CH5: The Arrival of the Spiritual Talker

Two months had passed since Aya came into my life, and with her, my quiet, monotonous routine had begun to transform. What was once an empty, quiet apartment now seemed...

lively. My nights weren’t as lonely anymore, and my days started to feel more vibrant. Having Aya around had become so natural that I could barely remember what it was like before she arrived.

The apartment, once an unchanging sanctuary for my introverted self, was now filled with her presence—her floating around, her humming, her laughter when she teased me over trivial things. Even though she couldn’t interact with much while others were around, I noticed how much more at ease I felt with her around.

Our little excursions to nearby towns to gather clues about Aya's past had become a routine. We'd wander through quiet streets, hoping that something would trigger her memory— anything to give us an idea of who she was before she became... well, a ghost. We visited libraries, cafes, and even some old neighborhoods. But still, nothing concrete surfaced.

Sometimes she'd feel a sense of familiarity in certain places, but the moment would pass too quickly for her to grasp it. It was frustrating for both of us, but despite the lack of progress, we kept trying.

During those outings, I began to notice changes in myself, too. Where once I would have felt uncomfortable in crowds, now, with Aya by my side, I could handle the buzz of people and the noise. My usual aversion to social situations seemed to be fading, little by little.

Yumi and Kenji started visiting my place more often. Yumi, being the sociable one, usually suggested game nights or brought over food, saying my fridge looked "tragically empty" whenever she checked. Kenji, on the other hand, with his casual air of spiritual awareness, seemed unfazed by the presence of Aya, even though he couldn't always see her.

There were nights when we all gathered in my living room—Yumi sprawled out on the floor, a

controller in hand, Kenji half-distracted with a beer, and Aya floating just behind me, offering me "helpful" gaming tips in my ear.

"You're getting better," Aya teased once as I finally cleared a level that had been frustrating me for days. "Finally leveling up your real-life stats, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," I muttered, trying not to grin.

Yumi would occasionally catch me smiling at seemingly nothing, raising an eyebrow but never questioning it. If anything, she just seemed glad I was more engaged lately. We’d even begun

hanging out more outside of work, something that would have made me uncomfortable just months before.

Kenji, however, was a different story. After a few beers, he would inevitably bring up spirits or share some cryptic information about his ghostly encounters. One evening, after Yumi had gone home, he lingered behind, looking at me seriously.

"It is still around." He said in a low voice. I blinked at him. "What?"

"The spirit. The one I saw before," Kenji said, leaning forward. “It is still with you. I can sense it sometimes. It's faint, but I know it's there."

Kenji grinned as if he'd confirmed some grand theory. "You know, I could help you learn more about it. There are places—rituals—that could bring out the truth. Maybe even help it move on or disappear."

Move on? Disappear?

I glanced at Aya, who was sitting on the edge of my bed, watching the conversation unfold. The thought of her moving on, disappearing... it unsettled me in a way I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t ready to even think about that yet.

"I'll keep that in mind, but it does’nt hurt me right? So I think its better to let things as it is. " I said noncommittally, trying to shake off the thought as Kenji left, still murmuring about

"spiritual connections."

When the door closed behind him, Aya floated over to me, her expression unusually quiet.

"You know, if it comes to that... I'd be okay with it," she said softly. "Moving on, I mean. If it turns out that's what I have to do."

I looked at her, unsure of what to say. In these past two months, I had gotten used to having her here—her teasing, her company, her laughter. The thought of her disappearing left a strange emptiness in my chest.

"I don’t want to think about that right now," I replied, avoiding her gaze. She smiled, a sad, small smile that I hadn’t seen before. "Me neither."

There were times when Aya and I would bicker over the simplest things—like what to watch on TV or whether I should clean up the apartment more often. She would float around, crossing her arms and pouting dramatically while I sat on the couch, rolling my eyes.

“You’re such a slob!” she’d complain, pointing at the clothes I left on the floor. “This place is starting to look like a bachelor’s cave.”

“It *is* a bachelor’s cave.” I’d retort.

She’d puff up her cheeks and hover closer. “That’s not the point! If I *could* clean, this place would be spotless. You’re just lazy!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I’d mutter, pretending not to be affected. But her persistent nagging always got me to eventually tidy up a bit more.

