People always say the dead should rest.

I learned early that they don't.

My name is Kio Perez, and for as long as I can remember, I've seen them. The ones nobody else could. Standing at street corners. Sitting beside strangers on buses. Watching from windows of abandoned buildings. Some looked normal. Some didn't.

My parents spent years trying to fix me.

Doctors. Therapists. Faith healers.

Most of them took our money and promised miracles that never came.

"Whatever you see, don't talk to them."

"Ignore the voices, Kio."

"Pretend they're not there."

That was what my parents taught me.

So I did.

I learned to walk past whispers. Ignore shadows. Keep my eyes down whenever something dead smiled at me from across the room.

Then when I was eight years old, my mother died.

Nobody had told me yet.

I came home from school and saw her waiting near the front gate.

Smiling.

Beautiful as always.

"Mom?"

I ran toward her.

She opened her arms.

But when I reached for her hand...

My fingers passed through empty air.

I still remember the cold.

The silence.

The realization.

That wasn't my mother anymore.

That was her ghost.

And that was the last time I ever saw her.

After that day, I stopped trying to get close to people.

People leave.

People die.

And I was tired of mourning twice.

So I built walls.

Ignored classmates.

Kept conversations short.

Pushed everyone away before they could stay.

Years passed.

The ghosts never disappeared.

Neither did the loneliness.

One afternoon after class, I found myself cornered behind one of the school buildings.

Three idiots from my class blocked the exit.

"Hand over the money, Perez."

"Come on, rich boy."

I gripped my bag tighter.

I could probably fight them.

Black belt.

Fast reflexes.

But fighting always brought attention, and attention brought questions.

Then a voice cut through the tension.

"Or what?"

The boys froze.

A girl stepped between us.

Small compared to them.

Fearless anyway.

The afternoon sunlight caught a silver necklace around her neck.

A teardrop-shaped pendant.

The letter T engraved in the center.

"Leave."

Her tone wasn't loud.

Just certain.

For some reason, they listened.

After a few curses, the boys walked away.

Silence settled between us.

I picked up my bag from the ground and started walking.

No thanks.

No acknowledgment.

Nothing.

Footsteps followed behind me.

"Hey."

I ignored her.

"Hey, I just saved you."

I sighed.

"Not even a single thank you?"

I kept walking.

"I didn't ask you to do that."

The words left my mouth before I even looked at her.

Then I heard it.

Bark.

A familiar sound.

My footsteps stopped.

Standing beside her was a golden retriever.

Its tail wagged happily.

Its tongue hung out.

Its eyes were bright.

Too bright.

Because I knew that dog was dead.

The transparent edges.

The faint glow.

The way its paws never quite touched the ground.

And around its neck...

The exact same teardrop tag as the pendant she wore.

The dog leaned against her leg affectionately.

Protectively.

Like it had never left.

Even after death.

I slowly looked up at the girl beside me.

Still frowning.

Still waiting for a thank you.

For the first time in years...

I found myself staring.

Not at a ghost.

But at someone worth noticing.

"What's your name?"