On that day, the sky hung low and dull grey, as if this small town were being swallowed by a long silence. Slowly, the rain began to fall, soaking the shop rooftops, cracked streets and withered leaves.
A black cat sat quietly behind a weathered shop sign, its eyes fixed on the rain. Time passed quietly. Seconds passed by the tip of her occasionally twitching tail, but nothing really caught her attention. It's not just the sound of traffic or the faint scent of food from the store. The world was moving, but to her everything felt flat and monotonous. There wasn't anything that seemed particularly tempting to approach, and nothing that seemed important enough to investigate.
She just sat there as if waiting for something. Not a mouse or a piece of leftover meat, but something bigger. It was inexplicable, but she felt a faint tremor in his chest—a hope that her lonely life would soon change.
This loneliness had long resided within her, like a shadow that never truly left. Each time her eyes met a human's gaze, a flicker of hope would rise. She longed to express something—not just meow, but truly speak.
But to the world, she was still just a cat. Her voice was heard only as a simple meow—amusing, annoying, or easily ignored. The world was far too loud to hear the voice of a small creature's heart like her.
She no longer knew how long she had been waiting. Time had slipped quietly past her, like the rain that had just faded into silence. The air still held the tender scent of damp earth, soft and familiar. At last, the cat rose to her feet, her movements slow, almost reluctant, and began to walk—her small paws tracing a quiet path along the empty sidewalk.
As she turned into an unfamiliar corner of the street, something small and moving caught her eye. A tiny chick was wandering alone among the damp grass, its golden-yellow feathers glistening softly beneath the overcast light. The cat narrowed her gaze. For some reason, the little creature captivated her. Perhaps it was the bright color, or the way it walked—funny, a little nervous, and oddly charming.
Without a second thought, she gave chase. And just like that, a quiet game of tag began. They dashed through narrow alleys, leapt over slick stones, circled around rusted iron poles. Her breath grew heavier, her steps less steady, but she didn't stop. For the first time in a long while, the world felt a little more alive.
Until, at last, the chick vanished into the brush.
The cat came to a halt, panting, and only then did she realize—she had strayed far from where she began. The old shop was nowhere in sight, the sounds of the city had faded, and around her now stretched an open field, lined with tall trees and rows of weathered gravestones.
She was lost… in a cemetery. And now, she truly had no idea where she was.
Her steps grew unsteady, breath shallow and ragged. Her small chest rose and fell in quick bursts, and her body felt unbearably heavy, as if a weight had settled upon her. All the energy spent in that short, frantic chase had drained from him completely.
The cat was on the verge of collapse.
With the last of her strength, she dragged herself to the center of the cemetery—a quiet place she didn't recognize. The gravestones stood in solemn stillness, many of them cloaked in moss and damp leaves. But one stood out—clean, polished, almost luxurious, as if refusing to blend in with the gloom around it.
That was where the cat chose to lie down. She might have been a stray, but that didn't mean she had to sleep somewhere filthy, she thought. Her fur might be black, but she still had standards.
She let out a soft meow, just to make sure she was still conscious, then slowly closed her eyes. Her heart, once racing, began to quiet. And little by little, her body started to relax.
But in that very moment, something began to change.
Mist began to creep between the gravestones—thin, cold, and nearly silent. The air grew heavy, and the colors of the world seemed to fade.
But the cat didn't notice. She was too tired to care. The mist might carry nightmares... or perhaps something stranger. But for now, she just wanted to sleep.
Time passed once more. She didn't know how many hours had slipped away, but when she opened her eyes, the sky had changed. The orange glow of dusk had long vanished, replaced by a deepening twilight blue. A soft night breeze drifted past, carrying the damp scent of graveyard earth and the faint whisper of frangipani blossoms brushing against one another.
The cat opened her eyes and stretched slowly, limbs extending with lazy, half-drowsy movements. She rose to her feet, still groggy—but something felt different. The air around her was colder than before, and the silence of the night held a strange, unnatural weight.
Just as she prepared to leap down from the gravestone, a faint sound reached her ears—soft, almost imperceptible, coming from behind the stone. The fine hairs along her back stood on end.
