The injuries from the Aris Accident are healing slowly, and on the surface everything seems to be moving forward—bandages changing, pain dulling, life resettling into its usual rhythm.
But beneath that surface, nothing feels the same.
On the day of the incident, I was struck down by an iron rod. If not for Bell and Aisha, I wouldn't be standing here retelling this. After I woke up in the hospital, Shu filled in the gaps from the hours I lost in unconsciousness.
According to her, once Aris screamed for help, the police arrived at the construction site. By then, the criminals were already sprawled on that dusty ground, lifeless. I was rushed into emergency care. Aris's family, too, had been contacted.
But Aris herself…
When questioned, she crumbled. No clear answers escaped her lips, only trembling apologies. Her guilt weighed heavier than the police's suspicion. Trauma had sealed her away, not evidence.
Three days now in the white walls of this hospital.
Shu, Miss Elsa, and Chris come by often, their visits warming the otherwise sterile air. Yet Zen remains absent. I've called him countless times, waiting for his voice to answer from the other end, but silence has been my only reply. Perhaps he's furious that I kept his sister's job from him. Perhaps… he just doesn't want to face me.
One morning, Shu arrived carrying a bouquet and a fruit basket. Her face softened into relief when she saw me upright.
"Don't push yourself, okay? Recovery takes time, White."
I nodded, though my thoughts weren't on myself.
"Any sign of Zen?"
Her smile faded. "Nothing. He won't answer anyone's calls. He hasn't even shown up to school."
"And Aris?"
Her voice dropped into sadness: "She won't leave her room. Won't talk. Her parents are growing desperate."
The weight in my chest tightened. It felt as if the wounds weren't mine but theirs—Or perhaps ours.
Shu switched the topic: "The police officer who spoke to you yesterday… How did it go?"
I had rehearsed the story before answering:
"When I tried to intervene, one of the criminals swung the rod at me. I moved just enough, and it struck his partner. The last one panicked, ran, and slipped. That's when the iron rod pierced his neck."
A half-truth. In reality, my memory ended as darkness closed in. It was Aisha who later wove the pieces for me, allowing me to tell the police something… believable. The rod bore only criminal fingerprints. They accepted the explanation as fact.
Satisfied, Shu reminded me she'd visit later and left.
The room sank back into silence. Regrets stirred within—What if? What if I had arrived sooner? Could the chains on Aris's heart have been avoided?
That was when I heard it.
A soft voice trembled from beneath my bed.
"...Sorry…"
I lowered my gaze. Bell's small figure peeked out of the shadows. Her translucent form seemed dimmer.
"It's not your fault, Bell," I said gently. "And what are you doing down there?"
"Hiding." Her eyes didn't meet mine.
"From who?"
"From everyone."
"But you know I'm the only one who can actually see you, right?" My tone was half-teasing, half-soft.
Slowly, she crawled out, standing by my side. But her usual spark—her stubborn cheerfulness—was dulled. She looked like she carried as much guilt as Aris.
I reached out and patted her head. "Listen. The iron rod didn't end me, because you and Aisha were there. I'm still here. That's proof that you helped me, not hurt me. So don't hide—not from me, not from anyone. Smile."
Bell hesitated, then her lips curled faintly upward. Fragile, but real.
Within a week, I was discharged. The doctor urged me to avoid strain, yet Miss Elsa hovered around with stern eyes, fussing over me the way one does for a fragile glass doll. "It's my turn to repay you," she reminded me whenever I tried to walk too far.
But guilt gnawed at my heart more deeply than pain. Before fully healing, I needed to face Aris and Zen. Only then could I begin to breathe again.
I left Bell in charge of keeping Miss Elsa company and headed for Zen's house.
When Zen's mother answered the door, her eyes softened with recognition. "White… It really is you."
"Aunty," I bowed slightly. "It's been a while."
Tears glistened in her eyes as she drew me inside. "You saved my daughter. No words can match a parent's gratitude." She bowed deeply, her voice trembling.
I waved my hand. "Please don't. Aris and Zen are my friends. I couldn't do otherwise."
"I wish Zen thought the same," she sighed.
I winced. "He's avoiding me, isn't he? Calls go unanswered. School, too…"
Her expression darkened. "I don't know what to do. Both my children are drowning in their own pain. And I… I can't reach them."
Shame washed over me. "It's my fault," I murmured. "If only I hadn't kept Aris's part-time job hidden, or if only I had reached her sooner that night… Maybe Zen and Aris wouldn't be suffering now."
Her head snapped toward me, stern. "Enough. Don't chain their pain to yourself." Her words were sharp, but in them lived the heart of a mother desperate to keep blame from consuming yet another soul.
I swallowed and straightened. "Then… Let me try speaking to Aris. Please."
Her eyes softened again. "Yes. If there's anyone she might still listen to, it's you."
I stood before Aris's closed door. Knocking lightly, I spoke:
"Aris? It's me. White."
Silence.
"I know you're there. I just want to talk. I won't ask for much—just open the door for even a second."
Another pause. Then, at last, the faint creak of the door easing open.
The room inside was dim, curtains shut tight. Aris sat curled on her bed. Her eyes, usually blazing with stubborn brightness, were swollen and rimmed with red.
Her voice trembled when it left her: "...White?"
"Yeah." I stepped slowly toward her. "I came to see you and Zen."
Her head shook sharply. "There's nothing left to talk about." Her voice cracked like glass under strain. "Everything's ruined."
Her words fell into silence. Then came her storm:
"If I had listened to you that day… If I hadn't left early, if I hadn't lied about that job… none of this would've happened! I lied to my parents, to Zen, even to myself! And because of me—you nearly died! It's my fault."
The room seemed to close in. Memories weighed on the stale air, pressing down on us both. I reached a hand toward her, desperate to wipe the anguish away, but she flinched.
I whispered, "Aris, it—"
"No!" she cut in with a burst of raw pain. "Don't you dare say it isn't my fault. You'll try to comfort me, to tell me storms come and go. But none of it changes reality: I caused this nightmare. I destroyed everything."
Her voice cracked into sobs, and she buried her face in trembling hands.
I stood there, heart aching at a truth I couldn't deny yet couldn't let her drown in. Slowly, I lowered myself to her level, sitting beside her in the darkness.
"Aris," I said softly, "maybe you're right. Maybe mistakes were made. But listen… mistakes aren't the end. They're only scars. Scars don't mean we can't heal—they just remind us of where we've been. The truth is… no one here blames you but yourself."
She peeked through her fingers, eyes glistening. "But… how can I forgive myself?"
I placed a hand gently on hers. "You don't have to. Not yet. Just allow yourself to keep breathing. That's enough—for today."
The silence that followed wasn't empty anymore. For the first time since that day, Aris didn't look away.