Some time later, everything grew silent...the house, the air, and the hearts of all within it. For there was no other path left but to accept the truth: Talotkan was gone.
The police had departed.
For days, the house remained shrouded in a heavy stillness, though now it was filled with people....Akat and his family, and Talotkan's family.
In a way, though Talotkan herself had departed from this world, she had left behind a seed.....a seed that, as time passed, would grow, becoming stronger and more beautiful.
And so it was.
Phop Rak asked Grandmother to teach him the art of dyeing cloth, while Yim returned....not to leave again, but only to bring her belongings back. Not only did Grandmother accept her, but Pranee and Phop Rak, too, began to see Yim as a living keepsake of Talotkan, someone who carried both her memories and her heart within her.
By evening, Yim returned with her belongings. She gathered everyone and showed them a photograph of her family. Sitting around her, they listened as she pointed to each figure in the picture and introduced them.
But when she spoke her mother's name, Grandmother's heart nearly froze.
Yim said softly:
"This is my mother… Koye."
Grandmother knew that name. She had heard it once before, from Talotkan herself. Long ago, it was said that Yim's entire family had perished in a fire. And only a few days later, Talotkan had whispered that a certain Lady Koye had once helped her.
---
Flashback.
That stormy day when Talotkan had first come to Yim's house in the heavy rain…
After helping the fainted Yim, she had begun tidying up the home. That was when she stumbled upon a family photograph. A shiver had run down her spine...those very faces, she had seen them in her visions of the dead. In that moment, Talotkan realized the meaning: her own death was drawing near.
And then, behind her, a voice echoed.
The voice of Lady Koye.
Terrified, Talotkan hid behind the sofa. Her body trembled, her mind screamed, her soul felt crushed under an invisible weight. Her throat tightened, strangling her voice....no scream could escape, even her breath was trapped.
There she was. The pale-faced Lady Koye, suspended in the air like a ghostly apparition, her presence chilling the storm-darkened room.
Talotkan recalled Grandmother's words: "If you see a spirit, place a white flower before it. The spirit will find peace near you."
Summoning every shred of courage, Talotkan placed the white flower she had brought for Yim before Koye's spirit. Closing her eyes tight, she prayed.
When she opened them, Koye was still there...but no longer ghastly, no longer monstrous. She seemed almost… human.
---
Time passed. The candles flickered dimly in the quiet house.
On the sofa's corner sat a trembling Talotkan, her knees hugged close, her wide eyes never leaving Koye.
And Koye.....though she bore the air of a spirit....spoke like a human.
It was no mistake. From that day forward, Talotkan believed Lady Koye was not a ghost, but a person of flesh and blood.
As Koye spoke of Yim...of her pain, her suffering, her loneliness.....Talotkan's fear slowly melted away.
Koye revealed the truth:
On Yim's birthday, a child had been playing with candles. One fell, and flames devoured the house. Yim's family and several others perished in that inferno.
And the blame… it fell upon Yim.
Since that day, Yim carried the burden of guilt, living in isolation. At such a young age, she had learned to cook for herself, to care for herself, to survive on her own.
"We," Koye said, her voice trembling, "we all perished. Yet, even as spirits, we have guarded our child. But never.....never once.....have I seen anyone look at Yim with true compassion. Until you, Talotkan."
"That is why I ask you.....teach her how to live. Show her that moving forward is necessary."
---
And on that day at the bridge, when Talotkan placed a white flower down, Yim thought it was for her.
But it wasn't.
It was for Koye.....who was standing right beside them.
---
From the day Talotkan returned home, she began writing letters.
One by one, she tucked them away into a small box.
A letter for Yim.
A letter for Phop Rak.
A letter for her mother.
A letter for her father.
A letter for Grandmother.
And even letters for Koye.....letters filled with stories, with thoughts, with fragments of Yim's childhood.
Writing them brought her peace. In those moments, she seemed almost joyous, as if she were not writing letters at all, but leaving behind her very will of life.
Every day, she poured herself into Yim's world.....teaching her, talking with her, making her laugh, showing her what love was, reminding her of what life truly meant.
And Grandmother, too, gave her strength.
---
And when Talotkan, for the last time, had whispered to Yim:
"Yim… you know, death is very beautiful."
It wasn't meant for Yim.
It was for Koye, who stood unseen beside her.
What Yim heard was only half the truth.
For silently, Talotkan had added:
"My death will bring a beautiful change… for Yim."
And with that…
she departed.
Forever.
Flashback end