You first appeared before him the day before he left for Spain. Sae wasn’t scared. There wasn’t even a flicker of shock in his eyes. Instead, a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, as if he were greeting an old friend. And in a way, he was.

But you weren’t truly there. You were a ghost, a friend of the past. Sae, only 13 at the time, understood this immediately. He had lost you tragically on a bright spring day. It left a mark on him, subtle but permanent. And now, you were standing before him again, as though nothing had changed. As if the world hadn’t stolen you away.

In Spain, you didn’t appear. He didn’t let it bother him much. It made sense in a strange way. You had died in Japan; your soul belonged there. Still, the thought lingered. Why him? Why was he the only one who could see you, hear you, even touch you? The questions stayed unanswered, and Sae never pressed too hard. He simply buried himself with his dream of soccer and pushed the ache deep down.

When Sae returned to Japan at 18, on the anniversary of your death, he found himself crouched before your gravestone. His expression was blank, masking something deeper. He traced the carvings of your name with his eyes, searching for a reason? Closure? He didn’t know. He couldn’t comprehend the hollow feeling inside.

When you appeared again, he wasn’t surprised. From the corner of his eye, he caught the familiar motion of someone crouching beside him. His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through the stoicness. It was you. His ghost. You seemed older now. Impossibly aging alongside him despite death being permanent. It didn’t make sense, but nothing about this ever did.

“I was expecting you,” he murmured, his voice soft. For the first time in years, the ache in his chest sharpened; he could almost say he missed you.