Other days, we’d argue about which game to play, with Aya leaning toward bright, colorful RPGs and me wanting something more action-packed.

“It’s not fair! You’re the one with thumbs! Just play what I want for once!” she’d exclaim, floating right in front of the screen to block my view.

“You’re the one who always gets to backseat game! Maybe you should just get your own body again if you want control so badly,” I’d say, half-serious.

If anyone could see or hear us in those moments, they’d probably think we were some old

married couple squabbling over mundane things. The idea would make me laugh sometimes—a guy living with a ghost, bickering like an old man and his wife.

But no matter how much we argued or teased each other, we always made up by the end of the day. There’d be that moment where we’d both calm down, sigh, and look at each other with soft grins.

“Okay, okay,” I’d say. “You win this one. I’ll play your game.”

She’d float back to her spot, victorious but smiling. “Good. I knew you’d come to your senses eventually.”

It wasn’t just the bickering itself that felt strangely comforting. It was the fact that we had

someone to bicker with—someone who would stick around afterward, laugh it off, and keep things from ever feeling too lonely.

The doorbell echoed through the quiet apartment, snapping me out of my daze. Aya, as usual, was engrossed in a game, her ghostly form lounging in mid-air with her legs crossed, floating near the TV. I was sprawled lazily on the sofa, not really doing anything productive.

“Who could this be at this hour?” I muttered, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for any normal visitor.

“No idea,” Aya said, without even looking up from her game absorbed in her digital world.

I forced myself up with a groan, wondering if it was some delivery person who had gotten the wrong apartment again. The peephole was useless—caked with dust and grime I kept meaning to clean but never did. Sighing, I slid the door chain into place and cracked the door open slightly, just enough to get a look.

And then my heart nearly stopped.

Standing on the other side of the door was **her**—my so-called childhood friend. The one I had tried so hard to avoid since I ran into her months ago. The one I hadn’t spoken to in what felt like a lifetime. A rush of mixed emotions slammed into me—anger, confusion, sadness—all swirling around in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I gripped the door tighter, trying to keep my voice steady. “I think you’ve got the wrong

apartment,” I said coldly, my hand already moving to close the door. The sight of her brought back memories I wasn’t ready to face, wounds I wasn’t sure had healed.

But before I could shut her out, her voice came through the crack in the door, soft but urgent. “No, I’m not wrong. Please... talk to me.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with desperation. I closed the door and leaned behind. I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to open up those old scars. I’d spent months trying to move on, trying to forget. I had nothing to say to her now. So why was she here?

Aya’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Who’s at the door?”

She had floated over silently, hovering just infront of me, her eyes curious but calm. I didn’t answer her immediately. I couldn’t.

On the other side of the door, my childhood friend’s voice trembled as she spoke again. “Please, just give me a moment. I just want to talk. Or... or if you don’t want to talk, I’ll talk. Just... listen to me. Please.”

I clenched my teeth, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions. I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. She had walked out of my life years ago, left me behind, and now she was standing at my door, asking for something I wasn’t ready to give.

But the sound of her voice—so small, so broken—made something inside me waver.

Aya’s ethereal form drifted closer, her eyes meeting mine. She had a way of seeing through me, of understanding without words. Her gaze was steady, calm, like she could sense the turmoil inside me.

“I think you should talk to her,” Aya said softly, her voice almost a whisper. There was no pressure in her tone, just quiet understanding.

I turned to face her, feeling conflicted. “Why? What good would it do?” I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.

Aya shrugged gently, her hair floating around her like she was underwater. “Sometimes... the hardest things are the things we need the most. Maybe hearing her out will help you find some closure. You don’t have to forgive her, but maybe you need to face it.”

I turned around stared at the door, my grip tightening around the handle. She wasn’t wrong. I had been carrying this weight, this unresolved tension, for too long. Avoiding it hadn’t helped. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to confront it either.

“Please,” came the voice again from the other side of the door. “Just a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”

I looked back at Aya, who gave me a small, encouraging nod. It was strange, how much comfort I had found in this ghost who had become a part of my life. She had seen me at my worst, my most vulnerable, and yet she had never judged. Mayb

With a deep breath, I unlocked the chain and opened the door fully.

There she was—my childhood friend. Her eyes were wide with relief, but they were also filled with something deeper, something that looked a lot like regret. She stood there, vulnerable, her hands clutched together like she was afraid I’d slam the door in her face.

