They reached the end of the bridge together.
Mira slowed, watching the city open into a small park lit by tired lamps. She half-expected Hiyoon to stop walking, to hesitate at some invisible boundary. He didn't.
He exhaled, almost laughing. "You're still here."
"So are you," she replied.
"For now."
She studied him more closely than before, careful not to stare. His outline felt steadier, as if walking beside her had given him weight. That realization unsettled her more than his fading ever had.
"Does staying longer hurt you?" she asked.
Hiyoon considered the question seriously. "It hurts later."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best one I have."
They sat on a bench beneath a tree stripped nearly bare. Leaves skittered across the pavement like restless thoughts.
"Why me?" Mira asked quietly. "Why can I see you when others can't?"
Hiyoon looked down at his hands. "Because you don't cling to memory. You let it go."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
"That's not kindness," she said.
"No," he agreed. "But it makes room."
She didn't reply. Somewhere deep inside, a door she had sealed years ago shifted.
When she looked up again, his face was already less distinct.
"Hiyoon," she said without thinking.
He flinched, just slightly.
"I'm sorry," she added quickly.
He smiled anyway. "It's okay. I just can't stay much longer tonight."
The air between them thinned, stretched.
"Will I remember this?" she asked.
"That depends," he said gently, "on how much you want to."