17

The next soul appeared slowly, hesitant, like they weren't sure if they even belonged here.

It was a woman — young, but her eyes carried the weight of someone who had lived far too long in pain. Her shoulders slumped, and her face, though still, looked like it had forgotten how to hold joy.

The Angel of Death observed her quietly.

"Name?"

She didn't answer right away. Her voice came out small, barely a whisper. "...Does it matter?"

"Cause of death: overdose," the Angel answered, his voice steady but not unkind.

She didn't react. She didn't flinch. It was as if the words didn't surprise her.

The Angel tilted his head. "Why?"

Her voice trembled. "Because… I had nothing left."

The Angel didn't look away. "What took everything from you?"

Her lip quivered. "He did."

The Angel waited. He didn't need to ask more — she needed to say it.

"I loved him," she said, her voice breaking. "I gave him everything. My heart, my dreams, my trust — all of it. He promised me forever. He told me I was his only one. I believed him."

Her fists clenched. "But it was all a lie. He replaced me like I never mattered. He said he loved me… then gave that love to someone else." Her voice cracked again. "I wasn't enough for him."

The Angel's voice remained calm. "He betrayed you. But that doesn't mean you weren't enough."

Her head snapped up, tears in her eyes. "Then why did it feel like I was nothing? Like I didn't matter anymore?"

"Because you loved him honestly," the Angel answered softly. "You gave your heart fully, and you believed he would protect it. His betrayal doesn't mean you were worthless. It means he didn't deserve the love you gave."

Her anger faltered, folding into grief. "It still hurts."

"It will," the Angel admitted. "But pain isn't proof that you were nothing. It's proof that you loved deeply — and that was never a mistake."

Her voice wavered. "Then why do I feel broken?"

The Angel stepped closer, his voice low and steady.

"Because people who love honestly always break the hardest. But even broken hearts can heal."

Her breath shook. "I just wanted to be loved back."

The Angel extended his hand.

"You deserved to be."

She stared at his hand for a moment, frozen. Then, slowly, her trembling fingers reached out.

Her voice came in a whisper.

"...Will the pain ever stop?"

The Angel's voice was soft, unwavering.

"It will. And the love you gave — the real, honest love — that part will stay. Because it was yours. No one can take that from you."

Her breath hitched, then slowly, finally, she exhaled. The weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. For the first time since she appeared, her face looked peaceful.

She stepped into the light without another word.

And the Angel watched her go, his voice a quiet echo in the stillness:

"You were always enough."

---

The next soul appeared quietly, almost as if it didn't want to be noticed.

It was a man — middle-aged, dressed in worn, simple clothes. His face was lined with exhaustion, not from age, but from a life spent holding things together. His hands were rough, calloused, the kind that spoke of endless, thankless work.

The Angel of Death watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Name?"

The man didn't meet his gaze. "...It doesn't matter."

"Cause of death: heart failure," the Angel said, his voice steady.

The man gave a faint, bitter laugh. "Figures. Worked myself to death after all."

The Angel tilted his head. "Why did you push yourself so hard?"

The man's shoulders sagged. "Because someone had to." His voice was tired, but there was no anger in it — just a deep, quiet resignation. "The world doesn't stop because you're tired. My family needed me. My friends needed me. Hell, even people who barely knew me needed something. So I did what I had to do. I worked. I sacrificed. I stayed quiet."

His voice trembled for the first time. "I thought… maybe one day they'd see. Maybe they'd realize how much I gave." He looked down at his hands. "But no one ever noticed. They only saw what wasn't done yet — never what I'd already done."

The Angel studied him for a moment. "So why did you keep going?"

The man's voice was a whisper now. "...Because I loved them. Even if they didn't see me."

The Angel stepped closer. "They saw more than you think."

The man's head shook slowly. "No. If they did, they never said it." His voice wavered. "They never said 'thank you.' Not once."

The Angel's voice was gentle, but unwavering. "Sometimes, the people we carry are too busy surviving to realize who's holding them up. It doesn't mean they didn't feel the weight lift."

The man swallowed hard. "Then why does it feel like I never mattered?"

The Angel took another step closer, his voice quiet but steady.

"You weren't unseen. You were trusted. They didn't think to thank you because they believed you'd always be there. That's not proof of their indifference — it's proof of how much they relied on you."

The man's eyes glistened. "I just… I just wanted them to know I tried."

The Angel extended his hand.

"They knew. And even if they never said it — they loved you for it."

The man stared at the Angel's hand, his fingers trembling. His voice broke.

"...Do you think they'll miss me?"

The Angel's voice was soft, certain.

"They already do."

The man's breath hitched. He shut his eyes for a moment — and when he opened them again, the weight on his shoulders seemed lighter. He reached out, his hand meeting the Angel's at last.

And as he stepped into the light, the Angel spoke one final time, his voice quiet in the stillness:

"They always saw you. Even when you didn't see yourself."

---

The next soul emerged slowly, flickering like a dying flame. It was a scholar — robes frayed and ink stains smudging his fingers. His eyes were hollow, yet still burned with a restless curiosity that even death couldn't snuff out.

The Angel of Death watched him carefully.

"Name?"

The scholar barely acknowledged him, his voice a distant murmur. "...It doesn't matter. The knowledge — that's what matters."

"Cause of death: exhaustion and malnutrition," the Angel stated plainly.

The scholar let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Didn't even notice. I was close. So close. One more breakthrough. One more discovery... and I would have finally understood."

The Angel tilted his head. "Understood what?"

The scholar's voice trembled with frustration. "Everything. The world. The truth behind life, death, and everything between. I dedicated my life to finding answers. And now... now I'm here." His voice wavered, bitter. "And I still don't know."

The Angel stepped forward slowly. "Why did knowing matter so much?"

The scholar's hands clenched. "Because ignorance is suffering. People live and die without ever understanding why. I couldn't accept that. I had to find meaning — a reason for all this." He gestured vaguely to the emptiness around him. "But now I'm dead, and the answers died with me."

The Angel's voice remained calm. "And if you had found them? What would you have done with those answers?"

The scholar faltered. His voice was quieter now. "...I don't know. I thought knowing would bring peace. That maybe — just maybe — the truth would make the suffering worth it." His eyes lowered. "But maybe the truth doesn't matter if you die alone, surrounded by nothing but books and regrets."

The Angel's voice softened. "Knowledge isn't a cure for emptiness. It never was."

The scholar looked up slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "Then what is?"

The Angel stepped closer, extending his hand.

"Connection. Purpose. Love. The things you searched for were never written in ink or buried in ancient tomes. They were in the moments you ignored — the people you left behind while chasing something you thought was greater."

The scholar's breath trembled. His voice broke. "...Did I waste my life?"

The Angel's voice was gentle but firm.

"You sought the truth. That desire wasn't wrong. But the greatest truths aren't always meant to be understood. Sometimes, they're meant to be felt."

The scholar stared at him for a long moment — then his shoulders slumped. His eyes, once burning with endless hunger, dimmed to something softer.

He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing the Angel's hand.

"...I just wanted it all to mean something."

The Angel's voice was a quiet echo in the stillness.

"It did."

The scholar exhaled one last, shaky breath — and stepped into the light.