“I... I don’t even know where to start,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to. I need to explain.”

“Okay, let’s talk... but not here,” I said after a moment of hesitation, my voice steady but guarded. I looked her directly in the eye, trying to read her expression, but all I saw was uncertainty. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, and she looked smaller than I remembered, more fragile. Her stature wasn’t much taller than Aya's height, but something about the way she stood made her seem even smaller, almost lost. I gestured toward the door, and she nodded quietly.

We left the apartment without another word. She walked a few steps ahead, her pace slow and tentative, while I trailed behind slightly, side by side with Aya. There was a strange heaviness between us, an unspoken tension. The night was calm, with only the faint sound of cicadas in

the air and the occasional rustle of leaves. No one else was around, and that only amplified the silence between us.

Aya floated beside me, her presence comforting as always. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes occasionally darted to my childhood friend, as if trying to assess the situation. I felt her curiosity, but she respected my space, letting me process this moment on my own.

The park was just a few blocks away. It wasn’t anything special—a small, quiet place with a handful of benches and a modest playground. The streetlights cast long, dim shadows on the ground, and the air was cool, crisp but not biting. Just enough to be comfortable. We reached one of the benches, and I gestured for her to sit. She did so without a word, sitting on the edge of the bench like she wasn’t sure she should even be there.

I sat down a few feet away from her, leaving enough space to keep things comfortable, but close enough to hear her clearly. Aya, ever the quiet observer, floated slightly behind me. I

knew she wouldn’t interfere unless I needed her, but just knowing she was there gave me some

strength.

For a long moment, no one said anything. I looked at my childhood friend out of the corner of my eye. She was staring blankly ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles were white, and I could see the tension in her shoulders. She was clearly struggling with what to say, but I didn’t push her. I just waited, gazing at the dark sky above. The moon was full, hanging low in the sky, casting a gentle glow over everything. It was peaceful... almost surreal.

She finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry...” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She didn’t

look at me, just kept staring down at her hands.

I said nothing. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I had waited so long for her to say something, to explain why she had vanished from my life, and now that she was here, apologizing, I didn’t know how to feel. There was no rush of relief or closure, just... emptiness.

She continued after a pause, her voice shaky. “I know I hurt you. I didn’t mean to... I just... I was immature, and I didn’t know how to handle everything that was happening.”

I still didn’t say anything. My eyes were fixed on the moon now, its glow softening the harsh edges of my thoughts. I could feel Aya’s gaze on me, silent support in her eyes, but she remained still, allowing me to face this on my own terms.

“I regret it,” she added, her voice cracking. “Every day, I regret it.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and raw. I glanced at her briefly, but her face was still hidden by her hair, her posture tense and uncomfortable. There was something vulnerable about her in that moment—like she was trying to hold herself together but was on the verge of breaking.

The cicadas filled the silence again, their rhythmic hum oddly soothing. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. I had imagined this conversation so many times, replayed all the things I would say to her, all the anger I would unleash... but now, sitting here under the moonlit sky, it didn’t feel the way I thought it would.

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness,” she whispered, her voice trembling now. “I just... I needed to tell you. I needed you to know that I’ve thought about it every day. And that I’m sorry.”

The moon above seemed to mock me with its calm serenity, while my thoughts raced, tangled in memories I had tried so hard to forget.

"You know we've been together since we were in elementary," I began, my voice shaking. The flood of memories hit me hard as I spoke. "We were always together. At some point, I thought we'd be together forever."

I could feel the lump in my throat growing as I continued, but I pressed on, my words gaining a bitter edge. "I got your back in high school, and you had mine. We even made it to the same university, remember? We did everything together—everything."

The weight of the past began crushing down on me, but I couldn’t stop. "But why? Why did you betray me when I hit rock bottom?" My voice cracked, trembling with anger and a hurt that had been festering for too long. My hands were shaking, clenched into fists at my sides, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"You saw me that night," I growled, my voice low and furious. "You saw what happened. We even talked before I got into the back seat of the car. You knew I wasn’t driving. You knew I was innocent!"

She flinched at my words, and I could see the guilt written all over her face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

"But why? Why didn’t you testify? Why didn’t you help me when I needed you the most?" My voice broke as I said it, the hurt finally overwhelming the anger. I was barely holding it together, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails were digging into my palms.

