So yeah… that "not-a-chocolate" thing? Turns out it was a small pendant.
It looked so plain that even my cute ghost friend muttered, "That thing looks like a cheap keychain from the temple fair."
But when I touched it, I could see it.
Not like the faint misty shapes I usually see around spirits — this one shone, clear and silver, like moonlight trying to draw a circle in the dark.
For the first time in my twelve years of blindness, I saw something real.
That's when I decided: this brother guy was absolutely not normal.
(Then again, who drives off with a blind girl and her invisible ghost friend while looking like a walking snowstorm of emotions?)
He didn't say anything for a long time. Just adjusted his seat belt — which, by the way, glowed faintly too — and muttered something under his breath.
I wanted to ask what language that was, but before I could, the ghost beside me hissed,
"Hey hey hey—this guy's aura is weird! It's too clean! No human smells like that! Don't trust him, little duck!"
Little duck.
She calls me that all the time. I think it's because I follow trouble wherever it goes.
I tried to whisper back, "He's not that bad—"
but he suddenly spoke, quiet and sharp:
"Don't talk to it."
Excuse me?? "It?"
"That's her," I said, frowning (I think I was frowning… I can't check).
He sighed. "It's not human. Don't get attached."
That's when I realized — his voice didn't sound like it belonged to a sixteen-year-old boy at all. It was calm, tired, like someone who'd already carried a century in silence.
The car went quiet after that.
Only the rain tapping the windows and my ghost friend sulking in the roof corner.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked,
"…What did the monk call you?"
I blinked. "Hmm? Oh, uh… he called me many things. 'Child,' sometimes 'problem,' and once when I broke his prayer bowl, 'walking disaster.' So take your pick."
He didn't laugh. But I swear the corner of his mouth twitched. Just once.
That was the second enlightenment of my life:
If a cold brother twitches his lips, it means you did something right.
After a long drive, the car stopped.
I couldn't see where we were, but I could feel it — heavy air, old energy, and whispers crawling through the silence.
Even my ghost friend went quiet.
"Where… are we?" I asked.
He said, simply, "Home."
And right then, something inside me stirred — like a faint memory scratching at the edge of my heart.
It was small, but warm.
Like the echo of a name… waiting to be remembered.