemished skin.

"No," she murmured, her voice shaking. "Damn it. This can't be happening. That was way too damn fast."

But there was no strange glow, no radiating warmth that I was used to in these situations. Just an almost natural rapid healing, so unlike the way would I normally regenerate. A wound that size shouldn't have healed that rapidly, no matter how strong one's natural healing ability was. This was something different, nothing like what I experienced myself, and the realisation shook me to my core.

I didn't know what to say, my mind still struggling to comprehend what I'd just seen. Never before had I witnessed someone else surviving something they shouldn't. Especially not at the rate in which this woman had. It was like something out of a dream, or a nightmare, something that shouldn't have been possible. But it was real, and it had happened right in front of me.

Andy looked up at me, her eyes filled with a terror I didn't understand. "You didn't see anything," she said, her voice harsh and desperate. "Do you hear me? You didn't see anything."

I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her that I had seen, that I couldn't un-see it. That it was strange yet brilliant and exactly what my dispirited self had needed, had been searching more than a millennia for. But before I could say anything, another loud bang shook the place. Light obscured my vision, hiding the shocked horror in Andy's eyes as everything went black.

When I came to, the club was still in chaos.

The lights were flickering, casting eerie shadows across the room, and the air was thick with smoke and the miasmic scent of explosives. I could hear the distant wail of sirens, growing louder as they approached, and the shouts of people trying to find their way through the debris and destruction.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding, and looked around. The booth was empty, the blinds torn and hanging limply from the ceiling. There was blood on the floor, but it wasn't fresh. The thinly smeared sections already drying and darkening to a deep brown.

Andy was gone.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing as I searched the room for any sign of her. But there was nothing—no trace of the woman who had been lying there just moments before, no sign other than the drying blood that she had ever been there at all.

Panic rose in my chest, and I stumbled out of the booth, pushing through the crowd of people who were still trying to escape the club. The floor was littered with broken glass, overturned furniture, and bodies too mangled and charred to recognize, the walls scorched black from the blast. The music had finally stopped, leaving only the sound of chaos and confusion in its wake.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the cries for help and the shouts of the police as they tried to restore order. I had to find her. I had to know what had happened.

But no matter how hard I looked, she was nowhere to be found.

The paramedics were already on the scene, tending to the wounded and helping those who were too stunned to move. I could see the flashing lights of the police cars outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. But I didn't go towards them for help. I didn't need it.

Instead, I wandered through the wreckage, my mind numb, trying to make sense of it all. The club that had been my sanctuary, my escape from the noise in my head, was now a scene of destruction and death, and the woman who had somehow come back from the brink of death right in front of my eyes was gone, leaving only questions in her wake. How was it possible that there was another being out there like myself? The same, and yet different? Perhaps there was hope for me yet in this lonely existence that had crippled my soul.

In the days and weeks that followed, I scoured the city for any sign of Andy. I visited hospitals, morgues, and shelters, desperate to find her. I even haunted the underground clubs and dives, hoping to catch a glimpse of her among the lost and broken souls who drifted through the night. But there was nothing—no trace of her, no one who had seen her, and no explanation for the miracle I had witnessed. The world moved on, the club's tragedy fading into the background noise of a chaotic city, but I couldn't let go. I needed answers, and more than that, I needed to see her again. To know that I wasn't truly alone in this endless loop of immortality.

As the years turned into decades, my search expanded beyond the city. I travelled across continents, following every whisper, every rumour of someone who could heal as she did. I became a ghost in the shadows, my face and body unchanging as the world around me aged and evolved. I watched as cities rose taller and taller, as people came and went, my immortality a stark contrast to the fleeting nature of everything else. But despite my unending quest, Andy remained elusive, a phantom from a past that felt like a dream.

I wandered through bustling markets in Marrakech, danced in underground clubs in Berlin, and walked the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, always searching, always hoping. Some had heard legends of a group of people with extraordinary healing powers that helped change the tides of wars, but the details were always vague, the stories inconsistent.

Fifty years passed, and still, I searched. The world changed around me, technology advancing, cultures shifting, yet I remained the same, frozen in time, alone. I watched the advent of the internet, the rise of global communication, and the ease with which people could connect across the globe. I utilized every tool at my disposal, scanning news articles, forums, and online communities for any hint of her. But it was as if she had vanished from existence, leaving behind only a fading memory. And, perhaps, that's all she would ever be.

But despite the endless journey, I never lost hope. In a world constantly evolving, filled with billions of people, I knew it was possible she was out there, somewhere. Perhaps she had learned to hide her abilities, or maybe she had chosen to live a quiet life, away from the chaos and the spotlight. I often wondered if she, too, was searching for answers, or if she had found a way to accept the gift—or curse—of her existence.

In my heart, I believed that our paths would cross again. The brief moment we shared had awakened something in me, a connection that I couldn't deny. She had given me hope. A new purpose in life. It was as if we were two stars, orbiting in the vastness of space, destined to collide once more. And so, I continued to search, moving through the ever-changing tapestry of humanity, hoping to find her and the answers to the mysteries that bound us.

And in the quiet moments, when the weight of my immortality felt unbearable, I clung to the memory of that night—the warmth of her body, the intensity of her gaze, and the impossible healing that had defied all reason. It was a reminder that I was not alone in this strange existence, and that somewhere out there, Andy was still a part of this world. And until I found her, I would keep wandering, a ghost in the crowd, searching for that kindred soul who understood the weight of eternity.