BETWEEN ME AND YOU

THE WEIGHT OF RETURNING

It wasn’t a kiss of passion or need... it was something older, a memory rewritten in real time. Their hearts aligned, the warmth between them spreading through the room like sunlight through fog. The taste of him, the faint salt of tears, the way his breath caught when she deepe

ned the kiss... it was everything she didn’t know she’d been missing.

When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t want to wake up,” she whispered.

“You’re not dreaming,” he said. “Not this time.”

But the room began to tremble, frame

s on the walls shaking, the piano keys rattling in their sockets. The light flickered again, thin cracks of mist creeping along the edges of the walls.

Kristine clutched his hand. “Banjo,something’s happening.”

He held her tighter. “It’s the worlds crossing again. Don’t let go.”

“I can’t stay if the mist takes me.”

“Then I’ll follow you.”

The promise came out fierce, a vow that didn’t belong to the living or the dead.

The mist surged. It swallowed the floor, then the walls, wrapping them both in its cold embrace. Kristine felt herself slipping, her body weightless, her heartbeat slowing as though the world itself had exhaled her away.

The last thing she saw was Banjo’s face, the grief, the determination, and that impossible, aching love.

Then everything went white.

When Kristine opened her eyes, she was lying in her bed. The sunlight was sharp, too ordinary. The curtains fluttered softly.

For a moment, she thought it was over. A dream. A cruel echo.But then she saw it , the locket on her nightstand, open. Inside, a photo of her and Banjo, smiling.

And beneath it, a drop of mist still clung to the chain.

She touched it, and the room shivered faint, but real.

Banjo’s voice echoed in her memory: “Then I’ll follow you.”

She pressed the locket to her chest and whispered into the quiet, “Then find me.”

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the sea, Banjo stood by the shoreline. He had the same locket in his hand, hers, or maybe another copy made by whatever cruel miracle bound them.

He closed his eyes, feeling the wind pull at his hair, with the scent of salt. "Kristine,” he murmured. “I felt you. I swear I did.”

Behind him, their son, Yuan, watched silently from the porch. "Dad?” he called. “Are you okay?”

Banjo turned, forcing a smile. “Yeah, buddy. Just talking to your mom.”

Yuan tilted his head. “But Mom’s inside.”

Banjo froze.

Slowly, he looked toward the open window of the house, and there she was. Kristine. Standing in the glow of the evening light, her eyes locked on his.

And this time, there was no mist between them.

Just a quiet, steady heartbeat that somehow belonged to both.

Banjo didn’t remember crossing the distance between them, one moment, she was framed by the golden light of the window; the next, she was in his arms.

Kristine was warm. Not the soft cold of dreams, not the illusion of touch that vanished when he blinked. Her heartbeat pressed against his chest, steady and real, syncing to his in a rhythm that made the air hum. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of the waves, and the quiet disbelief that they were touching, breathing, together.

When Banjo finally found his voice, it cracked. “Tell me this isn’t another crossing. Please.”

Kristine drew back just enough to meet his eyes. Her fingers brushed his jaw, trembling.

“I don’t know what it is,” she whispered. “But I’m here, Banjo. I feel here.”

He closed his eyes, forehead pressed against hers. “I waited so long. I kept hearing you in the mist. Every night I thought I was losing my mind.”

Her lips quivered, half a smile, half sorrow. “Maybe you were. Maybe we both were.”

Behind them, Yuan stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the wooden frame. “Dad,” he said softly, “is Mom okay?”

Kristine turned toward her son, who had grown taller, his eyes now carrying Banjo’s quiet strength. The sight nearly undid her. She knelt and opened her arms, and Yuan didn’t hesitate. He ran into her, the way a child runs toward a forgotten miracle.

“Mom,” he breathed into her shoulder. “You came back.”

She held him tighter. “I tried,” she said, voice breaking. “I tried so hard.”

Banjo watched them, the two pieces of his heart finally touching, and for the first time since she died, he felt whole and hollow all at once. Because love, he realized, always came with guilt. He stepped closer, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear. “If you’re here,” he said quietly, “then someone else isn’t. The world doesn’t just... give back what it takes.”

Kristine looked up at him, eyes shining with both fear and understanding. “Then maybe it’s not the world that gave me back,” she said. “Maybe it’s you.”

The words lingered like a spell. And that was when they heard the sound of tires on gravel.

The banjo turned, and the headlights swept over the front porch. A familiar figure emerged from the car, moving a bit slower now and leaning on a cane. It was Lucia Guzman. His mother.

“Ma?” Banjo whispered. “What are you....”

“I came to check on you,” Lucia said, her voice sharp but weary. “You stopped answering my calls again. I was worried.”

She climbed the porch steps, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Then she saw Kristine standing behind him, the way the evening glow touched her hair, the way Yuan held her hand.

The cane slipped from Lucia’s fingers.

“No,” she breathed, staggering back a step. “No, that can’t be. You... you were buried. I saw...I saw your body.”

Kristine’s lips parted. “Ma…”

“Don’t call me Ma..!” Lucia’s voice cracked like thunder. “What kind of cruelty is this?” She turned to Banjo, tears spilling over.

“Tell me, hijo. Tell me it’s not her! its not your wife..."