THAT REPEATED WHISPER

She died, leaving the world behind her, leaving him, still alive. She died but he continued to live. He lived for many more years. Now, he lived fifty years. But even after such length of time, it was not enough to heal the loss, the pain and the wound she left in his heart. It still felt like yesterday, to him. All the grief, sadness and misery, despite after fifty years, still felt like she died just yesterday.

For fifty years, he still visited. Every three years, he would still return to the village where she would always be, where she would always stay and never leave, to pick fresh purple bellflowers to give to her in her sleep, in her resting place.

For fifty years, he remained by her side always there to make sure the bellflowers are lain atop her grave. And he would watch over her again. He would stay for days hiding his grief behind a mask of an emotionless face. She was the first human who saved him and the first human he sympathized with. He knew regret and pain was an old friend and her death deepened those feelings.

Every day, he wondered if anything might have changed if only he made himself known to her and stayed by her side when she was still alive, not only visits but to actually live with her.

He wondered, "What if?" But now, it's already too late to turn back. He could never change the past. But if he could, he'd erase that regret he's bearing and save her. But he can't.

After 50 years had passed, one particular day, when the sun has not yet risen, when no other humans could visit her grave, he strode forward like always to where she was lying in order to offer her the fresh purple bellflowers.

And as he was walking, looking at the flowers in his hand, he wondered if their paths had met differently, would he have known her? Would he have loved her? Would he have made himself known to her and would she accept him even if he is an enemy? He tells himself over and over again that it's pointless to ask himself those questions but he knew he cannot help it himself and so over and over again, he regretted the past decisions he made and he was swallowed by pain and self-hate.

When the moon above the skies slowly lost it's luster and the sun from the east starts to rise, overthrowing the brightness of the other heavenly stars with it's light, he took more steps towards her, a little more distance and he would be where she was. But alas! He was surprised when, from a few meters afar, he sensed something odd.

He could not smell her. The bellflowers fell from his grasps. His steps became leaps and his walk became a run, he went to where she is or rather to where she had usually been. From afar, he can see it, he can sense it, her grave had been trampled over and her usual smell was gone. The pattern of his breathing changed and he panicked, he ran, he ran to her usual lying place but when he finally reached it, he was certain there was no more of her there.

The soil had moved and her grave was empty of her bones. The rock that is supposed to mark where her body is buried was gone and she was no longer there. His eyes widened in shock and his heart raced faster.

"What happened," he asked himself. "What is this?" he constantly questioned. And he blamed himself again. His rage was awakened. How could he let this happen? He lost her again. Even in death, he was not able to keep her by his side. "Your only job is to watch over her and you failed," he said with regrets to himself. But why? What happened?

Again, his tears flowed and as if she had died again, he grieved. It felt to him like she was gone once again. That fate took her from him once more. He cried and the more he thought of her gone, the more his breathing narrowed and his cries tried to gasp for air.

But then…

Out of nowhere, he smelled something.

What is it?

A smell. A familiar smell.

Her scent! Her scent!

He is sure of it. There is a faint scent of her from far away. A familiar scent that smelled like the fragrant dew of the morning and the strong smell of flowers that is luscious to the senses. That is how he describes her smell. He is sure of it. It is from afar though. Somewhere of a distance but not that far from her grave.

And before he could ever think, his body moved on its own and his movements had heightened. He ran. Yes, it was west. Not far from the grave. All he needs to do is to follow that smell. It left faint traces of it in the forest. And somewhere beyond the forest is where the source of that smell might be.

So he ran with all he's got. He ran and ran. He used his abilities to run fast forward, twice his usual speed in order to keep up. Whatever the source of that smell, it is definitely her and he must find out why. Why is her smell beyond the western forest? Why is her grave empty? Did someone steal her bones?

But this smell he is sensing is not of the dead but is the smell of someone alive. This smell is her usual scent when she was once alive. Yes, this is her smell when she was once breathing, when she was a girl and when she has grown, he is sure that this is her fragrant smell. This smell is very familiar. So why is it out there? Did something happen? Did she somehow live?

When he reached the forest, a shallow waterfall flows nearby and beneath it is a gentle flowing river. A cold yet welcoming river. In that direction, he smelled it again. It is particularly strong in that area. Her smell and what he found below that waterfall shocked him to his core. His eyes widened and his heart raced faster than usual. His composure had trembled. He couldn't believe it.

In those waters, there she was. In the flesh. Alive. Asleep but breathing. He is sure of it; the body he saw near the shores of the river is that little flower he had deeply cared for- Hana. The waters must have washed her near the land. Her head, hands and top of her waist had taken refuge in the soft warm grass with the stones near the river, anchoring her while her feet is still submerged in water. She was naked and cold. Perhaps, tired and exhausted. But there was no mistaking it, she is very much alive.

So he went down to where she was and took her by the hand. She is indeed cold. Very cold. Maybe it's the waters. She must have fell unconscious in it for a few hours already. But she's still breathing. She's of the living. He looked at her and her face seemed to be sleeping.

He doubted at first if the body he is carrying is not her but there was no questioning of it. It is her. It is her smell. It is her body. It is her. He saw her again. She's exactly the same. She's the same young beautiful woman he last saw that day. When he left her after that second visit, her young face is in his memory all along even after 50 years and now she's here before him; in flesh and in bones. Exactly the same way when he left her- young, beautiful yet pale.

He took her away from the waters and carried her towards the land. She is cold so he took away his outer robe and wrapped it around her. "She is alive," he whispered over and over again.

He still couldn't believe it but it is definitely her. His heart is mixed with emotions. There is shock and sadness but mostly he is filled with joy. And so as the sun shone from the east, he pulled her now sleeping body towards him and embraced it with his warmth. She is alive. "You're alive, my flower," he whispered as his forehead touched hers. He didn't know how it happened. He doesn't understand it. But all he knows is that he is crying in joy, unstoppable tears flowing out of his eyes and bathing her. All he knows is that he is in full and utmost exhilaration to be able to see her again.

He can smell her scent but it is no longer that of her bones. He can sense her presence but it is no longer her dead body. Her smell is still that same usual fragrance and her skin is soft. He could feel her breathing. She is lying in his arms and he embraced her more as he, for the first time called towards the heavens and prayed.

"Thank you. Thank you for raising her back to life," he whispered in between his tears.

"Thank you for returning her to me," he whimpered in his prayer.