Bonded Beyond the Veil

Prologue

Khalee

The night drags on, endless, the way it always does now. The silence in my room weighs on me, broken only by the uneven sound of my breathing.

My eyes burn, whether they’re open or shut. My chest tightens, even though it’s empty.

I haven’t found the courage to get up yet, though I know that eventually, I’ll have to. My parents love me too much to push me too hard. My sister is too absorbed in her own world to notice. And I’m just here. With cold fingers. A dry, vacant stare. And hope slipping through my grasp.

I clutch my pillow like letting go would send me plummeting into the abyss I’ve been teetering on for days. Or has it been weeks? Time doesn’t seem real anymore.

He’s gone. And I am broken.

Every choice I made led me here, including the worst one of all: believing it would be different, that it would be worth it, that everything would be OK.

The thought crashes into me like a tidal wave, sweeping away everything I am and everything I was, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape it.

He vanished, just like that… evaporated, like a warm breeze fading at summer’s end, leaving nothing but cold air and an emptiness I can’t fill.

He disappeared when I needed him the most. And his absence destroyed more than what we could have been. It destroyed me. And left me to be destroyed by them.

I feel the tears spill over again. I don’t stop them.

My body aches, but nothing compares to the wound that doubt has carved into me.

If I hadn’t gone, would he still be here?

If I hadn’t taken the risk, would he still want me?

If…

If…

If…

So many “ifs,” so many alternate realities. But the question that haunts me the most is this: If I hadn’t believed, would I have seen the lie?

My mind betrays me, pulling me back into memories that tear through every barrier I’ve built to keep myself safe. I remember his gaze, intense, curious, as if I were a mystery he was desperate to unravel. I remember how he made me feel seen. Understood. Important.

In one night, we became “us.” And in another, it all shattered.

One feels like it belonged to another life. The other feels like it never truly ended.

He was everything to me.

I remember how the moonlight traced shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his lips curved in a smile that felt as if it existed just for me.

His happiness, while with me, was contagious, raw, unguarded, as if, for that brief moment, the weight he carried had vanished.

I remember the endless hours of conversation we shared.

The secrets we whispered. The rush of adrenaline every time I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was going too far.

But I never did. We never did.

We were always just there for each other. Even in secret. Even without truly knowing one another.

I remember his touch. I remember how he kissed me.

It wasn’t hesitant or calculated. It was fierce, consuming, like he needed me to breathe.

His lips against mine, his fingers digging into my skin, the way he whispered my name, like in that moment, everything he couldn’t say was poured into a single touch.

Like the world was about to end, and the only thing that mattered was us.

We found each other that night in ways I never thought possible. We found each other for months before that.

But in the end, I realized: I never really knew him.

With him, the cold, harsh edges of life didn’t matter. With him, the only thing that mattered was how he saw me, how he made me feel, how he looked at me like I was the answer to questions he was too afraid to ask.

I tell myself no one could fake a connection like that. The way he touched me. The way he laughed with me. The way he kissed me, like I was oxygen and he was drowning. How could that not have been real?

It was.

And when he left, he took more than just my joy, my laughter, my excitement for a new day. He took my voice, my craft, my dreams. He took my ability to love. And all he left me with was pain. Longing. Anguish.

I spend my nights awake, reliving every moment. Every laugh. Every touch. Every promise that was never kept.

But I also spend my nights reliving the other part.

The worst night of my life. The night he didn’t show up. The night everything changed. The night I lost myself.

The bruises have faded. But the feeling of disgust remains.

I tell myself I should have seen the signs. That, maybe, I should have asked more questions, paid closer attention.

I tell myself that maybe I should never have fought battles that weren’t mine to fight. Perhaps I should have ignored it, looked the other way.

Maybe.

But could I have lived with myself if I had?

Now, all that’s left is the pain.

And since then, my body has healed, but my heart has stopped.

The memories remain. The doubt. The dreams that keep me afloat and the nightmares that drag me back into a reality where I am no longer whole. Because he’s gone, and I’m lost.

He was my music. Now, silence is all I have left.

I tell my parents I love them. I tell myself I’ll be okay. But I know I’m lying.

Because every time I close my eyes, he’s there. And every time I close my eyes, so are they.

My hand hovers over my phone, and I look at some of the texts I’ve sent, all of them, with no reply:

Me: Where are you?

Me: Why did you leave?

Me: Did I do something wrong?

Me: Something happened, and I need you.

Me: Don’t leave me.

Me: Come back to me. Please.

Me: I need you.

Me: I need you…

But it’s pointless.

The world feels too big. Too empty.

Now, I’m trapped between two versions of him: the boy who kissed me under the stars and made me feel alive. And the one who vanished without a trace.

And I’m trapped between two versions of myself: the fearless girl I used to be. And the one I will never be again.

I should hate him as much as I hate them.

I should hate him for letting me down. I should hate him for showing me what it felt like to be seen, only to rip it away without warning.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Instead, I miss him with a ferocity that terrifies me.

I don’t know how to love again. I don’t know how to trust again.

Because every night, despite the pain, I still dance with his ghost and cling to what we could have been, but never were.