31

The next soul sat at a wooden desk, though no room truly surrounded it. The space was quiet, filled with a soft, endless twilight. Sheets of paper were scattered across the surface, some crumpled, others carefully folded. A pen rested loosely in their hand, ink dried at the tip.

The Angel of Death approached without sound, his voice gentle.

"You wrote so many letters."

The figure didn't turn immediately. Their voice was low, raw with emotion. "I didn't know how else to say goodbye."

The Angel stepped closer. "Who were they for?"

The soul's hand trembled slightly as they reached for one of the folded pages. "My family. My friends. People I loved but never told enough. I kept writing, even when the pain got too much. I thought… maybe if I left something behind, they wouldn't feel so alone."

The Angel's voice softened. "Every word carries a part of you. And they'll feel that — your love, your memories, your hope. It won't stop the pain, but it will remind them that they were loved."

The soul's voice broke. "I wanted to tell them I wasn't afraid. But I was. I still am."

The Angel knelt beside the desk. "It's okay to be afraid. It doesn't make your love any less real, or your words any less meaningful."

The soul stared at the final letter, their voice a whisper. "What if they forget me?"

The Angel shook his head, his voice steady and warm. "They won't. Your letters will be a reminder — not of your death, but of your life. Every time they read your words, they'll hear your voice. They'll remember the way you laughed, the way you cared, and the way you fought to stay."

Tears welled in the soul's eyes, but they managed a faint, shaky smile. "I hope they'll be okay."

The Angel extended a hand. "They will. And so will you."

The soul hesitated, then placed the last letter gently on the desk. It was addressed simply: To the ones I love, who loved me back.

They took the Angel's hand, and together they stepped into the light. The letters remained, perfectly arranged on the desk, waiting for the living to find them — a collection of heartfelt goodbyes that would carry on, long after the writer was gone.

---

The next soul sat alone on a park bench that wasn't truly there. The world around them was bathed in the soft hues of an eternal sunset, the sky painted with warm gold and bittersweet purple. Fallen leaves gathered at their feet, though no wind stirred them.

The Angel of Death approached quietly, his voice low and gentle.

"You're holding on to something, aren't you?"

The soul didn't turn. Their eyes were distant, staring at a place far beyond the horizon. "I didn't get to say goodbye." Their voice was barely a whisper, trembling with the weight of unsaid words.

The Angel stepped closer. "Goodbyes are hard. Even when we know they're coming."

The soul's shoulders shook. "We fought. The last thing I said was awful. And now… that's all they'll remember. Not the good days. Not the love. Just that fight."

The Angel's voice remained steady, comforting. "Love isn't defined by a single moment — not even the painful ones. It's made of all the memories you built together. The laughter, the warmth, the quiet nights, and the way you held on to each other, even when it hurt."

The soul's voice cracked. "But they'll never know how sorry I am."

The Angel knelt beside the bench. "They will. The heart remembers more than the mind allows. They'll remember the way you looked at them, the way you made them feel safe, and the way you loved — even when words failed."

Tears fell silently down the soul's cheeks. "I wanted forever. We were supposed to have more time."

The Angel's voice softened. "Time doesn't make love any more or less real. Even the shortest love can leave an unbreakable mark."

The soul closed their eyes, trembling. "Do you think they'll forgive me?"

The Angel's voice was sure. "They already have."

The soul took a shaky breath, then exhaled slowly, their pain easing — not gone, but quieter, softer. "I wish I could tell them I loved them one last time."

The Angel stood, offering a hand. "They know."

The soul hesitated, one last tear falling, then reached out and took the Angel's hand. As they walked into the light, the bench remained behind, a single red rose resting on it — a quiet reminder of a love that never truly ended, even after the last goodbye.

---

The next soul was small — too small. A child, curled up in the shadows of a place that didn't exist, where the darkness wasn't cold but felt heavy, suffocating. Their knees were pulled to their chest, their face buried in their arms. The only sound was the soft, hiccuping sobs that echoed endlessly.

The Angel of Death approached slowly, his footsteps silent. He knelt, careful not to startle the child. His voice was soft, steady, like a distant lullaby.

"Why are you crying?"

The child didn't look up. Their voice came in broken whispers. "It hurts. I… I'm scared. I called for Mama, but she didn't come. No one came."

The Angel's heart, though ancient and steady, ached. He reached out slowly, offering his hand but not forcing it. "She didn't hear you. But that doesn't mean she didn't love you. Sometimes the world is too loud, and our cries get lost. It wasn't your fault."

The child lifted their head slightly, eyes red and wet, cheeks streaked with tears. "I just wanted her to hold me… to say everything would be okay." Their voice wavered. "But I died all alone."

The Angel swallowed the ache in his throat. "You weren't alone. Even if you couldn't see it, even if no one came… someone heard you."

The child blinked, confused. "Who?"

The Angel gave a small, sad smile. "I did."

The child stared at him for a moment, searching his face. Then, slowly, they reached out and took his hand. The Angel's fingers closed gently around the tiny hand, warm and reassuring.

"You're safe now," the Angel whispered. "No more pain. No more fear. I'll stay with you."

The child's lip trembled. "Will you… will you take me to Mama?"

The Angel's voice was soft, but sure. "Not yet. But I'll take you somewhere warm, somewhere bright. And when it's her time, she'll find you again. I promise."

The child nodded slowly, their small hand tightening around his. The sobs quieted, replaced by a shaky, hopeful breath.

As they walked into the light together, the darkness that once surrounded them faded into warmth — a field of sunlight and gentle wind. In the distance, laughter echoed softly, waiting to welcome the child home.

---

The next soul sat on the edge of an empty crib that wasn't really there — a cruel echo of the life they wanted but never got to hold. Their hands rested on their lap, trembling, palms up as though they were still cradling something fragile and precious. Something now gone.

The Angel of Death approached carefully, his voice low and gentle, though the weight of this sorrow felt heavier than most.

"You're holding on to more than grief, aren't you?"

The soul didn't look up, their voice hollow. "I dreamed of hearing their laugh. Of feeling their tiny fingers wrap around mine. I dreamed of a first word, a first step... a life. But all I got was silence."

The Angel sat beside them, though the crib between them felt like an unspoken wall. "Love doesn't need time to be real. It doesn't need first words or first steps. You loved them from the moment they existed — and that love still matters, even if the world never got to see it."

The soul's voice cracked. "It doesn't feel like it matters. It feels like the universe took everything before it even began."

The Angel's eyes softened. "The universe didn't take your love. It only took the future you dreamed of. But the love — that's still yours. It always will be."

The soul's head lowered, tears dripping silently onto their empty hands. "I wanted to give them everything. A whole life. And now I have nothing to give."

The Angel leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but gentle. "You gave them love. They felt it. Even in the briefest moment of existence, they knew they were loved. And that's more than some souls ever get."

The soul's breath hitched, a sound caught between a sob and a sigh. "Do you think… they knew me? Even for a second?"

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "They knew your heart. And that was enough."

For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, the soul slowly unclenched their hands, letting the tension slip away. Their voice was barely a whisper. "I hope they weren't scared."

The Angel stood, his expression unwavering. "They weren't. They only knew warmth and love. And now, they're waiting somewhere bright and peaceful. You'll see them again — not as a dream, but as something real."

The soul looked up for the first time, eyes red and raw but filled with a flicker of hope. "Will they know me?"

The Angel offered his hand. "They'll know you. And they'll run to you."

The soul stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly reached out, taking his hand. As they walked into the light, the crib faded away — leaving nothing but warmth and the faintest sound of a child's laugh, waiting patiently on the other side.