27

The next soul stood in a garden that wasn't really there. Wildflowers stretched endlessly, swaying in a breeze that didn't exist. The sky was painted in soft hues of gold and lavender, a sunset frozen in time. The soul knelt among the flowers, hands trembling as they clutched a small, broken locket.

The Angel of Death approached slowly, voice low and steady.

"You held on to something that wasn't yours to keep," the Angel said gently.

The soul's voice was barely a whisper. "I loved them."

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "But they didn't stay."

The soul squeezed the locket tighter, as if it might disappear. "They said they loved me too. They promised."

The Angel stepped closer. "And they left anyway."

The soul let out a shaky breath, eyes misted over. "I tried to be enough. I did everything I could. But it wasn't enough to make them stay."

The Angel's voice softened. "Sometimes, it isn't about being enough. Sometimes, people leave because they're searching for something — even if they don't know what it is."

The soul's voice cracked. "Then why did they say they loved me? Why promise forever if they were going to break it?"

The Angel's voice was quiet, steady. "Maybe they meant it when they said it. Maybe they believed it too. But hearts change — even when they don't want to."

The soul's hands trembled harder. "It still hurts."

The Angel nodded. "It always does."

The soul swallowed hard, voice barely holding together. "I wanted to hate them for leaving. But I couldn't. I still love them. Even now."

The Angel's voice was low, understanding. "Loving someone who doesn't love you back isn't weakness. It's proof your heart is still alive — even when it's broken."

The soul's tears finally fell, dripping onto the locket. "I don't know how to let go."

The Angel's voice was warm, unwavering. "You don't have to let go of the love. Just the pain."

The soul blinked hard, breath shaking. "...How?"

The Angel knelt beside them, voice quiet and sure. "You start by forgiving yourself — for not being able to fix what wasn't yours to fix."

The soul stared at the locket for a long moment… then, slowly, their hand relaxed. The locket slipped from their fingers, landing softly among the flowers.

Their voice was barely a whisper. "...It still hurts."

The Angel's voice was steady, but gentle. "It will. For a while. But one day, it won't hurt as much. And that love — the part that was real — will still be there. It won't be a wound anymore. It'll just be… part of you."

The soul took a shaky breath, then looked up at the Angel. Their voice was small, but steady.

"...I think I'm ready."

The Angel extended his hand. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the garden faded — but the flowers remained, blooming in the place where the locket fell. Because the love was never the thing that hurt. It was the holding on that did.

---

The next soul sat on a park bench that wasn't really there. The sky above was overcast, but no rain fell. A cold breeze whispered through the empty playground nearby, rustling the swings. The soul sat slumped forward, elbows on their knees, face buried in their hands.

The Angel of Death approached quietly, voice low and steady.

"You carried more than anyone should," the Angel spoke gently.

The soul didn't look up. Their voice was raw, strained. "I had to."

The Angel tilted his head. "Did you?"

The soul let out a bitter laugh. "Someone had to hold it all together. If I didn't, who would? I couldn't let everything fall apart."

The Angel stepped closer, voice soft but unwavering. "So you took the weight of everyone else's burdens too."

The soul's voice cracked. "They needed me. My family. My friends. Work. Everyone was counting on me."

The Angel's voice held no judgment. "Who was counting on you to take care of yourself?"

The soul fell silent, shoulders trembling.

The Angel continued, voice quiet. "You gave everything. Until there was nothing left of you."

The soul's voice was barely a whisper. "...I didn't have a choice."

The Angel shook his head. "You did. You just never believed you deserved to choose yourself."

The soul's hands clenched tightly. "I didn't matter. They did."

The Angel's voice softened. "You mattered too. You always did."

The soul's voice wavered, raw and broken. "Then why did it feel like… like I wasn't enough? Like no matter how much I gave, it still wasn't enough to fix things?"

The Angel knelt beside them, voice steady. "Because it was never your job to fix everything. You weren't meant to carry the whole world alone."

The soul's breath hitched. "I just wanted them to be okay. Even if it meant I wasn't."

The Angel's voice was warm, unwavering. "You gave them everything — but you were still worth something when there was nothing left to give."

The soul swallowed hard, voice trembling. "...I don't know who I am without the weight."

The Angel's voice was gentle but sure. "You're someone who deserved to rest. Someone who deserved to be loved — not for what you did, but for who you were."

The soul's voice broke. "...I'm so tired."

The Angel's voice softened. "Then it's time to let go."

The soul stared at the ground for a long moment… then slowly, shakily, nodded. Their voice was barely a whisper.

"...Okay."

The Angel extended his hand. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the bench and the playground faded — but the weight didn't follow. The soul finally walked free.

---

The next soul stood on a dimly lit stage that wasn't really there. Rows of empty seats stretched out before them, an audience long gone. A lone spotlight shone down, casting their shadow on the dusty floor. The soul stared ahead, eyes unfocused, as if waiting for applause that would never come.

The Angel of Death stepped forward, voice calm and steady.

"You spent your life chasing a dream," the Angel said softly.

The soul didn't turn around. Their voice was quiet, hollow. "I almost made it."

The Angel tilted his head. "Almost?"

The soul's voice wavered. "I worked harder than anyone. I sacrificed everything. But it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."

The Angel's voice remained gentle. "Says who?"

The soul let out a bitter laugh. "The world. No one remembers the ones who fail. People only care about winners."

The Angel stepped closer. "Is that why you started? To be remembered?"

The soul flinched. "...No. I started because I loved it. Because it made me feel alive."

The Angel nodded slowly. "And when did that stop being enough?"

The soul's hands clenched into fists. "When the world told me it wasn't." Their voice cracked. "When people stopped believing in me. When I stopped believing in me."

The Angel's voice was low but steady. "You didn't fail. You lived bravely — chasing a dream most people are too afraid to even start."

The soul's voice broke. "Then why does it still feel like I lost everything?"

The Angel's voice softened. "Because you tied your worth to the outcome. Not the journey."

The soul trembled. "But what was the point if I didn't make it?"

The Angel stepped closer, voice unwavering. "The point wasn't to make it. The point was to live a life that meant something to you — and you did."

The soul's voice was barely a whisper. "...It doesn't feel like enough."

The Angel's voice was quiet, but sure. "It never does. Not for those who dream big. But that doesn't make it meaningless."

The soul's shoulders slumped. "...I wanted to prove I was worth something."

The Angel's voice softened. "You were always worth something. Long before the dream. Long after it."

The soul stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty seats. Slowly, the tension in their body eased. Their voice trembled, but it was clearer now.

"...I still wish they could've seen me succeed."

The Angel nodded. "They saw you try. And that was enough."

The soul blinked hard, then took a shaky breath. "...I think I'm ready."

The Angel extended his hand. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light, the stage faded — but the spotlight remained, shining quietly in the dark, even after the soul was gone.