32

The next soul stood frozen in a room that wasn't really there — a space built from memory and sorrow. A clock hung on the wall, its hands stuck at the exact moment their world fell apart. Dust motes floated through the still air, unmoving, as though even time itself couldn't bear to continue.

The Angel of Death stepped forward carefully, his voice quiet, respectful of the weight in the room.

"You've been standing here a long time."

The soul didn't turn to face him. Their voice was distant, hollow. "Time stopped. The world moved on without me, but I stayed. I couldn't follow."

The Angel tilted his head, watching them. "You didn't stay. The world just felt wrong without the person you loved in it. It's hard to walk forward when every step feels like betrayal."

The soul's voice trembled. "Everyone says it gets easier. That grief fades. But it doesn't. It just… sits there, waiting. I still wake up reaching for them. And when I remember they're gone, it feels like losing them all over again."

The Angel's expression softened. "Grief doesn't go away. It becomes part of you. It lingers in the quiet moments, in the empty spaces they once filled. But that doesn't mean you're broken. It means they mattered."

The soul finally turned, their eyes tired, red from a thousand sleepless nights. "If moving on means leaving them behind… I don't want to."

The Angel stepped closer. "You don't have to. Moving forward isn't forgetting. You carry them with you — in the way you love, in the way you remember, in the way you keep living. They're not a weight to hold you back. They're a part of what keeps you standing."

The soul stared at him, something flickering in their gaze — something fragile, but alive. "It hurts. I don't think it'll ever stop hurting."

The Angel nodded slowly. "No. It won't. But one day, the pain will sit beside the love, not over it. And when you think of them, you'll smile through the tears instead of drowning in them."

The soul's throat tightened. "What if I forget their voice? Their laugh?"

The Angel's voice was steady, unwavering. "You won't. Grief steals many things, but never that. The sound of their voice, the warmth of their touch — those are yours to keep. Even time can't take that from you."

The soul's shoulders trembled, their head lowering as the first sob broke free — raw, unrestrained, after being trapped for so long. The Angel didn't speak. He only waited.

When the tears slowed, the soul looked up again, their voice barely a whisper. "I loved them so much."

The Angel's expression didn't change, but his voice was warm. "And you still do. That love didn't die with them. It's still here. It's still yours."

For the first time, the soul breathed — really breathed — like they hadn't in a long time. The clock on the wall gave a faint, quiet tick as its hands began to move again.

The Angel offered his hand. "It's time to go."

The soul hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, their grip uncertain but hopeful. As they stepped into the light, the room faded behind them.

The clock kept ticking.

---

The rain fell softly, each droplet tapping against the leaves like a quiet heartbeat. The world seemed muted, wrapped in a gray hush that matched the weight in the air.

A small figure stood alone under the sky, arms outstretched, letting the rain soak them entirely. Their gaze wasn't on the ground or the distant horizon — it was fixed on the delicate, trembling butterfly clinging to a drenched flower stem. Its wings, once vibrant and bright, sagged under the weight of the water, struggling to stay open.

The Angel of Death watched silently for a moment before speaking, his voice low and steady. "It's fighting so hard to hold on."

The soul didn't flinch. They just stared, their voice quiet and distant. "It wasn't supposed to end this way. I had so much more to do."

The Angel stepped closer, his boots silent on the wet ground. "Everyone says that. No one ever feels finished."

The soul blinked slowly, rain streaking down their cheeks like tears. "I tried to be strong. For them. I smiled even when I wanted to cry. I told them it would be okay — that I would make it through. I lied."

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "It wasn't a lie. You believed it. That matters."

The soul laughed, but it came out broken, more like a sob. "What good is believing if it still ends like this? I wasn't ready. I was scared."

The Angel's expression didn't change, but his tone softened. "Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid and holding on anyway. And you did."

The butterfly shifted, its wings shuddering under the rain. The soul stared at it, barely breathing. "It's not fair. I wanted more time. More memories. More life."

The Angel didn't look away. "Wanting more doesn't make what you had any less valuable. It means you loved it enough to wish it didn't end."

The soul trembled, their voice raw. "I'm scared they'll forget me."

The Angel stepped closer, his voice gentle but sure. "They won't. Love doesn't fade with time or distance. You'll live on — in the stories they tell, in the laughs they share, in the moments they remember. You left a mark on their hearts. That's forever."

The butterfly lifted its wings again, this time stronger. It wavered once, then pushed off the flower, rising into the rain. The soul watched it go, eyes wide with something that wasn't quite sadness anymore — something softer, something bittersweet.

The Angel extended his hand. "It's time to go."

