24

The next soul stood by a window that wasn't really there, watching a rainstorm pour over a city frozen in time. Their expression was distant — a mix of longing and bitterness.

The Angel of Death approached carefully, his voice low and steady.

"You gave everything to them," the Angel said softly.

The soul's voice was quiet but sharp. "Yeah. And they left anyway."

The Angel tilted his head. "Did you love them?"

The soul let out a hollow laugh. "More than anything. But I guess that wasn't enough."

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "It wasn't your love that failed."

The soul's eyes flickered, anger and hurt twisting together. "Then why did they walk away? Why did they move on like I never existed?"

The Angel stepped closer. "People leave for many reasons. Sometimes, it's about them — not you."

The soul's voice trembled. "It still hurts the same."

The Angel nodded. "Yes. It does."

The soul swallowed hard, their voice barely above a whisper. "I gave them everything. I was always there. And when I needed them the most… they were gone."

The Angel's voice softened. "You deserved better."

The soul blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. "...Then why didn't I get it?"

The Angel didn't look away. "Because sometimes, the people we love aren't capable of loving us back the way we need. That's not your fault."

The soul's voice broke. "I still miss them."

The Angel's voice was quiet, but kind. "You probably always will. Love doesn't disappear — even when it's one-sided."

The soul exhaled shakily, tears forming in their eyes. "...I just wanted to matter to someone."

The Angel's voice was steady and certain. "You did. You do."

The soul stared out at the frozen rain for a moment longer, then closed their eyes. Their voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"...I'm ready."

The Angel nodded gently. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the soul carried the hope that maybe, someday, someone would remember — and know how deeply they had loved.

---

The next soul sat on a park bench that wasn't really there, head down, hands clasped tightly together. Their body seemed tense, like they were holding something in — or holding something back.

The Angel of Death approached quietly, his voice calm but gentle.

"You never forgave yourself," the Angel said softly.

The soul flinched but didn't look up. "How could I? After what I did?"

The Angel tilted his head. "What do you think you did?"

The soul's voice came out strained, barely holding back the weight of guilt. "I ruined everything. I hurt the people I loved. I made choices I can't take back."

The Angel's voice remained steady. "Did you mean to hurt them?"

The soul's breath hitched. "No. But it doesn't matter. I did anyway."

The Angel took a slow step closer. "It matters. Intentions matter."

The soul shook their head, voice breaking. "It doesn't change what happened."

The Angel nodded slowly. "No, it doesn't. But it changes what it meant."

The soul clenched their fists tighter. "They trusted me. And I let them down. How do you come back from that?"

The Angel's voice softened. "You try. And if you can't fix it… you forgive yourself anyway."

The soul laughed bitterly, their voice trembling. "I don't deserve forgiveness."

The Angel's voice didn't falter. "Maybe not. But you still need it."

The soul's voice cracked. "What if they never forgave me?"

The Angel's voice was quiet, but kind. "Forgiveness isn't about them. It's about you."

The soul's shoulders shook. "It hurts too much to let it go."

The Angel stepped closer, his voice low and gentle. "It hurts more to keep it."

The soul sat there in silence, tears slipping down their face. Their voice was barely a whisper.

"...Do you think they knew I loved them?"

The Angel's voice was steady, sure. "I know they did."

The soul took a shaky breath, the weight of guilt slowly, finally, starting to lift. Their voice was soft now, tired but at peace.

"...I'm ready."

The Angel nodded, his voice quiet and compassionate. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the soul didn't carry their guilt with them. They left it behind — where it belonged.

---

The next soul stood in a dimly lit room that wasn't really there, surrounded by shadows that didn't belong to them. Their posture was rigid, their gaze distant — but there was a flicker of defiance in their eyes, buried beneath the exhaustion.

The Angel of Death approached carefully, his voice low and steady.

"You spent your whole life proving yourself," the Angel said softly.

The soul's voice was sharp, almost defensive. "I had to. No one else believed in me."

The Angel tilted his head. "Did you ever stop to ask if you believed in yourself?"

The soul's jaw tightened. "...Didn't have time for that. I was too busy fighting to be worth something."

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "You were always worth something."

The soul laughed bitterly. "Funny. No one seemed to think so. Not until I became useful."

The Angel stepped closer. "Being useful isn't the same as being loved."

The soul's voice wavered. "Maybe love was a luxury I couldn't afford."

The Angel's voice softened. "Everyone deserves love. Even you."

The soul's voice trembled, though they tried to keep it steady. "I just wanted to matter."

The Angel's voice was gentle, but certain. "You did. You mattered more than you'll ever know."

The soul's breath hitched. "...Then why does it feel like I lost?"

The Angel didn't look away. "Because you fought a battle that wasn't yours to win. You were enough — before you ever tried to prove it."

The soul's voice cracked. "I didn't know how to stop."

The Angel's voice stayed soft. "You don't have to fight anymore."

The soul stood there for a moment, silent. Their shoulders slowly relaxed as the weight they carried — the weight they thought defined them — began to fall away. Their voice was quiet now, tired, but lighter than before.

"...I'm ready."

The Angel nodded gently. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the soul wasn't a fighter anymore. They were simply… free.