West: The Sun From Another Star

I calmed down a bit after talking to Direk. At least it helped me regain some composure, no longer firmly believing that the person the child was talking to was my mother. Besides, there isn't just one person named Emma in the world. If my mother were still alive, why wouldn't she come looking for Direk or me? 

 

Moreover, the child was speaking to Emma in Thai, but my mother doesn't speak Thai.

Because the Donut incident and the child's incident happened almost simultaneously, I was disoriented for a while before I could return to normal. I didn't ask any questions, didn't care about the child, and completely forgot about Emma, ​​returning to my boring life as before.

 

Direk might be a little better than me at accepting his mother's death. Direk is almost certain that she's gone, but I'm only half-convinced. I don't know why, but I'm still vulnerable about it because I don't believe strangers who say she's gone. And honestly, I don't know how trustworthy those fortune tellers Direk went to were. Why would I let a complete stranger tell me she's no longer here?

 

My mind still longs for my mother to be alive, even though I know it's impossible. I want to see her, to talk to her, but that's out of the question. So I don't want to think about it, I try to forget it and remind myself that it can't happen anymore. But sometimes, I still yearn for a glimmer of hope. It's a terrible contradiction.

 

It feels like I haven't yet accepted the truth. If I could accept it, perhaps it would be easier to deal with this. Furthermore, my encounter with the ghost only reinforced my belief that the dead still existed. Even though I knew my mother was gone, I still didn't want to believe it. And ultimately, I still hoped that the Emma the child was talking to was my mother.

 

The truth seems to be right before my eyes, yet I can still deceive myself. Every time I dream about my mother, I keep thinking she's still alive, even though it's just a dream. Dreams are just our thoughts, after all.

 

I disappeared for three days to heal emotionally in Bali, and I've just returned to Thailand. I guess I'm going to get a good scolding, but oh well, at least I'm much better now. But who exactly is Emma that kid was talking about? Let me curse her out once. There are millions of names; why choose one that's the same as my mother's? I thought about this so much that I smoked a lot, to the point where I felt like half my lungs were going to die before I felt any better.

 

I dragged my weary body back from surfing in Bali, went into the apartment, put away my things, and then went outside to knock on the door of the apartment next door. After a while, the previous owner opened the door.

 

"Who is Emma?"

It didn't answer, its face blank.

 

"Never mind, but if you're going to talk to her, call her by a different name."

 

"Why so?"

"I don't know, just call me whatever you like, just don't call herEmma."

 

"...Did you hear that?"

 

"YES."

 

"When?"

 

"The other day."

 

"Oh, it's too late now."

 

"What's up?"

 

"Nothing." That's all he answered, then he tried to close the door, but I reached out to stop it. He looked at me, bewildered, then looked back at me again.

 

"You can't change the name, Emma is Emma, ​​we've been calling her that for a long time."

 

"How long has it been? When?"

 

"It's been a long time."

 

"How long? How many years?"

 

"Since I was a child."

 

Ah, just as I thought, it wasn't Mom. Luckily, I regained my composure; if I had been certain it was Mom and then been disappointed, I would have been miserable.

 

"So who is Emma? A wandering ghost?"

 

"Just you."

 

"You or a ghost?"

 

"Friend."

 

"She’s just a figment of my imagination?"

 

"YES."

 

"Huh?"

 

"Well, she’s just an imaginary friend."

 

"Oh my God, really?"

 

"YES."

 

What the hell is this? His face doesn't look like he's joking or lying; he's completely serious. It wouldn't be strange if your imaginary friend were a child, but you're already this old.

 

"Did you really see it?"

 

"That's strange, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah, that's strange, I knew it."

 

"So what if I know?"

 

"Help me out a bit."

 

"Are not."

 

"I'll buy you a drink."

 

"No need, if I have money, I can buy it myself."

 

"That's really annoying." I cursed without thinking. Look at him, his face cold, slow, like a dead fish. His eyes are completely emotionless. What kind of person is this? "Help me."

 

"I'm not free."

