Chapter 10
Khalee
Five years.
Five years of silence. Of wondering. Of unanswered messages, sleepless nights, and that endless, gnawing question, why?
Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? Why did he vanish like I never mattered at all? Why didn’t he save me?
And now, just like that, one of the biggest questions I’ve ever had is answered.
He ‘s dead.
For how long? I don’t know. And apparently, neither does he.
But after years of torturing myself over what I might have done wrong, combing through every last conversation we had, convincing myself I wasn’t enough to make him stay… the truth is so much worse than anything I imagined.
He was probably already gone.
I’ve canceled all my appointments, but I don’t say that to Kaze. I don’t call him back into the room.
I can’t.
I need space. I need time. I need to fucking breathe.
The moment he left, I sank into the corner armchair, pressing the heels of my palms into my temples, while trying to force my spiraling thoughts into some kind of order. But I’m drowning in pain, confusion… heartbreak.
My chest feels tight. My mind races.
My stomach twists, rejecting the weight of a truth I can’t yet face.
I have a ghost in my house. And not just any ghost.
Him.
The boy who disappeared from my life without a word.
My best friend. My everything.
The one I loved before I even realized I was falling.
The one I lost, and in losing him, I lost myself.
And the one who doesn’t even remember me.
A hollow laugh pushes past my lips, but it’s humorless. Bitter.
Of course, he doesn’t. Of course, it had to be like this.
I close my eyes, tilting my head back against the chair, trying to make sense of the impossible while tears slip down my face.
I always thought that one day this pain would subside, that my tears would eventually dry up.
But not for him.
Never for him.
I tried to move on. God, I tried.
I wanted to believe that time would dull the ache, that if I just kept going, kept surviving, the wound he left in my chest would finally close.
But it never did.
I forced myself into new beginnings. Let new people in. Let them hold my hand, kiss my lips, tell me they wanted me. But it was never real. It was never like it was with him.
No one else ignited me with the flame of love, of care, of interest again.
Every touch felt foreign. Every whispered promise felt temporary.
I wanted to love again. I tried to trust again.
But all I did was fail.
Every attempt to heal myself only created new wounds in people who didn’t deserve them. People who deserved more, more than what I could give, because I was never whole again, so I could only offer them the fragments of who I used to be.
And that was never enough.
Only those who have experienced it, who have felt the sharp, merciless sting of someone you loved disappearing from their life without reason, know how it consumes you.
How it destroys you.
That kind of absence isn’t just grief. It’s an endless war against yourself because when they leave with no goodbye, no closure, no explanation, you aren’t just mourning them.
You’re mourning the person you were before they left.
I spent years questioning everything.
Every word we exchanged. Every look. Every moment.
I analyzed it all, dissecting our friendship and the first and only night we shared, searching for the moment when I must have done something wrong.
Was I too much? Not enough?
Did I miss the signs? Or was I just easy to leave behind?
And then it wasn’t just him I doubted.
It was everyone.
So, for years, I second-guessed every new connection, every person who showed interest in me. I became terrified of giving myself away again, of being deceived, of believing I mattered, only to watch them disappear too.
But the universe was kind to me.
Because despite my past, the people who entered my life never wanted anything but the best for me, even though I was the worst to them.
They were never the problem.
The problem was me.
I keep thinking about the way he just looked at me, so lost, so tired, so empty.
The sadness in his voice when he told me he needed my help. He’s carrying so much weight. And part of me, some stupid, reckless part, wants to reach for him.
To hold him.
To tell him he’s not alone. To give him back whatever is left of the girl who once loved him.
But then, I remember again.
The years of silence.
The nights I spent staring at my phone, begging for a message that never came. The way I broke apart, piece by piece, searching for answers that never existed.
The way his absence left a scar that never fucking closed.
He’s dead, Khalee. I remind myself, because a big part of me wants to believe that his death explains everything. That absolves him, and that the pain he caused me was never his fault.
But another part of me, the part that still remembers that ache, that still feels like I was left behind, is terrified.
Because what if his death came later? What if leaving me was a choice he made? What if I was never enough for him to come back? To save.
I needed him. Fuck, I needed him so much that night.
More than the man I loved, I needed my best friend —the only one I trusted and the only one who truly knew me.
