Ten years passed like a blur.
Jayh turned twenty, but he didn't feel twenty. He just felt tired.
Most days were quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that filled your head with voices from the past, like old echoes that refused to fade.
He still remembered everything.
The fire.
The screams.
His smile that didn't match the moment he saw the flames.
His family—gone in an instant.
He still remembered his mom calling him for dinner. His dad lifting him onto his shoulders. His little sister drawing flowers on the walls even when she knew she'd get scolded.
He remembered every laugh, every trip, every goodnight kiss.
And now, he lived alone in a tiny, dusty apartment with walls that never spoke back. A secondhand fan spun weakly in the corner, and the lights sometimes flickered like they were trying to disappear too.
Jayh worked at a nearby convenience store. It wasn't much, but it paid just enough—about $25 a day. Enough for bread, rice, and sometimes eggs if they were discounted. He worked from early morning until just past noon, usually six hours on weekdays and a little longer on weekends.
Every year, on the same day, he visited the graves.
He stood there, in front of the three cold stones, hands in his jacket pockets, wind brushing against his face.
"Hey, Mom… Dad… Sis…" he muttered softly. "It's been ten years now."
His voice trembled, but his face stayed the same—still, like a photo.
"I'm still here. Still Happy. Still…" he paused, "…still trying."
He crouched down and placed a cheap bouquet he picked up from a 24-hour flower stand.
"Sorry I didn't bring much. You know how things are."
He looked up at the sky. It was cloudy that day. It always felt cloudy when he came here.
"I'll come again next year, okay?" he whispered, and then, like always, "…goodbye."
Then he turned and walked away, stuffing his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
---
That night, like so many others, the nightmares came again.
He found himself standing in front of the house—their house—but it wasn't burning this time. It was whole. Perfect. The way it used to be. Sunlight poured from the windows.
And then he heard them.
His sister running in the hallway. His mom humming in the kitchen. His dad laughing from the living room.
Jayh stood still, heart racing.
"I'm… back?" he said, confused, almost afraid to believe it.
He took a step forward—but suddenly, the sky darkened, and the house burst into flames again.
"Why didn't you come back, Jayh?" his sister's voice asked, but it wasn't playful. It was empty. Hollow.
"Why didn't you save us?" his mother said, appearing in the doorway, eyes glowing with sadness.
"Why are you the only one alive?" his father's voice echoed behind him.
They all stood there—watching him burn on the inside.
"Come to us," they all whispered together. "Come home."
Jayh reached out. His hand trembled, tears falling from his eyes.
"I… I missed you so much… I don't want to be alone anymore…"
He reached closer.
But before he could touch them, a new voice called out behind him.
"Don't give up yet."
It was soft. Familiar.
Jayh turned around and saw her—his grandmother.
She had passed away long before the fire. He remembered her stories. Her laugh. Her warm lap when he was five.
"You still have something left to live for," she said gently, her wrinkled hand reaching out to him.
And just like that, the flames vanished.
Jayh gasped and woke up.
His body was soaked in sweat. The pillow damp. His breathing was uneven. He wiped his face with his blanket, then sat up slowly.
"…Not again," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "It's always the same."
He stood up, moving like a ghost through his apartment. He took a cold shower, letting the water run down his back like rain. After that, he made a simple meal—bread and instant soup—then brushed his teeth and checked the time on his old phone.
His eyes widened.
"Shit… I'm late!"
The store was supposed to open at 6:00 a.m.
It was 6:42.
Jayh grabbed his jacket, stuffed the rest of his bread in his mouth, and ran out the door with one shoe barely tied.
He sprinted through the empty morning streets, ignoring the cold wind that slapped his face. When he reached the convenience store, he saw his boss standing outside—arms crossed, clearly pissed.
"Late again?" the man said, shaking his head. "You think this place runs on ghosts?"
"S-sorry…" Jayh bowed his head. "It won't happen again…"
"It better not. One more time and you're out. Understand?"
Jayh nodded quickly. "Yes, sir…"
The boss sighed and unlocked the door. "Just get inside. Stock the drinks first."
Jayh spent the next hour arranging water bottles and energy drinks while yawning every few seconds. His eyes were heavy. His hands moved automatically.
He worked in silence.
Always in silence.
Around 9:00 a.m., he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes for a second—just one second.
Ding.
The bell above the door rang.
Jayh jolted upright.
A couple walked in—a guy laughing with his arm around a girl's shoulder. They looked like college students. Young, loud, alive.
They grabbed some snacks, giggled at each other, then walked over to the counter.
And then the guy casually placed a box of condoms on the register.
Jayh blinked.
"Uh… $12.75," he said awkwardly, still half-asleep.
The couple paid and left, laughing as they went.
Jayh sighed and leaned back.
"Must be nice…" he muttered. "Having someone like that…"
Later, a group of five students entered the store—talking loudly, joking, grabbing chips and soda.
"Let's go to karaoke after this!"
"Bro, I'm broke!"
"Doesn't matter, we'll sneak you in."
Jayh watched them from behind the counter, pretending not to listen.
But he heard everything.
He watched them leave—still laughing—and something in his chest felt tight.
Jealousy?
Longing?
Loneliness?
All of them, maybe.
Back in college, no one talked to him. No one wanted to sit near him. Some whispered behind his back. The rumor spread quick—"That's the guy whose whole family died in a fire."
People avoided him like he carried bad luck.
He didn't make a single friend.
He used to wonder, Is it me? Or is it the story that follows me?
Now he didn't wonder anymore.
He just accepted it.
As the sun climbed higher, Jayh sat at the counter, tapping his fingers slowly on the table, watching the empty store entrance.
He whispered to himself, "I wonder what it's like… to laugh like that. To have people wait for you… to matter to someone."
The store stayed quiet.
Just like his life.