 

"How heartless! Is it because of that guy's business?"

 

"YES."

 

"Damn it, I'm getting annoyed. I can't even ask for permission politely." I muttered irritably. Can I hit him? He seemed about to close the door again, so I pulled it open and shoved him inside. Of course, he couldn't resist my strength. The landlord was starting to look uncomfortable with me entering his room.

 

"Are you planning to use force?" he asked. 

 

"What good would hitting me do?"

 

"Do I look like that kind of person?"

 

"YES."

 

"Yeah, you always slam the door in my face. What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

“…”

 

"Help or not help? If you don't help, I'll have North come talk to you."

 

"Cheating," it said, its face contorted.

 

"So what?"

 

"What kind of help?"

 

"You can talk to ghosts, right?" I asked. It nodded in response, "How good is your sense of perception?"

 

"Um... I don't know, who do you want me to talk to?"

 

"Mom."

 

"Please talk to my mother for me."

 

“…is she still there?” he asked.

 

"Don't know."

 

"Huh?"

 

"That's why I wanted to ask for your help."

 

"What if she's no longer here?"

 

"At least I'll be able to give it up."

 

He was silent for a moment, saying nothing. It's not that I often ask for favours from others, but I've made up my mind. I've thought it through during my three days in Bali. I'm determined to find my mother on my own. If I find her, that's great; if not, it's time to accept the truth and cut ties. Going to a fortune teller or a palm reader, as Direk did, I don't know if they're trustworthy. From what Direk told me, no two people said the same thing.

 

"How about this afternoon?"

 

"Why not now?"

 

"There's an urgent matter."

 

"YES."

 

"Hmm." That was all it answered. I went back to my room, calmly accepting my decision while I waited. I sat there, bracing myself for the possible outcome, but I had to admit my faith leaned toward the idea that my mother was still there.

 

I called North when I remembered.

(Hello.)

 

"North, you can trust your friends, right?"

(Who is it? I don't just have one friend.)

 

"It's the person in the room next to mine."

(What is it, sir? What's going on?)

 

"That guy who sees ghosts has a sixth sense."

 

(Oh, okay, that guy isn't a liar. When he was helping with Min's case, didn't he see it too? He could talk to the ghost in the room, describe what the criminal was wearing, and even what short hair they had.)

 

"Did he lie to me?"

(What? No, I just said it, he's not the kind of person who would lie.)

 

"How strong is its sensory ability? Can it see all the spirits?"

 

(I don't know, but he once said his senses weren't that strong.)

 

"Well, is he trustworthy?"

(What do you believe?)

 

"Choose one."

(Hey, what's going on? I don't even know what's happening.)

 

"He's not lying, is he?"

 

(Yeah, he’s not lying, but his fortune-telling is really accurate. Do you want to change your luck?)

 

"No, talking to you is just nonsense."

(Hey, what's that?)

 

I hung up the phone after talking to North. At least I believe he won't lie to me. If he doesn't actually find it, then I'll have to find another way. Anyway, I've made up my mind; I want to try finding it myself one more time.

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

I'm a little nervous about agreeing to help Thit. Although I don't want to get too involved, I can't refuse. If he tells North to come talk to him, I can't refuse either.

 

Talking to Mom...

 

"Isn't it true that you can't feel anything? How are we supposed to talk then?" Emma's voice rang out. I turned to see her sitting on the bed, watching me as I packed up my things to go to the cafe to work, wanting a change of scenery.

 

"Yeah, but I didn't take the necklace off," I said.

 

"What if it wasn't Mom, but someone else?"

 

"Well, that's what I'll say."

 

'It's possible Mom is somewhere, anywhere in the world.'

 

"Yeah, that's right." I put on my backpack and left the room, riding my motorbike to my usual coffee shop. Looking at my watch, it was already 2 PM. I started working, and when I checked my phone again, it was already 7 PM. Every time I work, I lose track of time. Someone just added me to LINE and sent me lots of messages.

 

Thit: Is it evening already?

It's already 6 o'clock.

