I'll Never Let You Go, No Matter What Happens.

I was always the observant one, attuned to the tiniest details that others often overlooked. My younger sister Chihiro, on the other hand, possessed a wild imagination, often weaving fantastical tales from the ordinary. Together, we were a duo of adventure and mischief, constantly seeking thrills and mysteries to unravel.

One afternoon, curiosity tugged at my insides, urging me to delve deeper into the mysteries of the house. I found myself climbing up a narrow staircase leading me to the attic—a place that held its own secrets. As I pushed open the creaky attic door, a musty smell assailed my senses, mingled with a faint scent of sadness.

A dim light seeped through the dusty windows, casting long shadows on the forgotten objects strewn about the room. I cautiously stepped forward, my eyes scanning the surroundings. That's when I heard it—a soft, mournful sob. It was a sound that pierced through the air, carrying with it a profound sense of anguish.

My heart wrenched at the sound, and I felt an inexplicable connection to the source of that sorrow. I followed the sound, guided by an invisible force. It led me to a corner of the attic where a worn-out rocking chair sat, swaying gently on its own accord. And there, in the pale moonlight that filtered through the attic window, I saw her—a ghostly figure, draped in a flowing white dress, huddled in the chair, her face buried in her hands.

Her ethereal form seemed to flicker with the weight of her emotions as if the weight of the world rested upon her translucent shoulders. I hesitated, unsure of what to do, but a surge of empathy compelled me to approach her. With cautious steps, I closed the distance between us, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and compassion.

"Are you... okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The ghostly figure slowly lifted her head, her tear-stained face revealing eyes filled with an indescribable sadness. It was as if her very essence was defined by heartache and longing. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words emerged, only a haunting, mournful wail reverberating through the attic.

At that moment, I felt an overwhelming surge of emotions welling inside me—empathy, compassion, and a profound sense of loss. I could no longer bear to witness her pain in silence. Tears welled in my eyes as I reached out a trembling hand, wanting nothing more than to offer her solace.

"I'm here," I whispered. "You're not alone."

Though the ghostly figure remained silent, her ethereal eyes seemed to hold a glimmer of hope, a flicker of gratitude. In that instant, I knew that our encounter in the attic was more than a mere coincidence.

"I'm sorry."