This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

The sky outside is still that rich, endless blue—summertime in full bloom. The scent of cut grass and sun-warmed asphalt follows me like a second skin as I climb the last hill toward my apartment. Cicadas buzz lazily in the distance, their droning almost meditative.

I walk slower than usual, savoring the feel of the sun soaking into my shirt, the warmth easing the tension in my shoulders. Everything feels right in a way it never used to. Balanced. Whole.

But underneath it all, there's a quiet ache. A pulse of guilt nestled somewhere behind my ribs.

You.

I pass a familiar oak tree that we used to imagine was a watchtower. I remember sitting beneath it as a kid, whispering secrets to you. We made up whole worlds, you and I. You always knew what to say, how to protect me when reality became too sharp. My protector. My shadow. My friend.

Now I barely hear your voice anymore.

I reach the building and take the stairs slowly, trailing my hand along the metal railing. The air changes as I step inside. Cooler, still. The hum of my fridge is the only sound that greets me. The blinds are drawn halfway, casting long, broken shadows across the floor like stretched fingers trying to hold on.

I close the door behind me and hesitate. "I'm home," I say quietly, to no one in particular, but I know you’re listening.

When I step into the living room, there you are, perched on the couch in the same pose you always used when you were annoyed. One leg draped over the other. Arms crossed. That familiar tilt of your head. But your outline is wrong. Faint. Translucent like smoke caught in the sunlight. I blink and I can almost see the fabric of the couch through your knees.

My throat tightens. I sit down in the armchair, sinking into the worn cushion. "You knew this day would come sooner or later," I say, but it sounds empty in the stillness between us. My fingers twitch, uncertain. "I'm sorry it has to be like this."

You don't answer. Not with words. Just that look, the one that says you're not really happy with how things are going.

The silence stretches. I fill it with the ticking of the clock, the soft whir of the ceiling fan, the rustling of leaves beyond the window. It all feels too real now. Too grounded.

"I didn’t forget you," I say, voice breaking. "You helped me survive. You were always there when no one else was." I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. "It..this.." I close my eyes. "You knew this day would eventually come."