Oh, it's already 6:30.

It's already 7 o'clock. What day is it?

Hey, you won't open the door even when I knock.

Are you planning to cancel our date?

Although his profile picture doesn't show his face, judging by his LINE name, he's definitely a cigarette seller.

 

ss: Where did you get my LINE information?

Thit: From North. So what happens next?

ss: The work isn't finished yet.

Thit: YES. How much longer?

ss: Probably…

That's a long time.

Can it be postponed?

Thit: Are not.

I waited, and now this...

Where are you?

ss: Where?

Thit: Where is it?

ss: Starbucks.

Thit: Behind the school, right?

ss: No. At branch __.

Thit: That's really far. Do I need to do more?

ss: Not much.

Thit: Can't you see it?

ss: It's hard to explain. I need more information. I've also never met his mother before.

Thit: YES. Wait a minute, I'll be right there.

ss: Over here?

 

I put the phone down. A moment later, the cigarette vendor was sitting opposite me. He was slightly wet, so I looked out the window and noticed it was raining. He casually ran his hand through his wet hair, his face looking dishevelled as he looked at me.

 

"So, can we talk now?"

 

"Yeah, sure," I replied, though my eyes were still glued to the drawing on the computer screen, my hand holding the pen on the drawing board to complete the lines. If I weren't thinking about work, I could have chatted while I worked.

 

"North said you saw a woman standing behind me."

 

"When?"

 

"At some kind of party, they said the two of them video called each other."

 

"Mew already asked, but I said I was just joking," I answered honestly; I was just teasing North to scare him, not thinking I'd be asked a second time.

 

"Are you kidding, or are you just not telling the truth?"

 

"Just kidding."

 

"Really?"

 

"There's no reason to lie."

 

"Maybe you don't want to connect, or you want to save face for others?"

 

"Do I have to save face for you?" I said in my usual calm voice, without turning to look at him.

 

"Yeah, no need, that's such a hassle."

 

"Okay," I nodded slightly, "Let's ask for a few more details."

 

"What's up?"

 

"How did she die?"

 

"Cancer."

 

"When?"

 

"It's been seven years."

 

“…” 

I remained silent, not answering, thinking for a moment. Seven years already? So much time has passed. “Have you ever asked anyone else, like a fortune teller, for example?”

 

"Yes, they said its lifespan has ended, and they couldn't find it."

 

"Couldn't find it?"

 

"Yes, why?"

 

"Why can't we find it?"

 

"How would I know?"

 

"Yeah, they said their lifespan was over. Why don't you believe them?"

 

"I don't believe it."

 

"So you believe me?"

 

“At least North said I can trust you, but I don’t know if the others I asked are trustworthy.” He said, taking a sip of his latte. 

 

“How good is your intuition? North said your intuition isn’t very strong, didn’t he?”

 

"Ah." I nodded slightly.

 

I've told people this before, but, as I said, if I'm still wearing the bracelet, it's the one that holds back my senses. Because I'm too lazy to see or feel those energies. I can only see people whose spiritual waves match mine, even though I'm still wearing the bracelet. For example, I can often see Donut even though I'm wearing the bracelet. But Aeng, Praw, Cream, and the others in the room have to take their bracelets off to see them.

 

"No, I didn't tell North."

 

"Did you really feel a strong sensation?"

 

"Yes... that's right," I replied in a low voice. Mrs Phuangthong had once said that I had a very strong sense of perception, including the strange ability to read other people's emotions.

 

"It also said you can read other people's minds, right?"

 

"...Ah, yes." I nodded.

 

"So? You can read minds?"

 

"No, it's just emotions, emotions that people don't show."

 

"Ah." He nodded slightly, "Don't try to read my emotions."

 

"I'm not going to read it," I replied.

 

I don't like reading other people's emotions because it bothers me. Besides, it's not that easy; it requires focusing on the person, and worse, I end up feeling the same way they do. The last time I read an emotion was Olin's, the one who killed Donut, and I felt terrible for her all day. It made me realise how guilt can gnaw at a suffering heart. Even though I'm not usually very sensitive about it, Olin's sensitivity affected me, too.

