November 2023
Winter came earlier that year. Instead of snow, endless rain soaked the world for weeks, as if the sky itself had plunged into mourning. The campus was cloaked in a heavy grayness. Students moved like shadows — weighed down by what had happened.
Noah was dead.
The official story said suicide. They found his note and his shoes, but Noah himself had vanished without a trace. Silence. Questions gnawed at everyone who had known him. Why? Could it have been prevented? Had he given any warning signs? Was it because of the article that had become a scandal? Was it because people laughed behind his back about the perfect Noah being gay?
Their group of friends was in shambles. Jennifer couldn't sleep. She kept rereading old messages, searching for a clue she might have missed. Jake threw accusations at anyone who came near him, as if trying to drown out his guilt. Betty, once loud and confident, had gone silent. Her face dimmed, as if someone had stolen all her light. Will stopped attending classes. He spent his days locked in his room or wandering the city streets with an empty stare and a bottle in his hand.
But no one suffered like Mason.
He didn't speak. He didn't defend himself when accusations began to circle closer. Furthermore, he didn't deny it when people whispered, "It was his brother." That "he should have seen the signs." That "he could have done something." He drifted across campus like a shadow — absent, hollow. Every step was heavier, every day longer than the last.
Because they still hadn't found Noah's body.
Day by day, things got worse. Every conversation, every attempt at sympathy, felt like a knife to the heart. People treated Mason like a fragile sketch of a person — but he wasn't just broken. He was falling apart. He attended lectures but heard nothing. Furthermore, he stared out windows but saw nothing. He lived but didn't breathe.
At night, he locked himself in his room and stared at a single photograph for hours. He and Noah — smiling, arms around each other, right after passing an exam. The light was warm; their eyes full of life. And now… everything had gone dark.
Occasionally, Mason spoke to him. Softly. As if Noah were still there. He begged for a sign. He pleaded for answers. Furthermore, he couldn't accept that his brother had left without a word.
Until one night...
He woke up drenched in sweat. The walls of his room seemed too close. The air felt heavy, as if someone else was there. And then he saw him.
Noah was sitting on the edge of the bed across from him. Wearing the same hoodie he had worn that day. Legs crossed. Hands resting on his knees. A calm smile. A presence — real.
"Hey, bro," Noah said. "It's been a while."
Mason froze. He couldn't breathe.
"You... you're dead," he choked out. "You left a note… they said you jumped into the river."
"That's what they say," Noah interrupted, shrugging. "But you know how people are. They like to say things. They like to interpret. The truth is more... fluid. It was all an illusion."
Mason's head spun.
Noah stood and moved closer. He was real. Mason could feel his presence. His scent. Even his warmth.
"Lies. Manipulation. The world feeds on illusions. They lied to you."
"Who?" Mason whimpered. "Who lied to me?"
"Everyone," Noah said. "Your friends. Your family. The people you trusted. But don't worry. I'm back. And I'm with you. I'll always be with you."
Mason buried his face in his hands.
"I've lost my mind," he whispered. "This isn't real. This isn't you. I've gone insane."
Noah crouched beside him. He touched Mason's hands. Smiled gently, almost brotherly.
"Maybe. Or perhaps not. Possibly, this is the only way you can keep living. Because if I hadn't come back... you would've been with me by now."
Mason looked into his eyes. A voice echoed in his mind.
"Keep living," Noah said. "As if nothing happened. As if everything's normal."
And then he was gone. But from that night on, Mason wasn't alone. Noah was in his mind.
Whispering.
Guiding.
And every day, he spoke louder.
And Mason? Mason stopped distinguishing between what was real and what was illusion. Slowly, he slipped deeper into it. Because on the other side — there was relief.
Because Noah was there.
*
That winter, Mason wasn't the only one falling apart. Noah's death shattered their whole group. Each of them grieved differently — but all of them carried his absence like a stone in their pockets, growing heavier each day. Their world, once so tightly bound to Noah's presence, was crumbling from the inside.
From the outside, Jennifer seemed composed. Perfect. In control. But underneath, she hid more than just sadness. Jennifer carried a silent guilt. To her, Noah was more than just a friend — he was a mirror where she could see her true self. He was the only one who didn't judge when she spoke about her pain. They spent countless nights wandering aimlessly, talking about death, about dreams, about what they would do if they could start over.
After his death, something inside her broke. She stopped talking about feelings. She started writing letters. To Noah. Sometimes full of love, sometimes full of rage. She kept them hidden, sometimes burned them, sometimes left them on his favorite bench outside the dorms, as if he might find them.
Jennifer tortured herself with questions. Could she have saved him? Had her last comment been too harsh? Would any of this have happened if she hadn't encouraged their friends to write that article?
Jake had always been impulsive, charismatic, full of energy, but after Noah's death, he became a shadow of himself. He threw accusations everywhere but blamed himself the most. He remembered a conversation from a few weeks before, when Noah wanted to talk and Jake brushed him off. "Later, man. I'm busy right now."
But "later" never came.
He started drinking. First occasionally, then every day. He had nightmares where Noah just stared at him, silent. Waking up, he felt like he didn't deserve to live, not after failing his friend. He avoided Mason. He knew Mason's pain was something else — deeper, quieter — but he couldn't handle it.
And though he never told anyone, once, when he was really drunk, Jake texted Noah.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't the brother I should've been. It's my fault that article came out and ruined your life."
Betty had always been a beacon — colorful, confident, everywhere. After Noah's death, her light dimmed. Completely. Her social media accounts went silent. Her phone stopped buzzing. She dressed in black, no makeup, her head always down.
To Betty, Noah had been everything — a rock in moments when she couldn't handle things alone. He could speak to her brutally honestly, and yet she still felt... safe. She loved him.
He once told her: "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not even to yourself."
After his death, Betty tried to disappear. She stopped attending classes. Occasionally, she sat in the rain for hours, silent. Among people, she felt invisible.
And maybe that's precisely what she wanted.
Ethan had known Mason and Noah longer than anyone. Childhood friends. Years of ups and downs. Running away from home together. Sharing secrets no one else knew.
He was the first to say aloud: "It doesn't make sense. He wouldn't have done it." But no one wanted to listen.
So he fell silent. Started watching.
He was the first to notice Mason changing. Speaking strangely. Sometimes staring through people, not at them. Becoming... someone else. Ethan didn't say anything. Not yet. But he knew one thing — Noah would never have left Mason alone.
And it seemed that the words once spoken — "If anything happens to me, I'll stay with him" — really meant something.
Because now Noah was in Mason. Not just as a memory. As a voice. As a presence. As something more.
They all carried Noah's shadow inside them. But none of them knew that this shadow had become real.
That Noah had never truly left. Because Noah was in Mason. And even back then, he was already returning.
Starting to speak. Starting to guide. Starting to live.
And no one — absolutely no one — was ready for it.