Chapter 19
Khalee
Present
When I come back to my senses, the night wraps around us like a heavy, suffocating blanket.
The distant hum of the city feels muffled.
My eyes flutter open, and I realize I’m still on the rooftop where I had sought refuge hours ago.
His arms are still wrapped around me, solid and warm, holding me together when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
Memories come flooding back, sharper than any blade, and I feel the sting of tears again, even though I thought I had none left to shed.
He’s here.
Solid.
Real.
Even though he shouldn’t be. Even though he’s a ghost.
The warmth of his embrace is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. His presence is both comforting and terrifying because neither of us speaks, and the silence stretching between us is like a fragile thread.
But his hand… I feel him.
His hand moves gently along my back, a soothing rhythm that tries to coax me toward calm.
“You’re shaking,” he says softly, his breath warm against my temple.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though my voice betrays the exhaustion and grief clawing at me. I’m not fine.
I’m a mess.
But how do I even begin to explain that?
“No, you’re not,” he replies gently, his tone laced with concern rather than judgment. “But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”
His words unravel something deep inside me, a knot of tension and pain I’ve been holding onto for far too long.
The dam breaks again, and the tears come in a torrent once again.
I bury my face in his chest, sobbing as his arms tighten around me, anchoring me in the storm.
I cry.
I cry for the girl I used to be, the one who laughed too easily, who didn’t know that love could be something so beautiful and so cruel at the same time.
For the choices I can’t take back, the ones that haunt me every day, whispering regrets into my bones.
For the pain his absence carved into my soul, the hollow space he left behind that no amount of time or distraction could ever fill.
I cry for the loss of my best friend, for the space he occupied in my life, in my heart, in my every thought, a space that turned into an echo the day he disappeared.
For the emptiness that swallowed me whole, stretching across the years like an open wound, one I never learned how to close.
For the moments we didn’t get to have, for the laughter that never had the chance to exist, for the memories that died before they could be made.
For the man I love so fucking deeply, so irrevocably, that even in death, even in this cruel, fractured existence, he is still part of me.
And for the scar that never even had the chance to form, because his absence has always felt like a fresh cut, one that bleeds every single day of my existence.
I sob for everything we were.
For everything we could have been.
For everything we will never be.
And through it all, he holds me.
Silent. Unmoving. There.
And I let myself break completely, because at least, this time, he’s here to catch me.
Through it all, he doesn’t say a word.
He just holds me, his fingers tracing soft circles on my back, his chin resting lightly on my head.
Finally, the sobs subside, and I pull back slightly, wiping at my tear-streaked face with the sleeve of my jacket.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze.
“Don’t,” he says firmly, his hand tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Never apologize for feeling, Khalee. Not with me. Feeling is what reminds us that we’re alive.”
His words settle over me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my heart.
“You’re solid,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“I am,” he answers simply.
“And you didn’t leave…” I trail off, the thought too much to finish.
He could have left.
He could have searched for answers himself and disappeared, just as he had before.
“I didn’t even think about leaving,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Where you are, I am.”
The weight of his words presses into my chest, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.
Exhaustion tugs at me, my eyelids growing heavy despite the turmoil inside me.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asks carefully, his tone cautious, as if afraid of pushing too far.
“Not tonight,” I reply, and he just sighs softly, the discomfort flickering across his face, but he doesn’t push.
After a moment, he hugs me a little tighter, cuddling me up to his chest.
“So, how did you find this place?”
My heart skips a beat at the question, memories flashing through my mind like a reel I can’t turn off.
For a long moment, I say nothing, the silence between us stretching uncomfortably. Finally, I tell him about how this rooftop had been my refuge for years, a place where I could breathe when the world felt too heavy.
He nods thoughtfully. “And how do I know this place?”
His question hits me like a bolt of lightning.
My breath catches, and instinctively, I try to pull away, but his arms tighten around me, holding me in place.
My heart pounds against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Don’t lie to me, Khalee,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with something sharp. “If you move, if you look me in the eye, then don’t let me see shock or lies in your expression. If I let you go, be ready to answer me. But if you’re not ready, stay. Stay here and don’t move.”
I freeze, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us.
My mind races, torn between the truth I’ve been carrying and the fear of what it might do to him, to us. But in his touch, I sense the determination of someone who won’t let this go.
And I realize I will not be able to keep us a secret for long.