The Lookalike

A 40-year-old woman sat at a cozy corner table in the local café, her shoulder-length golden blonde hair glinting in the warm afternoon light. She cradled a steaming cup of mocha topped with whipped cream, occasionally glancing out the window as if lost in thought. With a determined breath, I approached her, sensing an inexplicable connection. "Excuse me," I began, my voice gentle yet curious, "I couldn't help but notice how much you resemble someone I once knew. It's striking. But you can't be her; she passed away five years ago and is buried in a quiet plot at the Willow Creek cemetery." Her eyes widened slightly for a brief moment, it felt as though the air around us thickened with unspoken memories.