Several days had passed since my visit to Balthazar. After returning, I spent my nights trapped in silent panic. Everything felt like a mess, so I decided not to burden anyone else with my troubles, especially after everything they had already been through.
But I couldn't ignore the pull from within, nor could I get Sofia out of my mind. Sleep became an elusive concept, with every attempt overshadowed by fragments of memories flitting through the corners of my subconscious.
It felt like flipping through an old photo album, tinged with an unsettling detachment. Most images were of her—her long dark hair flowing in the wind, her brown eyes sparkling in sunlight, and that radiant smile. It was so vivid, it felt as though she was standing right in front of me, just a few steps away. Close enough that I could almost reach for her hand.
I knew delving too deeply into these thoughts would only lead to complications. But one visit couldn't hurt, could it?
I wasn't planning to talk to her. I no longer belonged to her world. My documents, IDs, and cards confirmed my existence, but to her, I was a ghost—someone who no longer had a place in her life. And I had nothing to say that could make amends for the past. I only wanted to see her, nothing more.
No one notices me leaving; everyone is preoccupied with their tasks. The midday sun blazes outside, and the world looks disturbingly alive. Although the heat is intense, an occasional refreshing breeze cuts through the air. I have no idea where to begin. Pulling out my phone, I turn to the internet—the most reliable detective of our time.
After hopping between pages and links for a while, I find nothing useful with just a name. Frustrated, I shove my phone back into my pocket and head to the nearest café.
With a foggy mind from lack of sleep and an empty stomach, I know I won't get anywhere. I sit on a barstool by the window and order lunch. Closing my eyes, I try to think. I mentally sift through memories, searching for a clue, but everything useful seems shrouded in fog. Certain places emerge in my mind, places I know exist in the city, yet I can't recall their names or locations. It's all frustratingly blurred.
After what feels like forever, one recurring image finally stands out—a church. Over countless hunts, I've pieced together a decent mental map of the city. I'm fairly certain I can find it. Finishing my coffee, I set off without hesitation.
The journey isn't easy. Public transport on a scorching summer day feels suffocating, and the crowded bus only amplifies my discomfort. By the time I step off, sweat clings to me, though I can't tell if it's from the heat or the weight of my thoughts.
The neighborhood is unfamiliar; it's far from the bookstore. After a few wrong turns, I finally find what I'm looking for. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the building. The gray church stands modest yet imposing, its simple brick facade weathered by time. A tall spire reaches toward the sky, crowned by a cross that gleams faintly in the sunlight.
For a moment, I remain frozen in place, but the sharp ring of a cyclist's bell snaps me back to reality. I step aside just as the threat speeds past.
"Why don't you go inside?" a voice asks from beside me.
I turn to see a short, stout woman with neat gray curls framing her face. She resembles a grandmother straight out of a movie—the kind who bakes cookies and gently pats children on the head.
"I wasn't planning to," I mumble, feeling awkward. "Just… a little lost."
She smiles warmly. "Isn't a church a place for those who are lost?"
I don't respond. How could this place offer solace to someone like me? If only they knew what we go through every day, so they could believe in their so-called miracles.
"Come on," she says, gently taking my elbow and nudging me toward the door. "At least step inside."
I don't resist.
Once inside, the woman—Alma—leads me to a bench in the main prayer hall. The evening service hasn't started yet, so the hall is nearly empty. I don't know what to expect from this visit. Am I about to be recruited into some cult? Forced to confess my deepest sins? But none of that happens. Alma and I talk for a while, mostly about life in general, in a broad, philosophical sense. Despite my initial discomfort, her warmth slowly eases my anxiety.
At some point, I remember why I came. Steering the conversation, I ask, "You mentioned you've been working with the church's youth for a long time, right?"
"Yes, for a full twenty years now," she replies with a smile.
"I'm looking for someone," I hesitate. "A girl who used to come here about three years ago—maybe longer. We lost touch, and I don't know how to find her."
Alma looks thoughtful. "Nathaniel, we've had so many young people pass through these doors. It's hard to remember them all."
I curse silently, immediately feeling guilty for such an act in a sacred place.
"Sorry. I don't know what I was expecting," I sigh, lowering my gaze to my clasped fingers on my lap.
"Now, now. Perhaps you remember something about her? I promise I'll do my best to recall."
"Long brown hair, dark eyes," I describe her appearance, leaving the door open to retreat if I lack the courage, but I press on. "Her name is Sofia."
"Sofia? Sofia Kwon?"
I nod slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on her face. Her expression changes. Her lips tighten into a narrow line, and the life seems to drain from her face.
"Sofia… passed away two years ago, dear," she says quietly. "Since she had no family, the church arranged her funeral. The police ruled it as suicide, but I never believed it. It's all because of them—those swindlers. I'm sure they hurt her."
The ground feels as if it's crumbling beneath my sneakers. If it weren't for the solid wooden bench supporting me, I might have collapsed.
I don't remember much after that. I don't recall how we said goodbye, or how I left. My head rings and buzzes as if it's about to explode. My consciousness clears just enough to realize I've somehow ended up in a cemetery. I stand before a small granite plaque, struggling to breathe as I stare at it. There are no words to describe what I feel.
Sometimes, life reaches a point where everything slips out from under you. Just moments ago, it seemed like I was living in the comfort of my idyllic routine, and yet, in an instant, everything has turned upside down. I want to flee—from others, from myself, from pain and calamity—but that's impossible. It's all here, within me, inside.
This. Is. My. Fault.
These words echo in the deepest corners of my mind, each letter cutting like a knife. I can't shake off the weight of responsibility crushing my shoulders. Every excuse leaves me utterly exposed. I have no choice but to swallow it all and admit that I've created my own downfall. I want to scream, to cry out. With every breath, my heart shatters further, and I fear it might simply burst.
Never in my life have I felt this devastated.
The shock unlocks new visions in my mind, pushing me even closer to madness. I don't know how long I stood there like that, my consciousness fading in and out. From the cemetery, all I can recall are my screams, the warmth of my tears, and the dry dust of the earth clinging to my hands as I fell to my knees.