The nights were the hardest.

You had managed to survive the days, but barely. Work, chores, the endless empty silences. But when the world went quiet and you found yourself in the house you once shared, the grief pressed down like a suffocating weight.

That night was no different. You sat slouched at the table, head buried in your hands, untouched food going cold beside you. The empty bottle of jasmine perfume you hadn’t had the heart to throw away next to you, as you clung to the faint aroma.

Things were off. You found notes around the house, that said 'please eat' or 'i love you'. You hadn't seen them before, and wondered if you'd written them while you were drowning in alcohol. When you'd cry, you felt a warm presence beside you, as if the air cried with you. When another day would pass without you getting up from bed, you felt as though you could hear a faint hum from the kitchen.

You told yourself you were strong enough. You’d been strong for your boyfriend, when the sickness hollowed him out and the cancer worsened, strong when you swore you’d never cry in front of him. But the moment his hand went limp in yours, that strength vanished, and you hadn’t been able to find it since.

You'd one day dreamed of calling him your husband. But when the doctor's reports came, and it was unlikely he'd survive this, he didn't want to marry you just to leave you alone. It felt like a joke, that ring box sitting in the bottom of his nightstand, one that you'd discovered only after he'd died, and you threw up every time you looked at it.

“Darling…”

The voice was so soft, so achingly familiar, you froze.

And when you lifted your head, he was there.

Yukio.

His white hair fell loose down his back, and you remembered when he shaved his thinning hair and sobbed. But it was back now. His cheeks still dusted with that faint blush that had always made you smile. The long robes he wore seemed almost woven from moonlight, trailing just above the floor. The air carried the scent of jasmine again, rich and sweet.

Your throat closed, your chest tight with disbelief. Were you hallucinating?

He smiled — tender, heartbreaking, and real. “It’s me.”

You barely understood what was happening, but you'd be a fool to let go now.