After Min-seo left, silence didn't return to the apartment. Instead, a strange, electric hum filled the air — the noise of questions Do-yun couldn't ask, and my, Cheon-woo's, helpless rage. I stood in the middle of the living room where this cruel, necessary scene had just unfolded. The air trembled with tension. I felt every breath Do-yun took, every rustle of his movements, every nervous sigh.
Do-yun paced. He couldn't find a place for himself. He went to the window, staring at the gray rainy city, stepped back, sat on the couch, and immediately jumped up again. In his eyes — a mixture of despair and confusion. He was looking for answers where none could be found. But the most terrifying thing was that he started searching for proof.
He grabbed his phone, unlocked it, and opened our shared gallery. Photos: selfies, my sketches, seascapes we had visited together, shots of our early evenings. He searched for something that could confirm or refute Min-seo's words. Something that could explain how Min-seo knew my words: "Your hands smell of coffee, not notes."
I hovered nearby, powerless to intervene: Don't search, Do-yun. You'll find nothing. It was only ours.
The longer he searched, the more his face twisted in confusion. He couldn't understand whether he was losing his mind or if his best friend — now former, and my beloved — had conspired against his grief.
He stumbled upon a video. A short clip I had recorded when he slept, leaning against the piano. In the video, there was only silence, Do-yun's steady breathing, and my barely audible words: "You are my favorite pianist. Sleep peacefully."
Do-yun turned on the sound. And I heard my voice — quiet, alive, everyday, unbearably real. It hit me like a shock: I hadn't heard myself since dying. My voice penetrated the space where I could no longer exist physically, and it was both joyful and agonizing.
Do-yun watched. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, unable to bear it, he locked the phone and threw it onto the couch. He didn't cry. His eyes were dry, but determination slowly formed in them. Min-seo had achieved his goal: he had pulled Do-yun out of stupor. But the cost was his confidence in reality.
I followed Min-seo to his studio. He wasn't working. He sat in darkness, holding the broken lens he had taken from Do-yun. The light from a streetlamp fell on his face, making it sharp, exhausted.
— Are you satisfied, Cheon-woo? — Min-seo asked quietly, not looking at me. — You achieved your goal. You provoked anger and confusion in him.
— He's alive, — I said. There was no triumph in my voice, only observation. — For the first time in a month, he feels.
— He feels betrayed, — Min-seo threw the lens onto the table. A dull thud echoed through the studio. — When I lied to him about our quarrel, it was easy. When I used your words, his words, our intimacy… I felt… disgusting.
— You're saving him. Don't think of morality.
— But you must, — Min-seo raised his gaze to me. — I see you fading, Cheon-woo. With every moment he lives, you become more transparent. You are his anchor, which we are cutting. When his life returns to normal, you will be gone. Do you understand?
— That's what I want, — I lied. My throat tightened. I didn't want to, but I had to pretend I did.
— Good, — Min-seo nodded. — Then stop pressing. Stop being jealous. When you were in the apartment, I felt your anger, your jealousy. It affected Do-yun. It was almost a physical cold. You must stay away. Now I will act alone.
— You won't manage alone. He's closed off.
— I won't be alone, — Min-seo took his phone. — Now we talk about music. I'll make him sit at the piano again.
He sent a message:
Min-seo (22:40): I won't torment you anymore. I want to give you something back. I can bring a couple of scores you loved — the ones you called "Chopin for the poor." And I want to listen to the flash drive. If you have nothing to play, listen to someone else's.
I was struck again by the precision. "Chopin for the poor" — our old, intimate joke about Do-yun's first naive compositions. Min-seo used the past, the intimacy, to rebuild bridges.
The next meeting took place at a café. Now Do-yun was the initiator.
— Why here? Why not at the apartment? — he asked, as I slid into our spot, hidden.
— I… — Min-seo hesitated. He couldn't say that Do-yun's apartment was oppressive because I was there. — I don't want to disturb you at home. It's neutral here.
Do-yun ordered the bitterest coffee. No fancy syrups.
— About the scores, — Do-yun began. — "Chopin for the poor." You won't give them up. They're yours, you loved them.
— I did, — Min-seo nodded. — But they belong to the Do-yun who was happy. And I can't listen to them.
— And you think I can?
Min-seo sipped his coffee. — You must. You're the only one who knows how to finish them.
The conversation went slowly, through thickets of the unsaid. I watched, jealousy burning me, but I stayed away, not to ruin the process.
Finally, Do-yun asked the question that had haunted him since our first meeting:
— Why did you come back? Now? Why not earlier?
Min-seo lowered his eyes. It was a moment of confession.
— I was afraid, Do-yun. Afraid that if you rejected me again, I wouldn't survive. When you chose… Cheon-woo, you made the right choice. Cheon-woo was your peace. I was your chaos. I was angry that you didn't give explanations. I thought you despised me.
— I never despised you, Min-seo, — Do-yun's voice softened. — I despised myself. For causing you pain. You were the most honest person in my life. And I… was not honest.
Confession. Do-yun let go of old guilt. Min-seo smiled for the first time in a long while — fragile, genuine. I watched with bitter awareness: victory was near, but it meant my disappearance.
— You've released the old, Min-seo. Now you must release the new, — Do-yun said, straightening. — I must release the new.
— Start small, — Min-seo took his hand.
For the first time since my death, a living person touched Do-yun. Warmth, reality — it repelled me. My ghostly body trembled.
— Promise me, — Min-seo said, looking straight into Do-yun's soul. — That you'll listen to the flash drive. Call me afterward.
— I promise, — Do-yun whispered.
I remained outside, in the rain. I didn't feel the drops, but I saw them shatter on the wet asphalt.
"I release him, Cheon-woo, so you can leave," Min-seo's words echoed in my ghostly mind.
I was fading. But before leaving, I left one last echo:
______________________
"Love is not possession. It is an echo that remains, even when you are gone. I am only part of his memory, but memory is stronger than death. Let it guide him forward."