 

"So what? Did you see? Was anyone with me?" He got straight to the point.

 

I'd love to see it too, but I don't want to quit my job right now. If I stop, it will be hard to regain the motivation to continue working.

 

"I'll finish it first."

 

"Yeah," he said, sounding rather displeased.

 

I ignored him and returned to focusing on my 

work, which took about half an hour before I could take a short break. After I finish the outlines, I'll continue colouring tomorrow.

 

"Is it finished?"

 

"Yes." I nodded and took the bracelet off my left hand, and the suffocating feeling returned immediately. Wandering spirits outside, a person crying across the street, three spirits fighting over offerings near the shop. Especially in the city centre like this, spirits are everywhere.

 

"What?" he asked, frowning.

 

“What is your mother like?” I asked, as there were about two women walking back and forth in the cafe. Even though I was downstairs, I could still sense their presence. Therefore, I didn’t want to take off my bracelet. The person I asked didn’t answer; he handed me a photograph. I looked at the picture for a moment; it was a woman I thought might be a foreigner.

 

"Do not have."

 

"What?"

 

“No… his mother is here,” I answered truthfully, then took a deep breath and immediately put on the bracelet. I felt much more at ease because my feelings were so strong that they made me uncomfortable whenever I encountered them.

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes, I've seen it," I replied.

 

But suddenly something struck me because I'd only glanced at it earlier without focusing much. But then again, what if his mother didn't want me to see? I took off the bracelet again and closed my eyes. Actually, I don't do this often because it's tiring, and I've never felt the need to concentrate so hard to search for spirits. But since I promised to help, I had to do my best.

 

It seems my attempts to find her stirred up a wave of spirits, and they began to sense me. A few tried to approach, but I didn't care. I sensed a few more, but not his mother. I opened my eyes and put the bracelet back on, taking a deep breath to regain my focus. I gasped for breath a little and shook my head.

 

"You look pale, are you alright?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

 

"It's alright. There really isn't anyone following you."

 

"Sigh." He sighed.

 

"Um," I replied, nodding in response. Then I reached for my glass of water to drink, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

 

"So if they don't follow me, who will they follow?"

 

“…”

 

"Maybe they're with my dad, or somewhere else. They could go anywhere, right?"

 

“If that’s the case, then we have to search everywhere she might have gone. But actually, she couldn’t have gone far; she could only have gone to places connected to people or places she was attached to,” I replied. Mrs Phuangthong had said that. The dead often stay with people, places, or things they were attached to when they were alive. And the most likely place is where they died.

 

"How is that related? Like, do you like travelling?"

 

"No, it's their home or the place where they used to live."

 

"Home?"

 

"YES."

 

“Ah…” He paused for a moment, then sighed. I guessed he didn’t want me to go to his house. Actually, I didn’t want to go either. “Yeah, it’s come to this point. Could you help me out a little more?”

 

“…”

 

"Why stay silent?"

 

"Actually… Um… Can I answer no?"

 

"No," he said. I sighed, as I had expected. I nodded in agreement.

 

"Do you have time tomorrow?" he asked.

 

"Are not."

 

"Day after tomorrow?"

 

"Learn."

 

"Saturday?"

 

"That should work."

 

"Yeah, next Saturday. I'll bring her home."

 

"Um... Uh," I replied before getting up from the table to return to my apartment. But when I got outside, I found that the rain hadn't stopped and showed no sign of stopping.

 

"How are you getting around?" The cigarette vendor stepped out of his shop and stood beside me, then asked.

 

"Motorbike."

 

"So you're planning to go home in the rain?"

 

"YES."

 

"Will you come back with me?"

 

"This is in return for the favour you did me."

 

"So what about your motorbike?"

 

"Leave it here, it won't get lost."

 

“…”

 

"It's up to you."

 

"Okay, I'll wait until the rain stops."

