Sarah drifted in the darkness again.
She didn't know how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time felt strange here. She was floating in an empty space, weightless, with no sound, no light, just her thoughts.
She wanted to go back.
She wasn't ready to leave Michael. He needed her.
She remembered his face, how broken he looked in the hospital. She had never seen him cry like that before. It hurt worse than the fall.
She wasn't supposed to die.
This wasn't fair.
A soft hum echoed around her. It wasn't a voice. It was more like a feeling, a gentle push, like something was guiding her.
Then, light.
A small, dim glow appeared in the distance. like a candle light.
Sarah focused on it.
The light grew bigger. It stretched and shifted, forming shapes, walls, a floor, a ceiling. Then, all at once, the darkness shattered.
She was standing in a room.
It wasn't her home. It wasn't the hospital. It was small and simple, with white walls and a single chair in the center.
She looked down at herself. She was wearing the same clothes from that day. They were clean, not torn, not bloody.
Her hands trembled. She touched her arms, her face. She felt solid. Real. But she knew she wasn't alive.
Where was she?
A soft knock came from behind her.
She turned around.
A boy stood in the doorway.
He looked about her age, with messy brown hair and calm, dark eyes. He wore simple white clothes, like a hospital gown.
Sarah took a step back. "Who are you?"
The boy tilted his head. "You don't remember me?"
Jokingly.
She frowned. "Should I?"
He smiled a little. "No. We never met. But I've been waiting for you."
Sarah's stomach tightened. "Waiting for me?"
The boy walked into the room. "You're not supposed to be here yet. Your time wasn't meant to end like this."
Sarah's said. "Then send me back. I need to go back. My brother—"
The boy shook his head. "I can't."
Sarah clenched her fists. "Why not?"
He sat down on the chair. "Because once a soul crosses over, it can't return to the living world."
Her breath hitched. "That's not fair."
"I know."
Sarah's hands trembled. "He needs me."
The boy's expression softened. "I know."
She swallowed hard. "Then why am I here? What is this place?"
"This is the space between."
"The space between what?"
The boy looked up at her. "Life and death."
Sarah's throat tightened. "So… I'm not in heaven? Or hell?"
The boy shook his head. "Not yet."
She hugged herself. "Why am I stuck here?"
He studied her for a moment. "Because you don't want to move on."
Sarah's heart pounded. "Of course, I don't! My little brother is suffering, and I can't do anything about it!"
The boy sighed. "That's the problem."
Sarah frowned. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward. "You're holding on to something. Your love for your brother, your pain, your regrets. Those things are keeping you here."
She looked down. "How do I let go?"
The boy's voice was gentle. "You don't have to. But you do have to accept that you can't change what happened."
Sarah bit her lip. "I don't want to leave him alone."
The boy hesitated. Then, he stood up. "There's something I can show you."
She looked up. "What?"
He held out his hand. "Come with me."
Sarah hesitated, then slowly reached out and took his hand.
The moment their fingers touched, the room around them blurred.
Then, suddenly, they were standing in Michael's bedroom.
Sarah gasped. "Michael?"
He was sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. His room was dark, the curtains closed. His phone lay on the floor beside him, screen cracked. His desk was covered in papers, some crumpled, others covered in scribbled words she couldn't read from where she stood.
Her heart ached. He looked so lost.
She turned to the boy. "Can he see me?"
The boy shook his head.
Sarah's throat burned. "Then what's the point?"
The boy didn't answer.
Michael suddenly moved. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small box.
Sarah's breath caught.
It was the wooden box she had given him years ago.
She watched as he opened it with shaking hands. Inside were small memories—old pictures, a few notes, a bracelet she had made him when they were kids.
Michael picked up one of the pictures. It was of them at the park. She had her arm around him, both of them smiling.
A tear fell onto the photo.
"I miss you, Sarah," he whispered.
Sarah's eyes blurred with tears.
Michael gripped the bracelet tightly. "I don't know how to do this without you."
Sarah stepped closer, even though she knew he couldn't feel her. "You're not alone, Michael."
The boy beside her spoke. "He's stronger than you think."
Sarah shook her head. "But what if he—"
"He won't." The boy's voice was firm. "He's hurting, but he won't make the same choice again."
Sarah turned to him. "How do you know?"
The boy met her eyes. "Because you saved him."
Sarah's breath hitched.
Michael wiped his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath and whispered, "I'll try to keep going. For you."
Sarah's heart squeezed.
The room started to blur again.
The boy let go of her hand. "It's time to go."
Sarah's vision darkened.