Had I officially lost the last bit of my mind?
My stomach tightened, and my pulse skipped as I kept staring at him. I couldn’t look away, which felt odd to me. I could always look away from other people. It was one of my greatest skills—avoidance. Yet my eyes seemed glued to him.
He didn’t react to me in the slightest as he stared back. That threw me off, becauseeveryonereacted when they looked at me. But not him. Instead, he slid his hands into the pockets of his black pants, smirked, and said, “Oh. Hi.” His voice was low and even, with a faint rasp, as if it were his first conversation ever with another human being. A shiver slipped down my spine. Not because his voice was scary, but because it seemed familiar. It seemed... sad.
I hated that his sadness felt familiar.
He held up his hand, holding the letters I’d left for my mom. His smile widened, but it didn’t feel like a happy grin. It felt like the type of smile we were trained to do when we interacted with others. It felt flat, and forced, and dry, and still... it was beautiful. “You must be Karla.”
3Karla
I limped over to the stranger and snatched the collection of love letters from his grip. His fingertips briefly brushed against mine, and his touch felt chilled. Like a stone that had been in the shade all day.
My anger took over as I stepped away from him. “How dare you read these!” I barked, my heart pounding wildly against my chest. I felt faint. I felt violated. I felt... ashamed.
Because what kind of freak left love letters for their dead mother?
He held his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t know that letters left in a cemetery were off-limits to be read.”
“Anyone with half a brain would know not to read other people’s letters,” I snapped. I glanced down at the letters and noticed a smudge in the upper right corner from where his thumb had rested. As if he held the letters too tightly. As if he took in every single word.
“Unfortunately, I’m only working with a fourth of a brain,” he replied. I didn’t laugh because he wasn’t funny. He took a step toward me and held a hand out. “Karla. I’m Ashish. Ash for short.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped again. “What were you saying to her?” I asked.
His left eyebrow arched, and he made a clicking sound with his mouth. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to ask the living about their conversations with the dead?”
“Who are you?”
“I told you. I’m Ash.”
Yes, butwhowas he? And why was he at my mother’s tombstone?
“How old are you?” I asked instead.
“Just turned sixteen. You?”
Sixteen? He felt much older than that. Sixteen going on sixty, perhaps. Don’t get me wrong, he looked his age, but he didn’t feel like it. Mom would’ve said he had an old soul, like my father.
“What were you saying to my mom?” I asked again, ignoring his question.
“How old are you?” he repeated.
“None of your business.”
“But I told you my age.”
“That was your choice. Me not telling you is my choice.”
“I respect your choices, Karla. Sadly, me not telling you what I was saying to Nicole is my choice.”
Nicole.
Hearing him say Mom’s name out loud made my body tense up. I hadn’t heard her name spoken in such a long time. I hated it. I loved it, too. That confused me; then again, most feelings confused me. It seemed like emotions had a mind of their own and I was just the body that housed their madness.
I wanted Ash to leave immediately, because I felt like crying. I hadn’t cried in front of others since the accident, and I wouldn’t start that day.
Before I could tell him to leave, he started walking backward on his own. I should’ve looked away and got on with visiting Mom, but I kept staring at Ash as a million questions flew through my head.
