I did not vanish into nothingness. I became Space.
Not a ghost, not a shadow, not a flickering silhouette. I was everywhere and nowhere at once. I was the air they breathed, the light falling on the keys, on their faces, on old photographs. I was the memory they carried gently with them, and I was a part of every one of their breaths.
Freed from attachment, I was still bound to their story. My existence became a quiet presence, requiring no attention. I was the spectator of a play I had once helped set in motion, now able to watch without pain, without jealousy, without hope of changing anything.
For the living, three years had passed. For me, it was a moment stretched into eternity, necessary to witness the completion of the cycle.
***
Min-seo never rushed Do-yun. He simply stayed close, a silent observer and guardian. After six months, he moved into our apartment—not as a lover, but as someone preserving its spirit. He brought his cameras, his lenses, his tired eyes capable of seeing more than what was necessary.
The apartment was transformed. There was no longer the smell of old coffee and stagnant grief. Instead, there was the subtle scent of photographic chemicals, fresh wood, and, above all, music.
The piano claimed the center of the living room by the window. Every day, Do-yun sat at it. At first, he played minor, sorrowful chords—the ones I had heard in Min-seo's studio. He played with his pain. But it was no longer frozen grief. He was learning to let go.
I watched as his fingers gradually moved toward something new, a composition he named Sonata of Light. Dissonances gave way to harmony, struggle transformed into clarity. My love, once an anchor, now dissolved in his acceptance. He remembered me, but he moved forward.
***
Min-seo never interfered. He sat at his desk, working, photographing. His shots were full of emotion, light, and shadow. He saw people not only with his eyes, but with their echoes. He saw Do-yun fully—with every chord, every breath, every rustle of fingers over the keys.
I watched as their relationship changed. They were no longer simply lovers or friends. They became creators. Do-yun began to paint—using my brushes, my favorite colors. Orange, blue, gold—his music came alive in my colors, and my colors came alive in his music.
Min-seo photographed him—hands on the keys, the lines of his neck, bent over the sheet music. These photos were full of tenderness. I saw how Min-seo loved him. Loved him completely—his genius, his fragility, his memory of me.
***
One winter day, when thick snow fell outside the window, I witnessed the final scene that became my last comfort. Min-seo and Do-yun sat on the sofa, holding our old photograph—the one I had once tried to remove from the table when I was a ghost.
— I remember that day, — Do-yun said, smiling softly. — You were making faces in the subway.
— You looked so happy, — Min-seo replied. — It's part of our story. I remember it, and I am not jealous.
Do-yun looked at the photograph, then at Min-seo.
— I'm happy now. I thought I could never let him go. But you… you showed me that letting go doesn't mean forgetting. It means taking him with you into the future.
And they kissed. Not passionately, not as lovers. Quietly, with deep, respectful tenderness.
I, Space, stood by the window. My final shot. The scene for which I had remained.
I closed my invisible eyes. My consciousness finally released. Nothingness no longer felt empty. It was peaceful.
I saw the last picture, pure harmony. Everything I had thought lost was complete. My love had once been a sentence, keeping him in chains, but now it had transformed into a blessing.
I was no longer an anchor. I became the Fourth Wall they broke to live. And I was glad I had remained until they found their way to each other.
______________________
Do-yun, if I could speak to you one last time, this is what I would say.
I do not ask you to remember me the way I wish. I ask you to remember yourself. You are alive. You are breathing. You are looking toward the light, not the shadows. You love, and your love has been returned. My love for you was immense, but now it must be a shadow that gives you freedom, not a chain that holds you back. I was your anchor; now I am the wind that carries you forward. Take care of yourself, be brave, laugh, fall, rise, and continue to create music, to paint, to live. You remember me, and that is enough. But live not for me. Live for yourself, for the moments of joy I could not give you.
Remember that each day is a new opportunity. Do not fear opening your heart, even if it may be wounded. Laugh, even when there is quiet sorrow inside. Love comes in the most unexpected forms, and it does not end — it simply changes direction to give you the strength to move forward. You carry within you all that I once wished to preserve, and now it is yours. I do not ask you to wait for me, nor to look back. I want you to live, to seek the light, to create beauty, and to allow yourself to be happy. When you feel the wind on your skin or the warmth of the sun — know that it is me with you. Not as a ghost, not as a shadow, but as the breath that softly supports you when you need it. Let every chord, every line, every color remind you: you are free, and life is full of wonders waiting for you to discover.
I will always be near — not with a body, but as light, as an echo, as the breath of air in your hair. I love you, Do-yun. I love you with all the eternity I was allowed to be part of in your life. And now… go.
Go and be happy.