Chapter 6: Second Chances from the Underworld

Just then, I heard a noise outside, followed by a sigh.

The sound was familiar—soft, hesitant.

It was Michael.

He hovered in the doorway, looking sheepish.

He came in, looking like he’d lost a battle, sat by my bed, and gently wiped my tears.

His touch was cool, but it soothed me. I stared at him, unable to believe he was really there.

I stared at him, stunned: "Didn’t you... leave?"

My voice was barely above a whisper.

"I regretted it," he said. "As soon as I left, I regretted it, so I didn’t go."

He looked away, embarrassed. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

So this jerk was standing outside, listening to me cry for him?

I punched his arm, half-playful, half-serious.

I was furious and pushed him: "If you don’t move on now, you’ll miss your chance! Go!"

He shook his head, grabbing my hands.

Michael grabbed my hands: "Seeing you cry like that, can you really let me go?"

His eyes were pleading, searching mine for an answer.

Of course I couldn’t. But I couldn’t let him be a lonely ghost forever, either. While I was torn, Michael dropped a bombshell: "I’ve decided not to move on."

He said it simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You can’t do that!" I panicked. "If you miss this chance, who knows how long you’ll wait?"

I clutched his sleeve, desperate for him to understand.

"But I want to stay with you longer."

He smiled, eyes shining.

My heart ached: "But you..."

He cut me off: "Actually, I could’ve moved on the year I died, but I refused. Not because of unfinished business—I just didn’t want to."

He shrugged, looking sheepish.

"Why?"

I searched his face, needing to know.

He smiled self-deprecatingly: "Honestly, being human isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Being a free ghost is pretty nice."

He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

It sounded plausible, but something felt off: "But... aren’t there Reapers? Don’t they care what you want?"

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"No. My fate is special, and I did some good deeds in life. As long as I don’t cross the River of Forgetfulness, they can’t do anything. As for today... they sensed my fate was about to change, so the Reapers came to save me."

He explained it like it was common knowledge. I nodded, pretending to understand.

He smiled: "They asked if I’d serve as a Reaper in the underworld. I agreed."

He looked proud, like he’d just landed a dream job.

That was a lot to process.

I sat back, trying to wrap my head around it all.

When I finally sorted it out, I remembered our first meeting: "So... when you said you couldn’t move on because of unfinished business, that was a lie?"

I narrowed my eyes, waiting for his confession.

He looked guilty: "Uh... you did wake me up with your crying, and being a ghost was boring, so..."

He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

I glared: "You agreed to stay in the underworld as a Reaper, but still lied about wanting to move on?"

I crossed my arms, daring him to deny it.

Michael: "..."

He looked away, whistling innocently.

"You liar! All ghostly lies!" I threw a pillow at him.

He ducked, laughing. "Hey, watch the suit!"

"Don’t be mad, don’t be mad." He dodged. "Even as a Reaper, I can come and go in the living world. But I’m still a ghost—I was afraid you’d... dislike me."

He looked at me, eyes wide and earnest.

He carefully sat back on the bed, took my hand, and gently said, "Don’t be mad, baby. Or... should I kneel in my suit for you?"

He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

!!!

My face went crimson. I looked up, stunned: "How did you know?!"

He grinned, leaning in close.

Michael grinned: "Because there’s internet in the underworld, too."

He winked, and I burst out laughing, tears and all. Maybe being haunted wasn’t so bad after all.