 

"Okay." He shrugged indifferently and walked out of the cafe area. I went back to the cafe, ordered another drink, and opened my laptop to continue working. Soon, it was almost midnight. Luckily, this branch was open 24 hours, so both the cafe and the surrounding area were quiet.

 

I sat on the second floor, my eyes scanning the street below. Since the rain had stopped, I decided to go home. I went downstairs, got on my motorbike, and rode back to the dorm at about 40 km/h. North often complains that I drive slowly, which is true because I don't understand why I need to drive fast. If I'm in a hurry, I just need to get out of the dorm faster than usual.

 

But North drives really fast. He says he used to be a car-obsessed kid. Even though I know he's just joking, it sounds quite convincing. North even used to take my motorbike, Putchaman, for stunts. Putchaman is the name of my bike, a black Scoopy. Patchaman is the name of a girl born on a Monday, because I bought the bike on a Monday. I haven't finished paying it off yet; I'm still making monthly instalments because I had to give Uncle John money to buy all his things. Speaking of John, I just remembered that my father didn't have time to bring John to visit me either.

 

“Let’s go, Putchaman,” I said, stroking the car’s dashboard before starting and slowly driving off. The cool evening breeze in Chiang Mai felt pleasant. Actually, I’m not from here. I’m from Tak, don’t ask who Tak is. Don’t play tricks like North; I don’t want to play.

 

It took me a while to get back to my room. I took off my backpack and put my things in their designated place, then went to the bathroom to shower and get ready to rest. Cream was in the bathroom too. She seemed to have calmed down after our conversation about K-pop artists. Actually, if I had the time, I would burn Cream's phone so she could immerse herself in the fandom in peace. But right now, I don't have much time.

 

I wasn't a huge fan before, but now I have to keep up with the news to tell Cream. Gradually, I've been "forced" to memorise the fandom's songs. Well, it's fun though. If there's a concert next year and I can get tickets in time, I'll go. As I said, I've been to many concerts, not only of K-pop artists but also of many other groups. I think live music is the best, so I always go, even though it can sometimes be dangerous because my hearing might be affected.

 

As for Aeng and Praw, they continued their nightly suicide attempts as usual, and Donut was no longer in my room, which was good because I hated the sound of scratching nails. Actually, contact with spirits worried Phuangthong greatly because it was something we shouldn't do. If they had bad intentions, they could easily harm us because we had come into contact with them. But since I didn't see any ill intentions from the people in this room, I wasn't too worried.

 

My dad keeps complaining that I'm not very careful with myself, and that might be true. Actually, I don't really care much. After showering, I was getting ready for bed. Suddenly, I received a notification on Line, and when I opened it, I stopped because of a message.

 

☁️: I'll be back in two months.

I'm going back to Thailand soon!

Don't block me

Even if you block me, I'll just create a new account.

 

There was no profile picture, but I knew who it was from the Line username. The message made my heart sink. What did the phrase "I'll be back in two months" mean...?

 

But I didn't click on that message; I blocked it again. Just create a new account and keep blocking. I can block them forever. Which is easier: creating new accounts or blocking?

 

'Michael, are you okay?'

 

"Fine."

 

'I knew it wasn't okay. This is the third line already.'

 

"YES."

 

'Why did he do that? Why did he come back? Why is he trying to contact me again?'

 

"That's right."

 

'Smoking again? Smoking too much will only lead to addiction.'

 

"I won't get addicted again, I told you already, I don't like the smell of cigarettes."

 

'But Michael said this smells good.'

 

"Yeah, it smells good, I don't know, maybe it's because of the imported medicine, and it must be expensive too," I said, then laughed mockingly.

'Michael…'

 

"I don't know, will he really come back? There are only two months left. What should I do? Should I apply for a scholarship? Or should I run away?"

 

'Then run away, stay as far away from him as possible.'

 

"YES."

 

I can't deny that my heart is pounding for him. It's pounding just thinking about his face and his voice. I've told myself a million times to forget him, but I can't. Emma understands that, too, but she just doesn't say it because she promised not to come back. That promise to Emma is no different from a promise to myself, because Emma is also a part of my thoughts. I thought I was getting better, but as soon as he came back, everything went back to square one.

