The doctor, a man with tired eyes and a clipboard that seemed to weigh more than he did, didn't believe in miracles. I knew this because I'd spent two weeks watching him sigh over Maya's chart. To him, she was a "grim prognosis." But as he stepped into the room with her sister, Joan, he looked like he'd just seen a statue start to breathe.
"It's remarkable, Maya," the doctor said, shining a small light into her eyes. "Physiologically, you shouldn't be this alert. We were very worried about the cerebral swelling."
Maya nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the empty space over his left shoulder. They were fixed on me.
"Maya?" Joan asked, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and suspicion. "What are you looking at, honey?"
Maya blinked, her gaze snapping back to her sister. She offered a pale, fragile smile. "Nothing, Joan. Just... the medication. It makes the shadows look funny."
I stood there, a shimmering outline against the sterile white wallpaper, wanting so badly to reach out and steady her. I was the "funny shadow."
When the doctor finally left, satisfied that her brain was functioning, the air in the room grew heavy. Joan took Maya's hand, her face crumpling. "Maya... about the accident. Ryan... he didn't make it. He's gone."
"I know," Maya whispered, her eyes drifting back to me. "I can feel it."
Joan squeezed her hand, offering words of comfort, promising to be her rock. She told Maya to rest so they could get her out of that hospital sooner. Maya played along, using that teasing, playful tone she always used to keep people from worrying. "Yes, ma'am. Anything to get away from this hospital food."
But the moment the door clicked shut behind Joan, the mask shattered.
The smile vanished. Maya's eyes filled with a sudden, violent tide of tears. She didn't just cry; she broke.
"Hey," I whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. I felt like a draft of cold air against her skin. "I'm still here, aren't I? You can still see me, so don't cry. You're alive, Maya. That's the only thing that matters. I'm the dead one, and even I'm not as miserable as you look right now."
I told her a joke—something stupid about the time we got lost trying to find that underground jazz club in the rain. She let out a wet, shaky laugh, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"I'm glad you're still here," she sobbed. "Don't leave me, Ryan."
"I won't," I promised, the lie tasting like static in my mouth. "I'll always be here."
A few days later, we went "home." Her apartment felt smaller with me as a ghost. I followed her from room to room, a silent guardian watching her limp through her recovery. Joan checked in constantly, worried about Maya's solitude, but Maya always waved her off.
"I'm fine, Joan. Really."
When the door closed and we were alone, Maya stood before the framed photo on the wall—the one of us at the beach, sun-kissed and oblivious. I walked up behind her. I wrapped my arms around her, or at least, I went through the motions of a hug.
She leaned back. She couldn't feel my chest or my heartbeat, but she could feel the sudden chill in the air, a localized winter that whispered my name. She started to cry again, and I held her in my phantom grip.
"Let it out," I whispered, my own spectral eyes burning. "I know it hurts. Just let it all out."
Seven Years Later
Time is different when you don't age. I watched Maya grow into a woman who commanded every room she entered. She was a star at one of the country's top firms, a vision of silk hair and crystal-bright eyes.
Right now, she was standing in a boardroom, confidently reporting on budget assets and soaring profits. She looked magnificent. I stood in the corner, leaning against a filing cabinet, making ridiculous faces and cheering like a hooligan every time she made a good point.
She glanced at me and let out a sudden, melodic laugh in the middle of a serious sentence. Her superiors looked confused, but they just smiled—everyone loved Maya. She was the office idol, the woman who had it all.
After the meeting, a young executive stayed behind, blushing as he tried to ask her out for coffee. Maya turned him down with a grace that left him smiling even as he was rejected.
As he left, she looked at me and rolled her eyes. "He was cute," I teased.
"He wasn't you," she mouthed back, smiling brightly.
To the world, Maya was the picture of a perfect, recovered life. She was energetic, kind, and beautiful. But as I watched her sit down at her desk, the smile lingering just a second too long before it faded into a hollow stare, I knew the truth.
She was happy because I was there. But she was trapped because I was there. Seven years had passed, and while her life looked complete, I could see the cracks. She was living a beautiful life, but she was living it with a ghost, and a ghost can't hold your hand when the world gets dark.
I saw the suffering she hid from everyone else. And for the first time, I started to wonder if my "protection" was actually a curse.