From the shadows of a tall monument, a figure began to drift into view. It hovered gently above the ground, its form nearly transparent, illuminated by a pale light that glowed faintly from below. Its eyes, glowing red like embers, should have been frightening—yet instead, they seemed… innocent.
They stared at each other, both wide-eyed with surprise.
"AHHHHH!" A scream and a startled meow collided in the night air, echoing through the old gravestones.
After the scream, everything fell silent again—a strange kind of silence, like the air itself was holding its breath.The cat stood frozen atop the gravestone, ears perked, tail twitching with unease. Her eyes locked onto the figure before her, unblinking.
It was… a ghost. A real one.
Its body hovered, half-transparent, long hair drifting gently as though stirred by a wind that came from nowhere. But the most striking part was its eyes—glowing red, not with menace, but with the look of a child who'd just been woken from a long afternoon nap.
Silence...
Neither of them moved. The cat was too confused to flee, and the ghost seemed just as awkward. Minutes passed without a sound. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath for them.
At last, the ghost slowly raised one hand and gave a hesitant little wave.
"U-um… hi?" she said softly, her voice trembling just a little. "What are you doing here?"
The cat remained silent, still watching her warily.
"It's been such a long time since I've seen anything alive pass through here…" she continued, her voice carrying the tone of someone who'd spent far too long talking only to themselves. "Usually it's just the wind… and insects."
The ghost gave a small smile, trying to seem friendly.
"What's your name?"
The cat blinked slowly, slightly confused, but something in her voice made her hesitate to leave. She didn't speak. She understood every word that left her lips—somehow, her voice entered her mind directly, clear and gentle. But she couldn't answer. Not with words. Her mouth could only meow, and that frustrated her deeply.
She tried to gesture with her paw, moved her tail slowly, dipped her head, then lifted one front paw… but it all felt ridiculous. There was no real way to express what she felt. Every effort fell flat.
She lowered her head.
The clarity of the night began to blur in her eyes as the familiar weight of loneliness returned—always following her, no matter where she went. The world had always been too busy to notice her, and now, even when someone finally tried to speak to her, she couldn't answer.
The ghost watched her quietly, her eyes soft, as if she could sense a fragment of the uncertainty stirring within her. She floated a little closer, then sat gently on the gravestone across from her, hands resting neatly in her lap.
"It's okay," she said softly. "If you can't answer, that's okay. I can understand."
She gave a faint smile, then added,
"My name is Aya. I… well, I guess you already know. I'm a ghost. But I'm not scary."
Her eyes lifted briefly to the sky before returning to the cat.
"It's been such a long time since I talked to anyone. Just meeting you… it already makes me happy."
The cat looked up slowly. There was something in her voice—not fear, not pity, but something achingly familiar. Loneliness. Just like her own.
In the silence, she gave a slow nod. Now she understood. Even though they came from different worlds, they walked through the same shadows.
Gradually, she began to relax. She looked at Aya with a gentler gaze and, with a small motion, sat down. Maybe, for the first time, she felt truly understood—even without saying a single word.
Seeing that, Aya's eyes lit up with a faint sparkle. She took a breath—one she didn't really need—and began to speak.
"I've... been here a long time," she said softly. "Maybe two centuries. Maybe more. I stopped counting after everything got quieter."
The sound of the night wind slipped between the gravestones, as if it, too, was listening.
"This place used to have visitors. They brought flowers, whispered prayers… sometimes children played hide and seek among the stones. But now, even the grass grows wild. No one comes anymore."
She looked up at the sky, then lowered her gaze with a distant look in her eyes.
"I've almost forgotten what people looked like. Faces, smiles, laughter… they're all fading from my memory."
Aya let out a small laugh, but there was sadness woven into it.
"The funny thing is—I don't even know what I look like anymore. Every time I try to see myself in a puddle, there's nothing. Just the water trembling... like I was never really there at all."
She looked at the cat, her gaze deep and unwavering.
"But... you can see me. And hear me. That's... more than enough."