 

I lit a cigarette and smoked after several days without smoking. I didn't want to relapse into smoking; I'd quit a long time ago, and it seemed like a good sign, but unexpectedly, I found myself relying on it again, and this time, it was imported, expensive cigarettes.

 

I stepped out onto the balcony and looked up at the moon. I exhaled a puff of grey smoke, obscuring its pale light, then turned away, looking elsewhere. I hate the moon. Because I once considered him my moon. He used to be as warm as the morning sun, as melodious as an R&B song on a rainy day, and as sweet as a caramel macchiato.

 

That's funny...

How much I loved him before.

So in love that you can't see anything else.

 

I sighed and inhaled the smoke, savouring the faint, sweet scent until the cigarette burned out. I was afraid I'd become addicted, just like I was starting to get addicted now, and I didn't like myself at all. Whether it was beer or cigarettes, they were both proof that I still remembered him, which was why I had to rely on them.

 

I put out my cigarette, watching the red light fade. I looked into the darkness before me. Luckily, the rain had stopped, and I was sure I would have gotten even more bogged down. I told myself it was perhaps time to go to bed.

 

After that, I went back to bed and tossed and turned for a while, unable to fall asleep. So, I got up and worked until morning. All morning, I only managed to snatch a few moments of sleep after working all night. In the afternoon, when I woke up, I decided to leave the room to do something else.

 

I got another tattoo after some planning. The white eagle, a symbol of my father, took a long time to complete but was finally finished in one go. Now, the upper part of my arm is covered with another new tattoo. Looking at my tattoo in the shop mirror, when asked if I liked it, I of course had to say yes. And importantly, I wanted more tattoos; it felt like I already had something, but I still wanted more. I started thinking about choosing my next tattoo.

 

I took Putchaman (the name of my motorbike) out of the tattoo shop and rode around aimlessly. Eventually, I stopped at a shopping mall to watch a movie I didn't like. I sat there bored for over 90 minutes, almost falling asleep several times, but I persevered and watched it to the end.

 

While passing a hair salon, I decided to dye my hair. I wanted to try a less common colour. After a while, my hair turned blue. Looking at myself in the mirror, I looked a little strange, but not bad. I'd never tried blue hair like this before. After paying, I took Putchaman back to his room because it was getting quite dark.

 

"Why did you choose this colour?" Emma asked as soon as I returned to my room with my new look.

 

"What's wrong? I'm always like this."

 

'Not really, Michael only does strange things when he feels stuck, or when his mind isn't focused, sometimes just because he wants to. And if he didn't do it, it probably wouldn't be strange to Michael anymore.'

 

"So strange that it's no longer strange? Do you think you're that strange?"

 

'That's strange, no normal person sleeps in a closet.'

 

“Why not? The wardrobe is dark enough,” I replied, because this morning I had slept in the wardrobe due to the sunlight streaming into the room through the window. And I had nothing to cover my eyes with; a blanket would be too hot, and a blindfold would fall off if I moved. So I decided to sleep in the wardrobe. I like wardrobes, I don’t know why, but I really like them. Isn't it hot?

 

"It's hot, but I opened the door a little to get some fresh air; otherwise, I would have died from lack of oxygen."

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

Today is the day the tobacco salesman arranged for me to come to his house. He asked a little about my hair colour, but I didn't react much; I just gave a vague answer. Maybe Emma was right, my hair really does stand out because everyone stares at me at school. But I really don't understand why they stare at me; it's just hair colour, anyone can change it if they have money and healthy hair.

 

He opened the driver's door of the red sports car; I was a little taken aback, then opened the driver's side door and got in. I buckled my seatbelt, and soon after, the car sped off like a rocket.

 

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked.

 

"What's up?"

 

"Normally, everyone tells me I drive fast."

 

"Yeah, that was quick."

 

"Aren't you afraid?"

