The therapy room was nothing like Haru imagined.
No sterile lights. No white walls. Just soft gray carpet, a fake plant in the corner, and one shelf lined with too-perfect books. It smelled like lavender and dust.
The therapist was a woman in her late thirties. Calm voice. Kind eyes. Too kind.
"Take your time," she said as he sat down. "There's no rush."
Haru didn't speak for a full minute.
He wasn't sure what he could say.
What do you tell someone whose job is to fix your mind, when the only thing keeping you sane… is a ghost?
He tried to stay vague.
Said things like, "It's hard to sleep sometimes."And, "There's pressure to be something I'm not."And, "I feel like I'm being pulled in two directions."
The therapist nodded gently. Took notes. Asked soft questions.
But then she leaned in a little.
"Do you ever feel like someone's watching you?" she asked.
Haru's pulse spiked.
"Why?" he asked, too fast.
"No reason," she said smoothly. "Just something that comes up a lot with performers. Stage presence. Anxiety. Feeling observed."
He looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
"Do you ever feel like someone's watching you?"
Minju always watched him.
She used to hover near his bed, sing along during rehearsals, float above the lights.
But now?
Now she was glitching.
Flickering in and out.
Forgetting things.
Losing her shape.
He realized suddenly she hadn't shown up today at all.
His throat tightened.
"Haru?" the therapist said gently. "You went quiet."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
She paused, then said softly, "Sometimes, when people go through trauma, they create anchors. Internal voices. Symbols. Even imaginary friends. It's not uncommon."
He forced a nod. "Right."
But inside, something broke.
Minju wasn't imaginary.
She wasn't a symbol.
She was real.
And she was missing.
That night, he didn't sleep.
He sat on the dorm balcony wrapped in a hoodie, staring at the sky.
The stars were hazy.
Seojun came out after midnight, silent as always. Leaned on the railing beside him.
"They made you go?" he asked.
Haru didn't reply right away.
Then: "Yeah."
Seojun stared out into the dark. "Did it help?"
"I don't know."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay."
They stood in silence.
Then Haru whispered, "Seojun… do you think people can disappear before they're dead?"
Seojun looked over slowly. "What?"
"Not like physically. But like… pieces of them. Memory. Voice. Who they were."
Seojun didn't answer right away.
Then: "Yeah. I think sometimes people start fading when no one's listening anymore."
Haru swallowed hard.
The next morning, Minju was still gone.