Bonded Beyond the Veil

Chapter 16

Khalee

Present

Things escalated quickly, too quickly.

Every morning, I wake up feeling like I’ve been caught in a dream, only to open my eyes and find a ghost sharing my space.

Since the night I did the reading two days ago, something between us has shifted. The air feels heavier, the silence stretched thin between us like a wire ready to snap. Our relationship has cooled, and while part of me hates it, another part knows it’s necessary.

Distance is the only thing keeping me sane.

As much as it hurts, I know it’s for the best.

Nothing good can come from feeding this.

But that kiss? Fuck. That kiss was as real as anything I’ve ever felt.

And now, despite both of us silently agreeing to act like it never happened, it’s becoming nearly impossible to control my heart. I miss him with every part of me.

Every part of me ignites at the mere thought of his touch, at the way his eyes linger on me.

But the closeness we shared that night?

That’s as far as we can go.

Two souls bond together, yet trapped in separate realms, bonded beyond the veil. And yet, for a fleeting moment, he wasn’t just a shadow. He was here, like the man he used to be.

Then, just as quickly, he was not physical anymore.

Kaze left the room that night without a word and didn’t return until the following afternoon. I don’t know where he went, what he did, or what he was thinking. I didn’t ask. And now, we’ve settled into a careful, almost clinical routine.

Strictly professional.

I tell myself this is how it should be. But it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest.

What do you want from me, universe?

Hasn’t the open wound in my heart been enough?

I’ve asked him to come back to me so many times and begged for answers. But this? This is too much.

Every day, I feel like I’m losing my mind. And worst of all? We’re no closer to finding the truth.

The people who might have answers are the exact ones I swore I’d never reach out to.

Lately, I can’t shake the memory of that encounter with Patrick at the burger shop. At the time, the details seemed distant, lost in the haze of pain and years that had passed. But now? Now, I remember everything. Every single detail.

Patrick knew Kaze.

Even after Kaze punched him, there was something in Patrick’s expression that haunted me: recognition.

But telling Kaze this? That’s a problem in itself.

And talking to Patrick?

That’s a whole other kind of nightmare.

Aside from my exhaustion and the ever-growing frustration of not having answers about my ghost situation, something else has shifted.

Mada isn’t avoiding me anymore.

Last night, we met.

But, of course, we weren’t alone.

Because, despite my insistence that Kaze leave, he refused.

He refused.

“It’s not negotiable,” he had said, his voice firm. “You’re not going to be left alone with her.”

“You can just stay in the room. It’s not like you can actually do anything if things go south.”

Silence.

I knew the second the words left my mouth that I had hit a nerve.

And in my defense, it wasn’t intentional. But even in silence, he stayed. Even in silence, he didn’t leave my side.

And that was… comforting.

At first, I was annoyed by the lack of privacy, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.

Kaze doesn’t trust Mada.

And honestly?

I don’t blame him.

Because Mada doesn’t just destroy herself, she destroys everything she touches.

She smiles and laughs, drifting through her days as if I never found her pissed drunk and drugged that night. As if the fear in her eyes, the way her body slumped against mine, the way Kaze and I had to pull her out of there, never happened.

But I know better.

I see the way she zones out, lost in her own head, like she’s retreating somewhere the rest of us can’t follow.

I see the way she tenses when her phone rings, how she hesitates before answering, how she forces herself to relax the moment his name flashes across the screen.

And I see that haunted look in her eyes, brief, fleeting, when she thinks no one is watching.

When I confronted her about that night, she brushed me off like it was nothing.

“I don’t remember much, but I felt safe the entire time.”

Safe.

Safe.

Like I didn’t find her barely conscious, barely breathing, barely holding on.

When I pushed about James, she rolled her eyes, exasperated, her patience already wearing thin.

“I just drank a bit more than usual,” she insisted, her tone laced with something sharp, defensive. “I was having fun.”

And then, softer, as if she actually believed it.

“You don’t need to worry so much, sis. I’m happy, and James… He’s different now. He’d never hurt me.”

I stared at her, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

“He wasn’t even with you when I got there, Mada.”

That should’ve meant something. It should’ve made her pause.

But instead, she laughed, a small, condescending sound that made my stomach twist.

“Like you’re an expert on relationships.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “You’ve never even had one.”

Something inside me went still.

She didn’t know.

Of course, she didn’t.

But the way she said it, as if it were a flaw, as if I were some naive little girl who couldn’t possibly understand love, pain, or loss, it struck somewhere deep in my soul. Somewhere I wasn’t prepared to receive the strike.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my expression into something unreadable.

“You don’t know everything about me, Mada.”

Her eyes flickered with something, curiosity, maybe. Satisfaction, definitely. Like she could tell, she struck a nerve, and that pleased her.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, waving me off. “What, you had some secret boyfriend I never knew about? Give me a break.”

I didn’t answer.

Her smirk grew.

“See?” she pressed, tilting her head. “You’re always so obsessed with fixing me, but maybe you should take a look at yourself. You act like some all-knowing saint, but you don’t even have a life of your own, Khalee. No boyfriend, no fun, just you playing in a story that has nothing to do with you.”

I exhaled slowly, evenly, even though my blood was starting to simmer.

“This has everything to do with me,” I said, my voice steady despite the way she was digging into me like it was sport. “You’re my sister, Mada. Whether you like it or not, I care.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.

“You’re always so serious. It’s exhausting.”

Exhausting.