My eyes burn, my teeth sinking into my lower lip, trying to stop the tears once and for all because I need to think and to process whatever this is.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.
I didn’t even know his name was Kaze.
I thought I knew him. But did I?
Or was I always just some girl in his life, while he was everything in mine?
Focus, Khalee. Focus.
If I’m going to help him, if the universe has truly tasked me with this, I need to separate the past from the present. He’s not K. anymore. He’s Kaze now.
A ghost.
A stranger.
But also, somehow, still him.
It’s cruel, really, how the universe works.
I asked for answers. I begged for clarity. And now, this is what I get? A broken, hollow piece of my past, literally haunting me?
My gaze drifts to my bookshelves, overflowing with texts on astrology and mysticism.
None of them hold the answers I need because I’ve never worked with the dead and never wanted to.
But now, here I am, tasked with unraveling the mystery of a ghost who doesn’t remember the life he left behind, or me, for that matter.
The internet will have to do. That, and maybe Mada. If I decide to tell her. But would she even believe me? Probably not.
Fuck.
My stomach rumbles, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I haven’t eaten anything in hours.
“You should eat something.”
The voice startles me so much I jump out of my chair, clutching my chest, my fingers automatically wiping away the tears before I can even register who just spoke.
Kaze is leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching me with something dangerously close to concern.
“Shit!” I snap, my pulse racing. “You scared me.”
“You should eat something,” he says, completely unfazed.
My heart is still pounding from the scare, and here he is, acting like my well-being is his personal concern. I sink back into my chair, exhaling slowly.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, rubbing at my temple.
His gaze lingers on me, sharp and too perceptive.
“Why were you crying?”
I stiffen.
“I wasn’t.”
His eyes flick to my face, to my still-wet cheeks. Right.
“Okay, let me rephrase: why are you lying about crying?”
I press my lips together, refusing to engage. I can’t have this conversation. Not with him.
“Right,” he sighs, pushing off the door frame. “So we’re doing the whole ‘pretend nothing happened’ thing. Cool. Just thought I’d check, y’know, before you… I don’t know, passed out again.”
“I’m not passing out.”
“But you sound like you’ve got a hungry demon in your belly.”
I scowl. “That’s an incredibly unflattering way to put it.”
“It’s an incredibly accurate way to put it.”
“You didn’t knock.”
“I can’t, can I?” He gestures vaguely at himself. “Kinda hard when I can’t touch things.”
“And I didn’t call you,” I counter, standing and beginning to gather my tarot cards and talismans into their box.
“You were silent for so long,” he says, observing me. “I was afraid I… I don’t know… I killed you somehow?”
That catches me off guard. My hands still over the cards, and I glance up at him, at the flicker of uncertainty in his expression.
He’s joking. But… is he?
Something about the way he says it makes me wonder if he’s actually afraid of being able to hurt me.
“Well, okay,” I say slowly, trying to steer this away from that unsettling thought. “But I could’ve been doing something else.”
“Like what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Like… undressing?”
There’s a brief beat of silence as he processes that, then,
“Oh.”
His mouth forms a small ‘o’, as if the concept has only just occurred to him.
I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at him, waiting.
“Well,” he finally says, recovering with a smirk, “I guess you realize I’m no virgin, don’t you? It wouldn’t be my first time seeing someone naked.”
I’m well aware. But there’s no reason to fuel this conversation.
I sigh. “We need some boundaries. And I need some time.”
He watches me closely, the teasing edge of his smirk fading just slightly.
I have to keep myself together, to detach from the ache in my chest, for this to go as smoothly as possible. He needs my help to figure out who he is, what happened to him, and why he’s stuck here. That’s the only thing that matters right now.
And even though we have a past, even though he was everything to me, nothing from it will help him. Because the truth is, I didn’t know as much about him as I thought I did.
I thought I knew him better than anyone, and yet, I never knew his name was Kaze.
So what would be the point in telling him now?
And if I did tell him, if I laid it all out and told him he once meant everything to me, what would I even expect in return?
Pity? A stranger’s apology? He’s not my K anymore.
He’s Kaze. Someone searching for answers, just like I was when he left.
I will help him and I will grieve him.