"I was begging you—begging you—for help," I continued, my voice strained as I fought to keep the tears from falling. "I thought you were the one person I could rely on. The one person who knew the truth. But you just stood by and did nothing."

She didn’t say anything, her eyes cast down at her feet, as if she couldn’t even bear to look at

me. But that only fueled the pain and resentment boiling inside me.

"Do you remember what you said to me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper now. "You said

you didn’t know anything. You let them blame me—let those scumbags point the finger at me

for something I didn’t do. You knew the truth, and you just… turned your back on me. You

betrayed me."

I could feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. My chest was tight, and my whole body felt like it was trembling. I had kept this bottled up for so long, and now, it was all coming out, pouring from me like a dam that had finally burst.

"You were supposed to be my salvation, my one hope in all of that darkness... but you just abandoned me. Why? Why did you do that to me?"

I was looking straight at her now, searching her face for any answer, for any hint of remorse or regret that could explain what had happened. She still didn’t look at me, her shoulders trembling slightly. The silence hung between us like a suffocating weight.

The words I had kept buried for so long were finally out, but they didn’t bring me any relief. Instead, I felt raw, exposed. The pain of that betrayal was still fresh, as if it had only just happened.

All those months of waiting, hoping for her to say something, to give me a reason, and now... nothing. Just silence.

Aya, who had been watching from the side, hovered closer. I could feel her presence next to me, a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this moment, even if everything else felt broken. The night air was cool, but the tension between me and my former friend was thick, stifling. I waited, but no words came from her lips.

She just sat there, silent.

The words hung in the air between us, as heavy as the silence that followed. I looked far ahead, focusing on the distant trees swaying in the night breeze, trying to calm myself down. I inhaled slowly, feeling the weight in my chest lighten slightly as I exhaled. My mind was racing, thinking about everything I’d just said. Was it right? Should I have said those things to her? Would this only make things worse? This meeting suddenly felt pointless, like a cruel joke the universe had played on me.

Just as I was ready to stand and walk away, She stood up first.

"I'm scared..." she muttered, her voice so quiet I almost didn’t catch it.

Her shoulders shook as she continued, "I’m scared, you know. I didn’t know what to do back then. My family’s not wealthy—you know that. If I got involved in that mess, if I screwed up my studies, I couldn’t afford to start over at another university." She paused, her hands trembling as they gripped the fabric of her skirt. "So I decided... not to get involved. To keep quiet, to look

the other way, so I could stay safe. I thought if I just stayed out of it, everything would be fine. I thought I could go on living my normal life, like nothing had happened."

She sniffed, wiping her tears roughly with the back of her hand, but they kept falling.

"But I was wrong," she said, her voice cracking. "I was wrong to run from you. I was wrong for betraying you." Her body shook as she spoke, and I could hear the regret in every word. "I

regret it every single day. I couldn’t focus on my studies, knowing what I did—knowing that I kept quiet while you suffered. I even transferred to another school, trying to run away from the guilt, but it followed me everywhere. No matter where I went, no matter what I did, I couldn’t escape it."

Her tears fell freely now, landing softly on the pavement beneath her. She couldn’t even look at me, her eyes fixed on the ground as she trembled with remorse. I stood there, speechless, unsure of what to say or how to feel. My heart ached, but it also felt numb, caught between the pain of her betrayal and the raw emotion she was showing now.

"The time I was finally ready to apologize to you... you were gone." She lifted her head slightly, her tear-streaked face catching the glow of the park lights. "I searched for you, but I couldn’t find you."

Her voice broke as she finally met my gaze, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "I love you!" she blurted out, clutching her hand to her chest as if the words were being torn from her soul. "I’ve loved you ever since high school. But I just couldn’t give up my dreams, my goals for my family. I’m sorry, so sorry for everything I did. If I could turn back time, I would do everything differently. I would make the right choice this time."

I stared at her, my mind spinning. Her confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Part of me wanted to take her hand, to tell her it was okay and that I understood. But the other part— the part that still carried the weight of all the pain and betrayal—couldn’t bring itself to forgive her so easily.

I stood there, unsure of what to say, my heart torn between the past and the present. Rikka’s eyes pleaded with me, her tears glistening under the pale light, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I couldn’t erase everything that had happened.

