authorwithmask

[authorwithmask]

Olivia was the free spirit of her village, a girl known for her carefree ways. She danced through life like the wind, unbothered by whispers or expectations. People called her careless, a whimsical presence drifting through their world. But she never minded; she loved the way she was—until the shadow appeared.

It started one evening on her way home. A strange feeling prickled at her neck, like someone watching, lurking just behind. Yet, when she turned, there was nothing. Just the empty road, the rustling trees, and her own silhouette stretching before her. Days passed, and the sensation grew stronger. The presence, unseen yet felt, followed her through the streets and over the hills. She should have been afraid. Instead, she was intrigued.

One afternoon, a commotion drew her to the village square. A boy stood in the midst of a gathered crowd, speaking of her—Olivia. She had never seen him before, just a shadow outside the church.

He recited words like poetry, yet they carried the weight of scandal. He painted a picture of her in verses that made people laugh, mock, and whisper. Her heart pounded. Who was he? How did he know her so well?

Caroline. That was the name he gave her. The careless Caroline.

Humiliated, Olivia fled, but the shadow pursued. Always there, always just behind. Yet something changed. The shadow wasn’t just watching anymore—it was protecting. The shadow had taken the thorn for her.

One night, under the dim glow of lanterns, she whispered into the emptiness, "Who are you?"

A voice, barely there, replied, "I am Gullian."

She turned to face him, but he was already fading into the night. And so it went—whenever she tried to speak to him, he would disappear. Yet, he was always there, always near, watching, following, shielding her from unseen dangers.

But she did not understand—why was that shadow lurking behind her?

### The Golden Boy

Sunday was the day when everyone gathered for the community meeting.

At the church, she had asked, "Who is the golden boy, and why are you all swooning over him?"

Her friend chuckled, "That’s Gullian."

Olivia froze. "Gullian?" She turned to see him standing there, his golden hair catching the light filtering through the stained glass. He frowned at her confusion. "What? Do I know this weird girl?"

His friends snickered, adding to the mockery. "Careless Caroline thinks the golden boy follows her? What a fantasy."

It struck her like a slap. He had been the one mocking her. The boy she had trusted, the shadow that had protected her—how could they be the same? Olivia ran home, her chest tight, unable to make sense of it all.

She cried the whole day. She felt something creeping outside her window, but she chose to ignore it. He can't be my Gullian. No, she was confused.

Gullian, on the other hand, stared at the village lights from the hill, his fingers clenched into fists. He had followed her for so long, drawn to something he did not understand. She was reckless, foolish, wild—everything he had been taught to avoid. Yet, she made the world seem alive in a way he had never known.

Olivia met the shadow again the next day. "You aren’t that golden boy Gullian, are you? You’re a different boy? A different Gullian?"

The shadow wiped her tears and embraced her.

Time passed, and fear turned to trust. Trust became something more. Olivia no longer ran from the shadow; she longed for it. It was absurd, falling in love with someone who barely spoke, who existed more in the periphery than in the village itself. But love is never logical.

One evening, when she thought she would break apart from all the unanswered questions, the shadow embraced her. Gullian said nothing—no confessions, no promises—but in that silent embrace, she felt warmth, understanding, something deeper than words.

"Maybe I am stupid, Gullian," she murmured. "But I hope you never fade away."

### Separation

The next day, rumors spread. Gullian, the golden boy, was leaving. The shadow had stopped lurking. Olivia muttered, "Is my shadow love the golden boy Gullian?"

Her friend took her to the port, where she saw him standing with his family. Everyone was hugging him, but his eyes were fixed on Olivia. "Oli, your husband's going. Kiss him," her friend smirked.

She said, "Shut up."

He wanted to say something, anything, but the words never came. He was supposed to let go. He was supposed to walk away. But her presence made his heart clench, his breath hitch. He had spent years pretending his feelings did not exist, and now, faced with her trembling form, he realized the depth of his lie.

She could see the unspoken words in them—I don’t know what I feel, but I don’t want to leave you. They both froze as if this was the end of their love story. His gaze was an apology she never wanted to hear.

Olivia said, "Let’s go." She walked away with a sigh. And she faded.

---

### One Year Later

Olivia had become the brightest student in her class. "Wow, you have the brain of two people!" her classmates would chuckle. She was excelling in her studies, determined to carve a future for herself.

One evening, her friend Gracie dragged her to the village fair. Among the crowd, her heart stopped. "Gullian?" she whispered.

"Your husband," her friend teased.

Gullian blushed. Olivia quickly turned away. "I want an ice cream."

"One chocolate milk ice cream," she ordered.

"One caramel," a familiar voice said beside her.

His voice had deepened. As he brushed past her, Olivia felt something electric run through her. She panicked. "I have to study biology!" she muttered and fled.

That night, she couldn’t focus. Instead, she replayed their interaction over and over again.

The next day, the same thing happened.

"Is your husband in love with you?" her friend teased.

"No! I need to read," Olivia huffed. "Ugh, boring."

Then, she disappeared.

Rumors spread—Gullian had a girlfriend now. Olivia felt something twist inside her, but she swallowed it down. "Back to chemistry," she whispered. "I’ll make something of myself."

---

### Years Later

She got into medical school. "The brightest of the batch," her professors said. But she had grown pale and distant. Her estranged friend tried to bring her out. "You should come with us."

"No need," Olivia muttered, clutching her heavy pathology book. "You don’t need me."

The village was in a festive mood.

And Olivia was burning in fever.

"You’re doing too much." said her mom.

"I need to finish my case report—no, let’s go to Grandma’s."

As she sat in the carriage, someone suddenly collapsed in front of her.