The soul hesitated, their voice barely a whisper. "Will they be okay?"

The Angel didn't hesitate. "They will. And so will you."

The soul looked up at the sky one last time, watching the butterfly disappear into the rain. Then, slowly, they took the Angel's hand.

The rain kept falling — but somehow, it didn't feel quite so cold anymore.

---

The room was quiet, filled only with the faint hum of a clock ticking somewhere in the distance. The air felt thick, heavy with the kind of silence that followed words left unsaid. The Angel of Death stood by the window, watching the figure sitting on the edge of the bed, their head bowed and shoulders trembling.

They weren't crying — not yet. But the weight of it all pressed down on them, leaving them hollow and exhausted.

"I loved them," the soul murmured, voice barely more than a whisper. "More than anything. But it wasn't enough, was it?"

The Angel didn't answer right away. He'd heard this countless times, but it never got easier. "Love is never about being enough or not. It just is."

The soul shook their head. "If it was, they wouldn't have left. I tried. I gave everything. I begged them to stay." Their voice cracked, the pain rising to the surface. "But they still walked away."

The Angel's voice remained steady, though there was a sadness in his eyes. "Sometimes, love isn't the problem. People are. Their fears, their doubts, their wounds... none of that is your fault."

The soul laughed bitterly, a sound that hurt to hear. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like I wasn't good enough to be chosen. Like no matter how much I loved them, I wasn't worth staying for."

The Angel stepped closer. "Their leaving doesn't define your worth. Their choice was theirs — not a reflection of who you are."

The soul's voice shook, barely holding back tears. "Then why does it still hurt so much? Why does it feel like a part of me died with them?"

The Angel's gaze softened. "Because love leaves echoes. It's supposed to hurt when something that mattered is gone. It's proof it was real."

The soul looked up, eyes glassy and lost. "Will they miss me?"

The Angel didn't flinch. "Yes. Maybe not right away. Maybe they'll bury it under anger or guilt. But one day, they'll remember the quiet moments. The laughter. The way you made them feel safe. And they'll ache for it."

The soul blinked slowly, tears finally falling. "But I won't be there anymore."

The Angel reached out, his voice a whisper. "No. But the love will be. Even when it hurts, even when it fades, it doesn't disappear. It becomes part of them. And part of you."

The soul stared at his hand for a long moment before taking it. Their voice trembled one last time.

"I just wanted to be enough for them."

The Angel's voice was steady, unwavering.

"You were."

And with that, the room fell silent once more.

---

The world didn't stop.

That was the cruelest part.

The sun still rose, bright and unbothered. People still laughed in the streets, the wind still carried the scent of blooming flowers, and life went on — indifferent to the hole left behind.

The soul sat on a worn park bench, watching the world continue without them. Their gaze lingered on a couple walking hand in hand, laughing over something only they understood. The sight didn't spark anger or jealousy — only an empty ache, like a phantom limb where something precious used to be.

The Angel of Death stood nearby, quiet as ever. He didn't interrupt. He waited.

"They promised they'd never leave," the soul whispered, voice raw and tired. "We made plans. We were supposed to grow old together. How do you just... keep going when half of you is gone?"

The Angel stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "You don't. Not right away. Grief isn't something you walk through in a straight line. It's something you carry — and some days, it carries you."

The soul swallowed hard, their voice barely holding together. "I don't want to carry it. I want it to stop hurting."

The Angel didn't look away. "Healing isn't about making the pain disappear. It's about learning to live alongside it. The pain stays because the love stays. It changes shape, but it never really leaves."

The soul looked down at their hands. "It doesn't feel like love anymore. It feels like… a weight I can't put down."

The Angel's voice softened. "That weight means what you had was real. It means they mattered. And someday, that weight won't crush you. It'll remind you of the good — the way they laughed, the way they loved you. The way you made each other better."

The soul let out a shaky breath. "What if I forget them? What if I let go and lose the only piece of them I have left?"

The Angel knelt beside them, meeting their eyes. "Letting go doesn't mean forgetting. It means you stop punishing yourself for surviving. They wouldn't want you to carry guilt in their place. They'd want you to live."

The soul's voice cracked. "I don't know how."

The Angel didn't hesitate. "One breath at a time. One step at a time. One day at a time. You start small, and before you know it, the weight isn't so heavy anymore."

The soul sat in silence for a long moment, watching the world move on. The couple in the distance disappeared around a corner, their laughter fading with the wind.

"I miss them."

The Angel nodded. "You always will. But that doesn't mean you can't heal."

The soul exhaled slowly, the tension in their shoulders easing — just a little. It wasn't much. But it was a start.

And sometimes, that's enough.