BETWEEN ME AND YOU

THE SHADOW BETWEEN HER

“I remember the sound of his laugh,” she said fiercely, pressing her palms to her temples.

“I remember the way he died. I remember holding his hand as the light left his eyes. How could I make that up?”

Banjo stared at her, breathing hard. “You’re my wife.”

Tears blurred her vision. “Then why do I feel like someone else’s ghost?”

The room fell into silence, broken only by the soft pattern of rain.

Banjo’s hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to anchor her back to the world they once shared. But he was terrified she’d vanish again, this time not into death, but into another man’s memory.

He whispered, as if almost pleading, “Please… don’t leave me again.”

Kristine closed her eyes. “I’m not leaving,” she said. “I’m just trying to find out who came back.”

Downstairs, the house was quiet. The clock ticked toward morning.

In the master bedroom, two souls lay side by side, the one bound by the past, the other haunted by memories that weren’t hers.

While outside, the first light of dawn touched the wet streets, and the city began to stir. Inside the house, a woman opened her eyes to a life that still didn’t fit her skin, while a man prayed that love could resurrect the dead without destroying the living.

For somewhere between them, destiny lingered, both harsh and knowing, biding its time. Within this house resided not one story, but rather two intertwined story.

The smell of coffee lingered in the air, sharp and bitter. Banjo sat at the kitchen table, staring at the untouched cup before him. His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood, each tap echoing the unease clawing through his chest.

Upstairs, Kristine moved quietly. Her footsteps were careful, as if she feared waking ghosts that slept inside these walls.

Banjo’s eyes lifted when she walked down the stairs. Her hair was damp, a towel draped loosely over her shoulders. The sight should’ve been familiar, almost comforting, but something about her gaze made him ache.

Kristine Sanchez looked at him the way how strangers look, it portrays the forgotten lives.

“Did you sleep?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “Not really. The dreams came back.”

He swallowed. “Rico again?”

Kristine hesitated. “It wasn’t just him this time. There was… a child. A little boy. He called me Mama.”

Banjo’s breath caught. “A child?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes distant. “He had his eyes. Rico’s. And he kept asking me why I left him in the rain.”

The silence between them thickened. The hum of the refrigerator sounded almost too loud, too alive.

Banjo pushed away from the table, his jaw tight. “Kristine, you need help. These dreams, these memories, whatever they are, they’re eating you alive.”

“Then why do they feel more real than anything else?” she shot back. “Why can I remember the taste of the rain, the way the earth smelled when he...”

“Stop!” Banjo slammed his palm against the table, his voice breaking. The cup toppled, spilling dark coffee across the white surface like spreading blood.

Kristine flinched.

Banjo’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t lose you again.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Maybe you already have.”

She turned away, clutching the towel against her chest as if it were armor.

From the window, the sun began to pierce through the fading clouds, casting fractured light across the room. The shadows of their bodies stretched long, merging, then breaking apart again.

Banjo whispered, almost to himself, “I buried her once. I can’t do it twice.”

Upstairs, Kristine’s reflection stared back at her from the bathroom mirror, two faces overlapping, shifting, and merging. Hers… and someone else’s.

“Who are you?” she whispered to her reflection.

And for a fleeting moment, she swore she heard an answer.

“I am what’s left of what you forgot.”

Her breath caught. The air turned cold.

Downstairs, Banjo looked up, his heart suddenly racing. He didn’t know why... but he could feel it.

.

Kristine woke to the sound of humming.

It was faint at first, soft, like a tune whispered from another room. For a moment, she thought it was Banjo. But when she sat up, she realized the sound was coming from inside her.

Her throat vibrated.

Her lips moved.

The melody poured out without her knowing the words.

She clamped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Stop,” she whispered to herself. “Stop, stop, stop—”

But the voice was patient. It's a male.

"You used to love this song.”

Kristine froze. The world around her tilted, like the walls themselves inhaled. “Who are you?” she managed to whisper.

Then the silence followed faintly, faintly.. but kind..

“You know me.”

Her pulse raced. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thick. She stumbled out of bed, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet. Downstairs, Banjo’s voice called out, “Kristine? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. But the words came out as we’re fine.

Banjo’s footsteps stopped. She knew he heard it too... the subtle difference, the second tone that didn’t belong to her.

He appeared by the stairs, eyes dark with concern. “Kristine, what’s happening?”

She shook her head, backing away. “I don’t know. I just, something’s wrong. It’s like he’s here.”

“Rico?” Banjo’s voice hardened.

Kristine’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s inside me, Banjo. He’s not gone. I hear him. I feel him.”

Banjo’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer but stopped when she flinched. “You’re exhausted. You haven’t eaten, and have a good sleep..."

“Don’t you feel it?” she cried, pressing a trembling hand against her chest. “He’s right here, beneath my skin, like my heart isn’t mine anymore!”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the ticking clock and the rain continued its falls from the outside.

“You’re my wife, Kristine. Not his ghost.” Banjo finally said, but his voice is shaking.

She looked up at him, her tears streaking down her face. “Then why do I remember dying in someone else’s arms?”

Banjo turned away, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. He wanted to scream, to tear down the invisible wall between them, but all he could do was whisper, “Maybe… maybe part of you never came back at all.”.

When Banjo finally raised his gaze, he noticed a shadow-figure that was moving away. It was not an act of anger or fear, but rather the motion of someone being drawn by something unseen.

"I'll go check Yuan downstairs. Call me if you need anything okay...?" Banjo told her and kissed her on the forehead before he turned away.

"Alright. I'll go down later..." Kristine responded with sadness in her voice. But the inner voice that once echoed within her had fallen silent, yet she sensed its warmth, she felt it smiling, like a secret shared between two souls that shouldn’t exist.

And as the door closed behind her, the faint humming returned.

That same song. The song that only "Rico" used to sing.