Right.

Because caring about her, trying to keep her from falling apart, was so fucking inconvenient for her.

Mada leaned forward, dropping her voice to something almost… sweet. Too sweet.

“Listen, sis,” she murmured, eyes locking onto mine. “Not everything is some tragic riddle you have to solve. You can’t fix me. You can’t fix what’s not broken. So maybe, just maybe, you should stop trying and, I don’t know, get a life of your own?”

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt.

It was the gleam in her eye as she said them. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she enjoyed watching me break.

And in that moment, I locked eyes with Kaze and saw the hurt in them and the anger. He was pissed at Mada, but he was sad for me.

I almost had an out-of-body experience when I saw myself and the whole situation unfold, and as soon as my own eyes locked on me, I saw what my relationship with my sister was.

It’s like watching someone walk willingly into a fire, convinced this time, this time, it won’t burn them. But it does. It always does.

I’m now trying to focus on the book in my hands, a thick, worn copy of The Spirits’ Book by Allan Kardec, a cornerstone of spiritist philosophy.

The pages are filled with ideas about the afterlife, the nature of the soul, and the purpose of our existence beyond the material world.

I’m searching for something, anything, that might help Kaze move on, find peace, or at least understand what’s keeping him here, but no such luck until now.

Kardec writes about spirits who linger due to unresolved emotions, unfinished business, or an attachment to the physical world.

It all resonates too well with Kaze’s situation, but the answers remain ambiguous.

I steal a glance at Kaze.

He’s sitting at the foot of my bed, quiet, distant, his gaze fixed on my guitar hanging on the wall.

I watch him for a long moment, studying the way his eyes darken, how his jaw tenses just slightly.

It’s subtle, but I see it.

The longing.

The ache of something lost.

“Do you miss playing?” The words escape before I can stop them.

He doesn’t look at me, but I see the shift in his expression, like I’ve touched a part of him he hadn’t let himself acknowledge until now.

“I think I do,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s realizing it in real-time.

His voice is quiet, bittersweet.

I close my book, setting it aside because my heart squeezes in a deep, familiar pressure.

I know that feeling too well.

The impact of being so close to something you once loved, yet so far from ever having it again.

Before I can think about it, I stand.

Crossing the room, I reach for my guitar, lifting it from the wall.

When I turn back, Kaze is watching me, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“You could… teach me,” I suggest, hesitantly because for him, this is new, but for me, it is a promise he never got to fulfill.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching in the ghost of a smirk. I can already hear the teasing remark forming on his tongue.

But I don’t back down.

“Really,” I say, firmer now. “Maybe while you teach me, you might… remember something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” However, the only certainty I have is that I’m losing my mind.

His smirk fades into something softer, more real.

He studies me for a long moment, as if weighing the idea, then nods.

“Alright,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “Let’s give it a try.”

I settle back onto the bed beside him, the guitar resting awkwardly in my lap.

“First things first,” he says, leaning closer, “you’re holding it wrong.”

I roll my eyes but adjust my grip as he instructs. His voice is steady and patient, guiding me through the basics: the way my fingers should curl around the neck and how to place my hand on the frets.

It should be easy.

But it’s not.

The strings bite into my fingertips, the pressure sharp, and my fingers feel stiff and awkward.

Kaze chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, and something in my chest clenches at the realness of it.

“You look so tense!” he teases.

“That’s because I am,” I grumble, shaking out my hand.

He laughs again, deep and sweet, and I can’t help but smile.

“It hurts,” I pout.

“It’s gonna hurt at first,” he says, “but that just means you’re doing it right.”

I groan, pressing lightly on the strings again, wincing.

His smirk softens into something almost fond. “Poor baby,” he murmurs, mock sympathy dripping from his voice.

I glare at him, but the warmth in his gaze undoes me.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accuse.

“A little,” he admits, his grin widening. “You’re cute when you pout.”

My breath catches for a second.

He says it so easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it doesn’t completely undo me.

I clear my throat, focusing very hard on the guitar.

“So, what now, wise one?” I ask, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck.

Kaze shakes his head, still amused, before leaning in again.

“Try pressing lighter, and relax!” he instructs, his voice softer now, more patient. “Playing is about control, not force.”

I nod, adjusting my grip, but my fingers still fumble. The sound that comes out when I strum is hideous.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then Kaze bursts into laughter.

It’s real, full, and spontaneous. The kind of laugh I haven’t heard from him in… God, in how long?

I should be embarrassed, but all I can do is stare.

Because for the first time since I have him back, he looks… happy.

Not just in passing amusement. Not just in the rare moments of sassiness, he lets slip through.

This is different.

This is joy that fills him, that lights him up from the inside out.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

Because in this moment, this quiet, fleeting, devastating moment, I realize the truth.

I love him.

Not just in the way you love a friend or a lover. Not just because of our past, or the memories, or the pieces of ourselves we’ve left tangled in each other.

I love him in a way that defies reason, that defies life itself.

My love for him isn’t fleeting.

It isn’t bound by the fragile limits of flesh and existence.

It is rooted in me. Deep, unshakable.

A love that doesn’t care about what we can or can’t have. About what’s possible and what isn’t.

We are bonded, beyond time, beyond death. We’re bonded even beyond the veil that should separate us, but somehow never could.

And the cruelest part?

I will never have him again.

But I will always love him.

Because my heart doesn’t just belong to the man he once was.

It belongs to his soul.