Finally, I spoke, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Rikka..." I began, my throat tightening as I said her name. "We both know... it’s not that simple. We can’t just turn things around like nothing ever happened." I looked down at my feet, the weight of my words sinking in. "It’s not easy, after everything I’ve been through. I can’t forgive you now—not yet. I’d be lying to myself if I said I’ve forgotten all of that."

I paused, my chest tightening as I forced myself to say the next part. "I loved you too, back then. But... that feeling is all in the past now." I looked up, meeting her tearful gaze once more, but this time my voice was steady, firm. "You should move on. I’m okay now. I’ve found peace with myself."

Her expression shattered, the weight of my words finally sinking in. She looked down, the tears streaming silently down her cheeks, but she didn’t say anything. I watched as the realization hit her—that we were no longer the same people we had been, that the bond we once shared couldn’t be mended with apologies.

The silence between us stretched on, only broken by the distant chirping of the night cicadas. The cool night air brushed against my skin as I stood there, feeling both relieved and heavy at the same time. Rikka wiped her face with her sleeve, trying to collect herself, but the sadness in her eyes remained.

I knew, in that moment, that we had reached the end of whatever chapter we once shared.

After I finished speaking, Rikka stood there, her eyes wide, but her expression was blank. It was as if she had used up all her emotions and was now just... empty. The night had grown darker, and a slight chill filled the air. I glanced up at the sky, noticing how the moon hung low, casting long shadows across the park. The streets were nearly silent now, the occasional hum of a passing car the only sound besides the cicadas.

I realized how late it had gotten. The trains had stopped running by now, and I knew Rikka’s place was stations away. Without really thinking, I offered, "You can stay at my apartment tonight if you want. It's dangerous out here this late."

I don't know why I said it. Maybe it was the remnants of the old me, the one who used to care for her, the one who couldn't stand the thought of her being out here alone. Even after everything she did, I couldn't just let her wander off into the night with nowhere to go. I hadn't forgiven her—far from it—but I still couldn't let anything bad happen to her.

But to my surprise, she declined.

"I’ll be okay," she said quietly. "I have a friend who lives nearby. I called her, and she’s letting me stay the night." Her voice was flat, drained of any emotion, as if she had already processed all she could for the night.

She gave me one last look, her eyes lingering on me for just a moment, like she wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words. Then, with a soft "Goodbye," she turned and got into the taxi that had just pulled up. The door shut with a click, and I watched the car drive off, disappearing into the quiet streets.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty road, feeling an odd mix of relief and...

something else. I wasn’t sure what. Sadness? Frustration? I couldn’t tell. Everything felt like a blur. My chest was heavy, and my mind was swirling with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Slowly, I sat back down on the park bench. The cold metal pressed against my skin, grounding me for just a moment. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the ground.

"Our reunion was a mess," I muttered to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt bitter on my tongue, a painful reminder of the wreckage left behind from our conversation. "I wish I could just forget everything that happened..." I added, my voice trailing off into the night.

The park lights flickered softly, casting long shadows across the bench. Aya floated down beside me, her presence a comforting contrast to the turmoil in my head. She didn’t say anything at first—just sat there, staring at me. Her eyes were soft, concerned, as if she was trying to figure out how to ease the weight I was carrying.

After a long silence, she spoke, her voice gentle, yet clear. "You did what you had to do," she said. "You said what you needed to say. Sometimes things can't be fixed, and that's okay."

I turned to look at her, surprised by her words. Aya was usually playful and carefree, but now, there was a wisdom in her gaze that caught me off guard. It was as if she understood more about my situation than I had given her credit for.

"Maybe it didn’t go the way you wanted," she continued, her eyes meeting mine. "But at least it’s over now. You got it off your chest. And you can start moving forward, piece by piece."

Her words, though simple, hit something deep inside me. I had been holding onto this for so long, the anger, the hurt—it had become a part of me, something I didn’t even realize was still weighing me down. Maybe Aya was right. Maybe this was the start of letting go.

But for now, I stayed silent, lost in my thoughts. Aya stayed beside me, her presence steady and calming. The night stretched on, and while the conversation with Rikka had left a hole in my chest, a small part of me felt... lighter. Like, maybe, just maybe, I could start healing.