The Boy Who Vanished

The wind rolled in from the sea, carrying the sound of waves that beat against the rocky shore. Clouds moved low in the sky, dark and slow, like they knew something was about to fall apart.

Victor stood a few paces from Aurora, hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes locked on her with a look she didn’t recognize.

No grins or teasing. Just cold, quiet, and distant.

Aurora’s chest tightened. Her instinct was to back away—to avoid whatever this was—but she didn’t move. She met his gaze, trying not to flinch under the weight of it.

But inside, she was her undoing.

This wasn’t like before. Not like the countless days they’d spent after school together, arguing about TV shows, or complaining about exams. This wasn’t the Victor who had carried her books like a tease, to her annoyance.

The ocean roared again.

“Why are you doing this?”

Victor’s voice wasn’t angry. But it was firm. Like he had held it in for too long, and was now trying to keep himself together.

Aurora knew this was coming. Maybe not today, maybe not here, but it was always going to happen.

She kept her voice steady. “Doing what?”

Her words came out smooth, but she heard them. The edge in her tone when somebody got her figured out.

Victor didn’t blink. “Don’t play dumb.”

The words cut sharp. But behind them, something cracked.

“Just tell me,” he continued. “Why are you hurting yourself like this?”

Aurora couldn’t answer.

Not because she didn’t want to. But she didn’t know where to begin.

She looked down for a second, then forced herself to meet his eyes again. That’s when she saw it—something that made her breath catch.

Warmth. Still there, flickering.

And something else.

Loneliness. Something she hadn’t seen from him for a very long time.

Aurora’s throat tightened.

“I know about them, the curse and the gayuma.”

She froze. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind blanked.

He didn’t wait.

“I know that you know where I come from,” he said, eyes still on hers. “Reading curses. Breaking them. For us—this was child’s play.”

He took a breath.

“I’ve known for a while now.”

Aurora’s fingers twitched at her sides.

“I thought… maybe you had a reason. Maybe you’d tell me when you were ready. So, I waited.”

His voice softened then, like he didn’t want it to hurt her—but it did anyway.

“But you didn’t.”

Aurora’s eyes stung. She looked away, blinking fast. But the tears welled up anyway.

Victor turned toward the ocean.

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the wind pass between them.

“We’ve known each other for years, but we never really talked about our lives.”

Aurora stayed quiet.

“We never asked much about each other. We never dug too deep. And I thought that was fine.”

He turned back to her, just a little.

“But what you did was unfair.”

There was no anger in his voice anymore. Just resignation.

“If you didn’t want me close—for whatever reason—you could’ve just said it. I would have stayed away if that gave you peace.”

He exhaled slowly.

“After all,” he said quietly, “I’m your best friend. Or at least… I was.”

Victor turned and began to walk. “Sorry for bothering you for a long time.”

Aurora stood alone.

Tears slid down her cheeks, carried by the wind. She didn't even wipe them away. For the first time in days, her heart felt something close to relief—she heard his voice again. He stood in front of her again.

But it was drowned by something else. A deeper ache. A weight in her chest she couldn’t shake.

Regret.

She watched Victor walk further away, and suddenly, her memory filled in the image. She didn’t see the boy in front of her anymore.

She saw Ikong.

The little boy who laughed at her name. The one who walked with her. Who didn’t flinch when people whispered that her family was cursed. Who smiled, even when she said nothing back.

The boy who stayed with her, no matter how weird things got.

Now, that boy was vanishing with every step.

Aurora wanted to run after him. But she didn’t move.

Because she had done this, and deep down, she wasn’t sure she deserved to undo it.

— • —

Aurora walked home alone.

Her eyes were swollen, her tears had long dried on her cheeks. The wind had calmed, and everything else seemed quiet. The streets, the sky, the noise in her head. Nothing echoed louder than her own thoughts.

She kept her hands in her pockets, her fingers wrapped tightly around the small voodoo doll she used for the curse. The doll was slightly crumpled from being inside her pocket, the pin still lodged deep into its chest. Victor’s name was still stitched there.

Aurora stopped in the middle of the empty sidewalk.

For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at the doll in her hands.

Then, slowly, she removed the pin.

She didn’t know what she expected—maybe a sign, a pulse of magic letting her know that what she did worked.

But there was nothing. It just left a weight in her chest.

She held the pin and the doll between her fingers for a second before pocketing it. A small laugh escaped her lips. Dry. Almost bitter.

“Now I do this,” she muttered under her breath. “Really? Now?”

It was over. She had already pushed him away.

She had lost Victor. No—Ikong.

Maybe for good.

Aurora started walking again.

When she finally reached their gate, the sun was beginning to dip. The sky glowed pale orange, the wind brushing softly through the trees.

She stopped.

Her grandmother was in the yard, holding a walis tingting, sweeping dried leaves into a pile. She moved slowly but surely, focused on her task.

Aurora didn’t say anything.

Grandma turned slightly, broom pausing mid-sweep. Her eyes squinted toward the gate, as if sensing someone.

When she recognized Aurora, she immediately set the broom aside and hurried over, her slippers slapping against the pavement.

“Ay, Susmaryosep! Orang, what happened to you?” she asked, her voice full of worry. “You’re pale! Are you sick? Did someone—”

But before she could finish, Aurora stepped forward and hugged her.

Tightly.

Her grandmother froze for a second, caught off guard.

Then, slowly, she wrapped her arms around her. Her hand found Aurora’s back and began rubbing gently, comforting her.

Aurora didn’t speak. She didn’t have the strength. She just buried her face in Grandma’s embrace.

And there, in the quiet of the fading afternoon, she let herself sob.