I see ghosts.
Not the horror movie kind—just lost fragments of people clinging to regrets. Some feed on emotions, others simply wander. The ones that attach to the living are the worst. They stick like parasites, draining a person's spirit until all that's left is exhaustion and despair.
When I pour my spiritual energy into objects, they become repent charms. Simple, handmade things that repel those spirits. I give them away to people I see suffering on the streets or the train.
Most think I'm a fraud. I don't mind. I've never asked for money anyway.
It was a normal evening when I saw her.
In the park, under a broken streetlight, someone was sitting alone on a bench. I could hear quiet sobs carried by the wind.
At first, I thought it was just another ghost. But when I looked closer, I froze.
It was anaya, the class president.
Always perfect—neat hair, crisp uniform, that confident tone teachers love. She was the type of person who made everything look effortless. Yet now, in the dim orange glow, she looked like a fragile human being for the first time.
Before I could stop myself, her name slipped out.
"Anaya?"
She jerked slightly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. In a heartbeat, her usual composed mask returned.
"...Tanmay? What are you doing here?"
"I was heading home," I said, walking closer. "I saw you crying."
Her eyes widened a little. "So you're the type who says it straight, huh? Not even pretending you didn't notice."
"Would that make it better?"
She sighed, almost laughing through her tears. "No. I guess not."
I sat down beside her. The silence between us was awkward but not unbearable. Eventually, she started talking.
There's a guy in our class, nerdy, quiet, the usual type. Turns out, Aizawa had been in love with him for a while. He liked his childhood friend instead. She'd rejected him once, and Aizawa thought that maybe, just maybe, it was her chance.
She helped him change his clothes, his hairstyle, his confidence. Slowly, they started going out, spending weekends together. From the outside, it must've looked perfect.
But last month, she confessed to him.
He said he needed time to think.
And today, he gave her his answer.
The childhood friend had come back to him—said she realized her true feelings. And he... accepted.
As Anaya spoke, I could feel something crawling just over her shoulder—a pale, wormlike spirit coiled around her neck, feeding off her heartbreak. Her aura was dim, flickering. That ghost was drinking it all in.
So that's what happens to the losing heroine after the story ends, huh?
I used to wonder that, reading all those rom-coms. The main couple gets together, credits roll, and the girl who loved in silence just disappears. I never thought I'd see that question answered right in front of me.
When she finished, she looked down at her hands, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I must sound pathetic, huh?"
"No," I said. "Just human."
She blinked. "You really say things that way, don't you?"
I opened my bag and pulled out a small charm. The fabric was faded from being carried around too long, but it still held a faint warmth.
"Here. Take this."
She stared. "A charm?"
"Yeah. Just... think of it as something that'll keep bad things away for a while."
When she touched it, the parasite ghost hissed, then faded into mist. The air felt lighter, and she unconsciously exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. She didn't notice the change, but I did.
"Cheer up," I said quietly. "Life's long. You'll find someone who actually sees you."
She looked up, surprised, as if I'd just said something impossible. Her eyes shimmered with confusion, but also... something softer. Maybe hope.
I stood up and started walking.
Behind me, I heard her voice hesitant, small.
"Tanmay... thank you."
I didn't look back. The night breeze was cool, and when I glanced at the park bench from a distance, the light around her seemed brighter somehow.
As I walked home, I thought about what I'd just witnessed.
Maybe the losing heroines don't vanish after all.
Maybe they just start a different kind of story—
one that isn't written for anyone else.