Chapter 11: The Ghost Who Kept Her Promise
Kyoshi walked home under gray skies, clutching his sketchbook to his chest like it was the last piece of her that remained. Her words echoed in his head with every step:
You were my brightest spark.And even in the dark—I'll carry your light.
The rain hadn't started yet, but the wind hinted at it. The trees swayed, their blossoms long fallen. He passed the alley where she once laughed, the café where she used to sit with tea and a book, the hill where they said goodbye to the stars.
Now there were only shadows.
He entered the house quietly.
Everything inside still smelled faintly of her shampoo and tea—though he told himself that was memory, not scent. Her room remained closed. The guest slippers untouched.
He moved to his own room, dropped his bag, and slumped into the chair beside his desk.
The sketchbook sat in front of him.
Final page.
Final words.
He reached for it, hands trembling.
But before his fingers touched the cover—
A sound.
Soft. Behind him.
Like the shift of fabric.
He turned.
And froze.
Standing near the window, bathed in moonlight like something born from silence itself—
Hikari.
Not a memory. Not a hallucination.
Her.
She looked just as he remembered—hair flowing softly, her white dress almost glowing, her eyes the same warm brown that always saw through him. But something was different.
Her feet didn't touch the floor.
The light bent through her.
Kyoshi's breath caught. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his chair. "Wh-What the hell—"
She raised one hand gently. "Kyoshi."
His chest tightened.
This wasn't a dream.
This was her.
Or what was left of her.
"You're not real," he whispered, his voice shaking. "You… I watched you die."
She nodded once. "I did."
He stepped forward, slowly, drawn and terrified all at once. "But… why? How?"
She looked out the window, her voice soft, distant like wind through leaves. "Because I promised. That I wouldn't let you face the dark alone. That I'd stay… until the last breath. But I wasn't finished."
Kyoshi swallowed hard, tears already rising in his eyes. "Finished with what?"
"With us." She looked back at him, eyes glowing faintly. "With our promises."
He took another step, trembling. "Can I touch you?"
"Try," she said gently.
He reached out—fingers trembling, heart hammering—and pressed his hand against her cheek.
His fingers went through her.
Like mist. Like breath.
No warmth. No weight.
Just emptiness.
Kyoshi's knees gave out.
He fell to the floor and sobbed—raw, breathless sobs torn from the hollow space in his chest.
"I thought I was going crazy."
"No," Hikari whispered, kneeling beside him, her voice wrapping around him like the breeze she'd become. "You just loved me enough to hear me still."
He looked up, his face streaked with tears. "So… what now?"
She smiled faintly. "Now, we finish our promises."
And though she had no weight, no warmth—
Kyoshi felt her presence fill the room.
Like a candle rekindled.
That night, he opened the sketchbook once more.
And began drawing again.
This time—with her watching.