It was…

Gullian.

His golden eyes widened in sheer panic. He gasped for air.

"He’s watching you," mom whispered.

"No…" Olivia said, shaking.

That night, she sat beside the old clock, her only witness. Feverish, she whispered, "I saw him again."

because everyone was bored of the gullian talks. Her family had banned her especially her mom so she used to share it with the clock.

She sobbed. "He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t, okay? But it feels like he does."

"Nooo he he doesn't, I know that."

She wiped her tears. "I won’t meet him again. I promise."

[authorwithmask]

Alice and Keetch had always been inseparable. They lived beside each other, their lives intertwined like tangled vines. Alice loved Keetch deeply, but her love was a quiet suffering, a devotion that left bruises on her heart. Keetch loved her too, but his love was chaotic, tangled in confusion and the illness that clouded his mind. His highs made him feel invincible, and his lows turned him into a storm that Alice couldn’t always withstand. Yet, she never left. She cared for him in ways no one else ever could. She believed in him, even when he became a tempest she couldn’t calm. With her, he felt safe—she was the only thing that ever made him feel at peace.

On her finger, Alice wore a diamond ring—a charm of protection, a symbol of strength. Their relationship was a whirlwind of extremes, soaring highs and devastating lows. One moment, they would be celebrating under the golden sun, running together like children lost in a dream, laughter filling the air. And the next, Keetch’s fury would strike like lightning, pushing her away, only to pull her back into desperate embraces. He would wound her, then hold her close as if he could erase the pain. Still, she stayed, because love, to her, was not something to abandon in a storm.

One night, Keetch had fallen badly, his body bruised and bleeding. Alice stayed awake the entire night, tending to his wounds, whispering reassurances, pressing cold cloths to his fevered skin. But when morning came, when the sunlight stretched through the window, Keetch shoved her away. The force sent her reeling, her head hitting the edge of the table. Blood trickled down her temple as she curled into herself, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. That was the moment she cried for him—not just for the pain, but for the weight of love she carried alone. In the silence of that moment, she realized she had given too much of herself to someone who only knew how to take.

Alice had always known that love could be cruel, but she had convinced herself that what they had was worth the bruises. That he would change, that the good days were worth the bad ones. That if she could just love him hard enough, he would stop breaking her. But love, she realized too late, was not always enough.

In that moment, Keetch thought Alice was a burden. She was the weight at his feet, the anchor keeping him from soaring. He convinced himself that without her, he would be free. But he didn’t know he was depriving himself of everything. What a strange, cruel thing—to love someone on a whim and abandon them just as easily. Even as he tried to convince himself that he didn’t need her, a part of him hesitated, a whisper of doubt curling at the edges of his thoughts. But he silenced it, just as he had silenced so many other things.

One fateful day, Keetch's hands found a knife instead of her warmth. Whether it was impulse, madness, or something darker, the blade buried itself in Alice’s flesh. Time slowed. The world dimmed. And Alice, the one who had always held him up, fell lifeless in his arms.

Keetch’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as they pressed against her fading heartbeat. "No," he choked, tears blurring his vision. "You have to live—for me."

Alice’s lips trembled as she struggled to breathe. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the words cut through the silence like a blade. "I couldn’t go with grace."

And then, she was gone.

Her absence destroyed him. Guilt carved its place in his soul, creeping into his very bones. He slid the diamond ring from her finger and wore it himself, its weight a constant reminder of the love he had destroyed. He wore it even as he buried her, his hands trembling as he screamed her name into the empty sky, his voice shattering in the wind.

Nights became unbearable. Sleep abandoned him, but in the silence, he heard her voice—soft, familiar, singing him lullabies like she used to. Whether it was a ghost or his own mind tormenting him, he didn’t know. He only knew he could never escape her.

He tried to forget, tried to outrun his grief, drowning himself in different lives, different hands, different lips—but none of them were Alice. No matter where he went, he still reached for her in the dark, only to find emptiness. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her blood on his hands, her final whisper echoing in his ears. He thought freedom would feel like soaring, but all he felt was the weight of regret, heavy and suffocating.

And then, too late, he realized—she had never been his burden. She had been his oxygen. The one thing keeping him alive, the only force holding his fragile world together. Without her, he wasn’t soaring. He was suffocating. She had been the only thing that made him feel calm in a world that never stopped raging.

He wept at her grave, the dirt beneath his knees turning to mud with his tears. His bones trembled as grief consumed him, shaking him from the inside out. But still, he saved his face, like a hero in the eyes of the world, even when his soul was shattered beyond repair. He had only ever wanted the best for her—at least, that’s what he told himself.

The sky, heavy with sorrow, mirrored his agony. And then, as he cried out, as grief swallowed him whole, a single tear from the past slipped through time and landed gently on his cheek.

It was Alice’s tear—one she had shed long ago, crying bitterly for him. A final whisper, a message from beyond, as if she were murmuring: "You can go for my heart or my blood, but you will still miss me in your bones."

And Keetch did. Every night. Every waking moment. He tried—tried everything. Tried to move on, tried new lives, tried to escape the weight of his regret. But at the end of the day, no matter how far he ran, he would always reach for her hand.

In the end, Keetch wasn’t free. He had severed the only tether keeping him human, and without Alice, he wasn’t soaring—he was falling, endlessly, into the abyss of his own regret. He wore her diamond ring while burying her, a last, desperate attempt to hold onto the one thing he had lost forever.

And in the silence of the night, he finally understood: some ghosts never leave. Some loves, no matter how much you try to bury them, remain stitched into your soul, haunting you long after the last goodbye.