The Departure Lounge

At 11:45 PM, her voice echoed in the darkness: 'Wait for me. I'm almost there.' I clutched the withered rose she had left for me this morning, staring into the void. Time feels incredibly heavy here, dragging like lead. Fifteen minutes later, a sharp, continuous electronic drone—*beeeeeep*—pierced the silence. I knew she had finally arrived. But as a brilliant light opened up beneath my feet, I wept in despair. I knew I would never see her again. What happened?