The injuries from the Aris accident were healing slowly. On the surface, everything seemed to be moving forward—bandages were changed, pain dulled, and life began to resettle into its usual rhythm. Yet beneath that surface, nothing felt the same.
On the day of the incident, White had been struck down by an iron rod. If not for Bell and Aisha, he would not have been standing there to retell the story. After waking in the hospital, Shu filled in the gaps from the hours he had 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 across the dusty ground, lifeless. White was rushed into emergency care, and Aris's family 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 passed within the white walls of the hospital. Shu, Miss Elsa, and Chris visited often, warming the otherwise sterile air. Yet Zen remained absent. White had called him countless times, waiting for his voice to answer, but silence was his only reply. Perhaps Zen was furious that White had kept his sister's job a secret. Or perhaps he simply did not want to face him.
One morning, Shu arrived carrying a bouquet and a fruit basket. Her face softened with relief when she saw White upright.
"Don't push yourself, okay? Recovery takes time, White."
He nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere.
"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. She won't talk. Her parents are growing desperate."
The weight in White's chest tightened. It felt as if the wounds weren't his alone but theirs—perhaps theirs together.
Shu switched the topic. "The police officer who spoke to you yesterday… how did it go?"
White 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."
It was a half-truth. In reality, his memory ended as darkness closed in. Aisha had later woven the pieces for him, allowing him to tell the police something believable. The rod bore only criminal fingerprints, and they accepted the explanation as fact.
Satisfied, Shu reminded him she would visit later and left.
The room sank back into silence. Regrets stirred within him—what if he had arrived sooner? Could the chains on Aris's heart have been avoided?
That was when he heard it.
A soft voice trembled from beneath his bed.
"…Sorry…"
Lowering his gaze, White saw Bell's small figure peeking out of the shadows. Her translucent form seemed dimmer.
"It's not your fault, Bell," he said gently. "And what are you doing down there?"
"Hiding." Her eyes didn't meet his.
"From who?"
"From everyone."
"But you know I'm the only one who can actually see you, right?" His tone was half-teasing, half-soft.
Slowly, she crawled out, standing by his side. But her usual spark—her stubborn cheerfulness—was dulled. She looked as though she carried as much guilt as Aris.
White 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 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, White was discharged. The doctor urged him to avoid strain, yet Miss Elsa hovered with stern eyes, fussing over him like one would a fragile glass doll. "It's my turn to repay you," she reminded him whenever he tried to walk too far.
But guilt gnawed at his heart more deeply than pain. Before fully healing, he needed to face Aris and Zen. Only then could he begin to breathe again.
He 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," he bowed slightly. "It's been a while."
Tears glistened in her eyes as she drew him inside. "You saved my daughter. No words can match a parent's gratitude." She bowed deeply, her voice trembling.
White waved his hand. "Please don't. Aris and Zen are my friends. I couldn't do otherwise."
"I wish Zen thought the same," she sighed.
White 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 him. "It's my fault," he 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 him, 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.
White 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."
He stood before Aris's closed door. Knocking lightly, he 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." He 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 them both. White reached a hand toward her, desperate to wipe the anguish away, but she flinched.
He 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.
White stood there, heart aching at a truth he couldn't deny yet couldn't let her drown in. Slowly, he lowered himself to her level, sitting beside her in the darkness.
"Aris," he 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?"
He 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.