 

“No,” I replied, my eyes still fixed on the rapidly changing scenery outside. He was the fastest driver I’d ever ridden with. I used to think Deat drove fast, but this cigarette salesman…it’s hard to describe. When I rode my motorbike, I used to curse fast cars, and he was definitely one of the people I’d wanted to curse.

 

I wasn't afraid because the chances of him and me dying were the same. If he dared to drive like that, it showed he was confident in his driving skills, and so was I. Or maybe he wasn't afraid of dying at all, just like me.

 

A short while later, the car pulled into the parking lot of a large house. I got out when the car came to a complete stop and followed him into the luxurious, modern house. I really liked this house style; I even wished I could design one myself. Maybe I should find time to study house design.

 

"Direk, we've arrived!" the guide called out.

A man about his height, casually dressed, in his early forties, came out. I knew his name was Direk, but I wasn't sure if he was his father or someone else. He walked up, looked at me, and I smiled and waved politely. He smiled back.

"Are you sure you want to do it this way?"

 

"YES."

 

"Yeah, do whatever you want," replied the man named Direk.

 

"Go ahead," the cigarette vendor said, turning around. I nodded slightly, took a deep breath, and removed my bracelet, doing as I had done the day before by focusing my gaze on the person named Direk first. But no one was following him. I shook my head slightly.

 

"Is Direk okay, too?"

 

"Call me properly, we're in front of people," he muttered irritably. I shook my head again in response. No one was following Direk.

 

"What kind of person is he that his wife doesn't want to go with him?"

 

"Speak properly!" Direk slapped the tobacco seller on the head. He turned back and asked me, sounding annoyed.

 

"What do we do now?"

 

"Let's take a walk around," I said, then stepped outside to observe the surroundings.

Meanwhile, I tried my best but still couldn't find the person I thought was his mother. I only encountered a few other people. The cigarette vendor followed me, silently.

 

"Does your mother come here often?"

 

"They come here often."

 

"Where is your room?"

 

"The second floor," he said, then led me up to his mother's bedroom. The room was simply decorated and clean, looking as if someone still lived there, but I couldn't find anyone.

 

"Is there no one here?"

 

"Are not."

 

"Damn it!!" He cursed, clearly very annoyed.

"Search the whole house," I said.

 

He led me around the house, but we still couldn't find any trace of his mother. Looking outside, I saw only a wandering spirit watching from the other side of the fence, unable to get in. When we looked at each other, he looked back at me with astonishment, perhaps surprised that someone could sense his presence. He tried to climb over the fence to get closer to me, but failed.

 

"Is that really true? Mom loved this place so much; she used to come here often."

 

"No," I replied.

 

"Sigh..."

 

"Is this the house where everyone used to live?"

 

"No, I normally live in California, this is my dad's house, but I come here quite often too."

 

"Ah, so she passed away in California, right?"

 

"YES."

 

"Then I guess I'll stay there."

 

“…” 

 

He was silent for a moment before his expression became tense. “Let’s try searching around here first.”

 

"Hmm," I replied. He led me through the other rooms in the house: the living room, the balcony, the terrace, and finally the backyard garden.

 

“…”

 

"What's wrong? What happened?"

 

“…” 

 

I fell silent, trying to use all my senses to search, because no matter how weak the waves or the energy of the soul were, I was sure I would find someone if they were still here. I had also searched until I was exhausted.

 

I sat down on a bench in the small garden, facing a pond and a flower garden. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate as much as possible, but I still couldn't find anyone. Only the scent of memories remained. It's indescribable, but it's strangely warm.

 

"She likes this place."

 

"What?"

 

"Isn't that right, his mother?"

 

"Yeah, how did you know?"

 

"It's hard to explain, just a feeling, the warmth is still there," I said in a tired voice; I felt so exhausted now, almost wanting to fall asleep. 

 

"Did people use to sit and hang out here a lot before?"

 

"Don't try to know too much," he said, sounding rather unhappy, leaning against a nearby tree. "Is it just a feeling left? But where's Mom?"

