8
“The patient is fine,” the doctor explained. “She fainted due to stress. Rest and recovery should suffice.”
Jason froze.
“She’s fine? But my mom has cancer.”
The doctor frowned. “Our tests didn’t detect any cancer cells. If you’re concerned, you can request a full–body scan.”
Jason stood there, stunned, like a ghost.
Slowly, he turned toward me at the end of the hallway.
I sat motionless, my head bowed.
Step by step, Jason walked toward me, his pace quickening until he broke into a run.
Reaching me, he extended a hand, gently pushing my shoulder.
“Chloe, my mom isn’t sick. She lied to me–she lied!”
I didn’t respond.
Jason touched my shoulder again, more urgently.
Still, I didn’t move.
He knelt down, his voice trembling as he softly called my name.
“Chloe.”
His eyes reddened instantly, his lips quivering.
<
“Chloe, please, just say something.”
At that moment, I felt everything again–every sense, every emotion.
But I remained unnervingly calm.
Jason suddenly wrapped his arms around me, collapsing into sobs that echoed through the hallway.
He understood now: the me he had known in this world was already gone.
Grace Lockwood was sentenced to prison for falsifying medical records.
Sophia, now four months pregnant, found Jason drowning his sorrows in alcohol, clutching my urn.
Her face was pale, her eyes red as she confronted him.
“Jason Danish, have you lost your mind? My mother raised you, and this is how you repay her?”
“She’s in prison now! What good does that do anyone? You’re a heartless bastard. A bastard!”
She pounded on his chest with her fists, venting her rage and grief.
Jason stood still, letting her scream, cry, and hit him without resistance.
When she was finally exhausted, she clutched her belly, her hair disheveled.
“Jason Danish, I regret ever loving you. You deserve to die alone, wallowing in your guilt forever.”
Sophia went on to terminate her pregnancy, discarding their unborn child.
She even sent Jason pictures of the aborted fetus, hoping to elicit regret.
Instead, her messages were met with the stark, mocking red exclamation marks of a blocked conversation.
The Zenith Interface activated, and I returned to my original world.
As a spirit, I had spent two weeks observing. Now, I could feel again, though it took time to adjust.
When I woke, a scream nearly shattered my eardrums.
“Oh my God, the coma patient woke up! It’s a miracle!”
I had made a deal with the system: complete the task of winning Jason Danish’s heart, and I’d regain consciousness in my own world.
I blinked, sitting up with surprising ease.
My body was intact, showing no signs of the car accident that had put me in a coma.
I wept with relief.
The patient in the bed beside me looked terrified, as if I were some kind of ghost, hiding under their blankets in fear.
After being discharged, I returned to my small, empty home.
Although years had passed in Jason’s world, only months had gone by here.
Dust blanketed everything. It took me hours to clean up.
As I glanced out the window, I thought I saw Jason.
He looked older, clutching a small, box–like object to his chest.
He smiled faintly at me, moving his lips as if to say something I couldn’t hear.
Then the Zenith Interface spoke once more.
“Host, Jason Danish believed death would reunite him with you in your world. He jumped off a building while holding your urn.”
I froze, stunned.
My entire mission had been to save Jason, to keep him from walking the path of self–destruction.
I had spent years crafting moments of joy for him, creating memories like a tireless little bird circling his heart.
I remembered his first smile, the first time he asked me why I’d waited for him in the snow.
I had spent so much energy helping him rediscover his emotions.
I lowered my gaze and resumed tidying my bed.
None of it mattered anymore. It had all been part of my deal with the system.
I had done my part.
The rest of it–Jason Danish, his choices, his life–was no longer my concern.
From now on, I would live for myself.
The End
