Chapter 1
Do you remember when people talk about dying? They describe it as a peaceful journey, a cold sensation enveloping you as you slip into an abyss, unsure if you'll be rescued or lost forever. They speak of regrets—things left undone, words unspoken.
I never believed in that. I always thought dying was anything but peaceful. Why would anyone long for death? How could it be beautiful if it brought such immense pain to those left behind? I often told myself I wouldn’t forgive my parents or siblings if they ever left me in this cruel world.
But here I am, the one dying and leaving them behind. It started in my legs, a creeping sensation like poison coursing through my veins. My life flashed before my eyes, memories I had taken for granted swirling around me—moments I had never truly cherished. I watched in terror, grasping desperately at the threads of life, only to feel them slip away. The world dissolved into a cacophony of ringing, then silence. Sweet, bitter silence, as I closed my eyes and drifted into an endless sleep.
I became a specter, hovering above my lifeless body. I saw my mother, her face contorted with anguish, clinging to me as she cried, “Rebi! Rey, please don’t leave me! I’m here! Somebody help my baby!” Her wails tore at my heart. My father stood beside her, trying to be strong while battling his own despair. Sirens wailed in the distance, and onlookers watched with pity, wondering how such a tragedy could befall us.
The fire had consumed our home in the dead of night. If you asked me how it happened, I wouldn’t have an answer. I had simply left the windows open, seeking relief from the heat, never imagining the danger lurking outside. I awoke feeling a choking sensation, confused by the acrid smell. Voices drifted through the smoke—“Where are they?” “Can’t they smell it?” “Oh God, help them!”
I peered through my window, only to be met with a terrifying sight: flames licking at our home. Fear surged through me as I stumbled downstairs, every creak of the staircase amplifying my dread. The smoke clawed at my throat, forcing me to cover my mouth. When I opened the door, a wave of heat engulfed me, pushing me back.
“Daddy! Fire!” I screamed, panic rising in my chest. My father burst from his room, my mother close behind, urgency fueling their movements as they searched for my sisters.
“Rebi! Where are your sisters?” my mother cried.
“I’ll get my older sister!” I yelled, racing to her room. I shook her awake, desperation in my voice. “The house is on fire! You need to come with me!”
“Leave me alone!” she groaned, rolling over.
“Get up! If you want to live, you have to come with me!” I shouted, the fear making my voice tremble.
Moments later, she joined me, wide-eyed and frightened. My younger sister was already perched on my father’s shoulders, and together, we ran for the stairs. But then it hit me—I hadn’t grabbed my glasses.
I hesitated, knowing it was foolish, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being unable to see. I dashed back inside, the flames roaring around me. I found my glasses and slipped them on, relief flooding me. But as I turned to escape, the inferno closed in.
I braced myself, trying to reach the door, but the headboard crashed down, striking me hard. Pain exploded in my skull as darkness edged in. I fought against it, dragging myself toward the exit, but the smoke suffocated me. I managed to croak out, “I’m here,” before everything went black.
When I awoke, I was a ghost, watching my sisters cling to my mother, sobbing. I had never truly understood the depth of such grief until now. How could I tell them I was gone, that they would never hear my laughter or my teasing comments again? If I could just have one more chance to tell them I loved them, I would do it in an instant.
I rushed toward them, trying to touch my mother’s shoulder, but my translucent hand passed through her like mist. No one could see or hear me, and the pain of that realization was sharper than the agony of dying.
I cried out to the heavens, “If you can hear me, please let me go back, even just to say goodbye!” But all I met was silence, a vast emptiness that swallowed my pleas. I fell, darkness enveloping me.
As I hovered there, memories flooded my mind—days spent laughing with my sisters, the warmth of family dinners, my mother’s soothing voice reading bedtime stories. I could almost hear her now, “Rebi, you’re my shining star. Always remember that.”
How I wished I could tell her that I loved her, that her words had always comforted me. I thought of my father, his quiet strength, always there to catch me when I stumbled. I could see him now, his face etched with sorrow, wishing he could turn back time.
“Just one more moment!” I cried out, desperation clawing at my insides. “I need to tell you all how much you mean to me!”
But the darkness pressed in, cold and unyielding. I felt myself fading, the memories slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. In that moment of despair, I realized that love, even unspoken, lingers on.
If I couldn’t tell them in life, perhaps my spirit could still reach them in death. I focused on that thought, hoping my presence would somehow be felt. I wanted them to know I was still there, watching over them, loving them even from beyond.
And as the darkness closed in, I whispered into the void, “I love you. Always.”