 

"She's not here anymore."

 

"Really? Where else am I supposed to find my mother?"

 

"We might find something at the place where she passed away."

 

"Do I have to take you back to my hometown?"

 

"If we want to find it, we'll probably have to do that," I said, leaning back in my chair, my eyelids heavy and my throat dry. I guess my face and mouth must have turned pale by now.

 

"Looks like you've been using too much energy, haven't you?" he said.

 

"Probably, let me rest for a bit."

 

"Yes, would you like some water?"

 

"It's good to have water," I replied, then closed my eyes. Due to exhaustion and a lack of control over my senses, I inadvertently perceived the person who had just walked past me's feelings.

 

What is this sharp pain in my heart? I put my hand to my chest as I felt like my heart was about to break. Why is he so sad? On the outside, everything seemed fine, but inside, he was in pain beyond words. And in the quiet, deserted garden, I burst into tears, feeling the pain and heartbreak along with him.

 

“Ugh… *sobbing*” I started to choke up before wiping away my tears haphazardly, but they started flowing again. I couldn’t stop crying. That's why I don't want to feel what other people feel. Because I would feel the same way they do, sharing the same pain.

 

I covered my face with my hands and burst into tears. Did he ever cry? It was like a wound that had been suppressed. Perhaps he had never cried, never told anyone. The wound just kept digging deeper.

 

I'm not someone who cries easily, really not. I also don't understand why I can't stop crying, even though this isn't my problem.

 

'The person who never cries is the one whose wounds have never healed. How pitiful.' Emma's voice echoed in my head.

 

"Uh... huhu... sob..."

 

Ugh, damn it, it's not good to cry just because you feel sad because someone else is.

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

I poured some water into a glass, intending to give it to the boy who had tried to help me find my mother. I don't know why, but he looked exhausted. His face was so pale I thought he might faint. It must not have been easy trying to communicate with spirits like that.

 

"Can we trust this person?" Direk walked in, leaned against the kitchen counter, and asked me.

 

"Of course, he helped with Donut's case last time."

 

"Yeah, what if we don't find it this time?"

 

"Just give up."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah, it's come to this point."

 

"Do we have to take him to California?" Direk asked.

 

“Maybe so. Actually, it’s highly likely Mom will be there,” I said, since the house in California was mine and Direk’s anyway, and Mom was more often there. I didn’t want to move it, but I had no choice.

 

"Fine, do whatever makes you feel comfortable," Direk said, then sighed, glancing out the back window. "Crying?"

 

"Huh?" I frowned suspiciously and looked over. Indeed, the boy was sitting on the old bench, head bowed as if he were about to cry. That only made me more confused. Why would he suddenly cry?

 

"What did you do to him?"

 

"I didn't do anything," I replied, then picked up my glass of water and went over to him. The boy sat on the chair, rubbing his eyes vigorously, then looked up at me, "Crying?"

 

"Yes," he replied, taking the glass of water.

 

"What's wrong? Why are you suddenly crying?"

 

"Older brother."

 

"Huh?"

 

"It's because of you."

 

"How?"

 

"Sorry."

 

"What's wrong with you?"

 

"I'm sorry, I accidentally read your feelings."

 

I was silent for a moment, then suddenly remembered what he had told me—that he could read other people's feelings even when they didn't show them. This immediately angered me, because I didn't like anyone knowing my true feelings. I had told it not to do that before.

 

"Who gave you permission to read my feelings?"

 

"It wasn't intentional."

 

I sighed unhappily, trying to calm myself down. After all, he was trying to help, and scolding him too much wouldn't be good.

 

"Then why are you crying?"

 

"Because I can feel it," he said softly, "Why is it so sad?"

 

"Am I really that sad?"

 

"Yeah, I don't usually cry; this is the first time in years."

 

"Crying for someone else? Are you stupid?"

 

“…”

 

"Just by looking at you, I can tell you're secretly cursing me," I said when I saw the look in his eyes.

 

"Yes, I scolded him."