The cat blinked slowly. Somehow, her heart felt warm. She understood what it meant to be something the world had forgotten.
Aya fell silent for a moment, her eyes cast downward. The air around them grew colder, as if it, too, was absorbing the pain her memory had stirred back to life.
"Before I became... like this," she whispered, "I went through something painful."
The cat looked up, her eyes filled with quiet attention.
"I was just a teenager then. Still too young to understand how cruel the world can be. One night, I was chased by a group of boys—strangers, with eyes full of something dark. I didn't know why they chose me. But I knew I had to run."
Her voice trembled, but she continued.
"I ran without direction, guided only by instinct. My legs and body were trembling, but I didn't dare stop. Eventually, I ended up here."
She took a deep breath—one she no longer needed.
"I remember their laughter behind me, getting closer. And ahead of me, there was only darkness and a steep cliff. I had no choice. I knew what would happen if I let them catch me."
Aya looked at the cat, her eyes dim and distant.
"So I jumped."
Silence followed. Only the sound of wind rustling through leaves filled the space between them.
"But fate... fate can be cruel. I didn't fall all the way. My body caught on a thick branch. My head hit something hard, and everything went dark."
The cat lowered her head, as if the pain in her voice echoed inside her too.
"My body was found a week later. People only knew because there was a report… and ironically, it was them—the ones who did it. They stood among the crowd who discovered me, pretending to be concerned while hiding those wicked smiles."
Aya brushed the air in front of her face, though no tears could fall.
"I thought that after I died, I'd be at peace. But the injustice and the ruin of it all... it clung to me too tightly. Maybe that's why I'm still here."
She hugged her knees, floating just a little off the ground. Her voice grew quieter, like someone speaking more to herself than anyone else.
"After I died, I thought… it would all be over. But it wasn't. I couldn't do anything. I was just… here."
She lifted her hand, staring through it faintly, then lowered her gaze.
"I don't know what happened to them—the ones who did it. But I'm sure… if no one ever stopped them, they must've gone on hurting others. Maybe another girl. Maybe more than one..."
Aya fell silent for a long moment, then gently closed her eyes.
"I can't take revenge. I can't speak out. I can't even cry. All I can do is pray—pray that no one else ends up like me."
She looked around at the growing rows of gravestones.
"This place holds me. My grave was the very first one here. After that, they came—one by one. Each with their own story, their own end. But unlike me, they carried no grudges. No wounds that lingered so deep."
Aya smiled faintly, though her eyes remained empty.
"They came to me, greeted me, shared their stories. Then slowly, they left—ascending to the sky. To a place more peaceful than this. Maybe... maybe they had already made peace with their lives."
"But me? I'm still here. I don't know how to let all of this go. I don't know... how to forgive everything that happened."
She looked at the cat, who still sat silently, listening with quiet patience.
"Sometimes I wonder—maybe those men are dead too. But even their deaths... they didn't change anything inside me. The wound is still there."
Aya drew a long breath, though her lungs had long ceased to live.
"I guess... that's all," she said softly. "I don't remember much anymore. Just blurry fragments. But that story... it's enough to explain why I'm still here."
She lowered her gaze, letting the silence wrap around her. The cat watched her for a long time, her eyes filled with something no words could describe. Something warm stirred in her chest. She knew there were no words she could offer. No real embrace she could give.
But... if only she could.
If only she could, she would hug Aya.
She would say that even if the whole world no longer mattered, at least she was here. With her.
With slow steps, the cat approached. Not in a hurry, just wanting to show she wouldn't leave. She sat beside Aya, then pressed her warm body against the ghost's cold side.
Aya was startled for a moment, then smiled. She stroked the cat's head with a gentle motion, like mist brushing over still water.
"Thank you…" she whispered, gazing at the night sky sprinkled with faint stars. "I thought… this loneliness would never change."
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the unfamiliar sense of peace wash over her.
"Maybe… someday, I'll be able to let go of all the doubt in my heart. Maybe."
And that night, in the silence of a nearly forgotten cemetery, two fragile souls found each other.
Not to erase the pain, but to heal it—slowly, together.