Chapter 34
Kaze
How do we say goodbye?
I’ve been turning that question over in my head for days now. Picking it apart, wearing it down like a loose thread I don’t want to pull, because I already know what happens when I do. Everything unravels.
It’s been a week since she said it. Since her voice, shaky, soaked in tears, told me I had to let go. That, keeping me here, wasn’t fair. That she loved me, yes, but love couldn’t be a chain holding me in place. Not anymore.
And tomorrow… tomorrow she walks out of this place. Out of the hospital. Out of the ache. Into something that looks just enough like life to be terrifying and beautiful at the same time. A new beginning. A clean breath.
So tonight has to be the night. Tonight is when I say goodbye. But how?
How do you say goodbye to the only person who ever truly saw you and stayed? How do you walk away from the girl who saved you more times than she’ll ever understand?
I don’t think I ever told her what it meant. To be loved by her. To be seen. To be forgiven, especially when I couldn’t even forgive myself. She made me feel human again, even in death.
And now I’m supposed to leave? To disappear quietly, like I was never here? To become just another shadow she learns to live without?
But she deserves a beginning. A real one. One that doesn’t carry the weight of me haunting the corners of her life.
And I’m proud of her. God, I’m so proud. The way she breathes is deeper now. The way her shoulders sit is just a little less heavy. The way she smiles sometimes when no one’s looking. The way she walks, slower, yes, but always forward. She’s doing it. She’s fighting. She’s choosing life.
But I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t breaking. If I said it doesn’t hurt like hell knowing I won’t be there to see her rebuild. To watch her grow. To watch her live.
I’ve spent every night since our talk on that rooftop curled beside her, in bed.
Just watching. Memorizing. Her breathing.
The way her fingers twitch in her sleep.
The little scar on her collarbone, I used to kiss when we were both too tired to speak.
And the way she always curls slightly to the left, like she’s still protecting something fragile in her chest, even now.
She is. My heart.
Because the truth is that he keeps beating, inside hers.
I don’t know what’s waiting for me when I let her go. Maybe nothing. Maybe silence. Maybe hell. But honestly? Leaving her feels like the worst kind of hell already.
Still, I know what’s waiting for her.
Freedom.
A life not built around ghosts. A chance to grow in light, without the shadows of what never got to be. And that has to be enough for me.
So I’ll say goodbye now. Not because I want to. But because I love her too much not to.
The room is dark, still. The only sound is the low hum of the machines, keeping pace with the rhythm of her steady heart. She’s asleep, her breathing soft and even. Calm. At peace.
I’m lying beside her, just for one more night. One last time. Her warmth, her heartbeat, her breath against my chest, it’s almost enough to make me stay. Almost.
My arm is around her. She’s curled into me, the way she has these past weeks, a habit that grew quickly and one I cherish more than I have words to express. I bury my face in her hair and close my eyes.
This, this is my heaven. Not the afterlife. Not whatever comes next—just her.
She stirs a little in her sleep, shifting closer, her breath catching in her throat for just a moment. And I let myself believe, for the briefest second, that this is just another night. That we’ll wake up tomorrow. That we’ll share the sunrise. That she’ll stay mine.
But morning is coming.
And when it does… I’ll be gone.
I wish I could leave her something. A letter. A note. Something she could hold when the ache comes back and she needs proof that I was real. But I’m not solid enough anymore. Not in that way.
So I do the only thing I can.
I sing.
Softly. Barely more than a hum in the dark. The song I wrote for her once. The same one I’ve been humming every night since I found her again—the one she used to call our lullaby.
When the last note fades, I press my lips to her forehead and I whisper into her ear.
“My girl. My miracle. Loving you was the only thing I ever got right. And I’ll keep loving you… wherever I go. Don’t look for me in the dark, I’m not there. Look for me in the quiet. In the wind. In the morning sun. In the stars you love so much. That warmth on your cheek? That’s me. Always me.”
I pause, just watching her face. She shifts again, a soft sound escaping her lips, almost like she hears me.
“You’re going to be okay, ” I whisper. “You’re stronger than you know. You’ve always been. And one day, you’re going to wake up, and this pain won’t scream so loudly anymore. One day, you’ll laugh without guilt. You’ll fall in love again. And that’s not betrayal. That’s living. That’s healing.”
I try to stop the tears from falling, but I can’t.
“So live, Khalee, ” I manage. “Please, live. Love. Be happy. You deserve it. More than anyone. You deserve it.”
My hand brushes her cheek one last time.
And then I feel it.
The pull.
Something inside me shifts, and my heart pumps.
She stirs again. Her brow furrows, and although I’m also confused, I don’t have it in me to think.
“Kaze…” she breathes, and her voice shatters me because this time, I don’t answer.
Part of me knows I’m breaking a promise I made long ago. But it has to be done. I should have let her go a long time ago.
“Kaze…” she calls again, quieter now, caught somewhere between dreams and waking, still reaching for me, even in sleep.
But she’s too far away. And maybe that’s a mercy.
Because by the time her eyes flutter open, I’ll be gone.
And in the quiet, where two heartbeats briefly shared a rhythm, only one remains.
Hers.
Steady and alive.