Almost blind | Haobin

57| Chapter of Names |57

It was painfully quiet here-like the world had pressed its fingers to its lips and held its breath. The air inside the columbarium was still, weighed down by a reverent hush, as if the walls themselves were mourning alongside him. The dim lights above barely illuminated the narrow space, casting soft, golden halos on the cold marble floor. It was just past 7 pm, and the last echoes of life had already faded out with the closing doors. No footsteps, no whispered prayers. Just silence... and the faint scent of wilted lilies and wax from half-melted candles.

Hao sat on the ground, knees drawn up slightly, arms draped limply over them as if even gravity had given up pulling him apart. He didn't care that the floor was cold, didn't flinch at the sting that shot through his legs after standing too long. His body was here, grounded by exhaustion, but his mind-his mind was somewhere far off.

In front of him stood a glass niche, polished and quiet, a window into a place where time had stopped. Inside, carefully arranged, were a few simple things: fresh flowers, a candle with a flickering flame, and a photograph of Taerae. That photo. God, that photo. Taerae smiling, eyes soft and kind, like he wasn't carrying the weight of an entire storm inside him. And beside it, the urn-small, delicate, and impossibly still. The final home for a boy who once made every room for Hao feel alive.

Hao's fingers fidgeted in his lap. His reflection wavered in the glass, dim, tired, fractured by the light. He watched himself as if staring at someone he didn't recognize. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the version of himself that still believed in happy endings died with Taerae.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there. Minutes? Hours? Time no longer made sense. It just stretched endlessly, looping around his thoughts like a noose. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," Hao whispered, his voice barely audible, cracking against the silence like glass under pressure. "I should've come the day they brought you here. I should've stayed until they carried you in."

The words stuck in his throat, bitter like burnt sugar. He blinked slowly, eyes burning but stubborn, refusing to let tears fall again. Not yet. Not when he needed to speak.

"I didn't know you were hurting that much," he whispered, fingers now pressed to the glass as if trying to reach through it. "You told him, didn't you? Yujin. You told him what happened. About Julson. About the nights. About how it didn't stop when I left."

He exhaled sharply, chest tightening with guilt that never left, only shape-shifted into new, more unbearable forms.

"You carried it alone after I left. God, Taerae... I left you there," he said, his voice breaking, quiet sobs rising like waves that crashed into his ribs. "I thought I was saving myself, but I left you in hell. And now you're here and I'm-still breathing."

He didn't notice when the first tear fell, only when it hit the floor like a drop of rain in a church. He wiped his face with his sleeve, frustration prickling under his skin.

"I hate that you're gone," he said, his voice rising just a little, laced with that helpless fury that only grief can breed. "I hate that the world kept spinning like nothing happened. That Julson still walks freely and people still talk about him like he's some kind of hero. I hate that I didn't burn that place down when I had the chance."

The candles flickered beside the niche, casting faint shadows across the photograph-Taerae's smile now warped by the flame's trembling light. Hao stared at it for a long moment, silent.

Then, he whispered, "But I promise you this...he won't get away with it. I don't care if I have to drag every secret from the dirt, if I have to scream until someone listens. I'm going to make them hear you. All of you. Every person he silenced."

The resolve in his voice felt foreign, unfamiliar-but necessary. Because if he didn't fight now, he'd become another ghost visiting this room. Just another name behind glass.