Our Shared Past

'Oh my god, I actually talked to him—and his name is Asher!' she whispered, her heart pounding as she fell back onto her bed.

A wide grin spread across her face as she replayed the moment in her mind, her cheeks flushing pink. 

'I didn't act weird at all, right?' She pressed her hands to her warm cheeks, a burst of excitement making her squirm as she recalled his smile and the way he'd looked at her. 

'Are we friends now?' she wondered, unable to shake the desire to see him again.

And just like that, whenever Asher walked by, she'd peek out her window and give a small wave.

The other kids on the road would run away, spinning tales about a gloomy ghost, but every so often, Asher would glance up and give a small smile.

That alone made her days feel a little brighter for a few months—until…

SLAP!

"What are you looking at!" he snarled, his voice rough and slurred because of alcohol. 

He staggered forward, his shadow casting over her as she tried to look away.

But before she could turn her head, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it hard enough to send a jolt of pain down her neck.

She gasped, but the sound quickly died on her lips. She'd learned not to cry despite the pain.

Instead, she kept her face blank, staring somewhere over his shoulder, enduring the sharp pull at her scalp, the sting in her throat.

But her silence only stoke his anger. 

"Are you rebelling against me?" he spat, his grip tightening as he tugged her closer. "Answer me!"

She avoided his gaze, lips pressed firmly together, her whole body tense as she prepared for the next strike. 

He released her hair, only to hit her across the face—once, then twice, and again.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Each hit burned, her cheek swelling and her lip cracking open.

"I see what's going on now. You're acting differently because of that little boy, right? You thought I didn't know what you've been up to?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

His words struck her like a blow, finally breaking through her silence.

"Please... no, not him," she begged, her voice trembling in fear. 

"You fucking whore! You're just like your good-for-nothing mother," he spat, his words cutting deep.

"Don't talk to her like that!" she spat out. 

"Bullshit! She's a whore!" he sneered back, dismissing her with contempt.

"That's right, you're shocked, aren't you? Let me tell you something: your mother had an affair with one of her students, and you... you're the product of that affair!"

"N-- No you're lying ." she stuttered.

"Am I?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he picked up his briefcase from the floor.

He pulled out some papers and flung them into her face, the pages scattering around her.

She picked it up and read the DNA test results—negative.

"See? You're just as sick as your mother. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She died because of karma!"

SLAP! 

His hand struck hard, sending her tumbling onto the bed.

"I've been holding off this test because I wanted to give that whore the benefit of the doubt," he continued, his voice low and menacing.

"But the more you grow up, the more I see your real father's face in you."

She felt the walls constricting around her as his glare pierced through her, filled with contempt and bitterness.

"You should pay me for taking care of you all these years!" he chuckled sadistically, finally losing it

Yuki suddenly realized she was in a very dangerous situation.

She sprang to her feet, desperate to escape, but he grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back onto the bed, pinning her down with a force that left her gasping for breath.

"No! No!" she cried out, her voice filled with terror, but before she could scream for help, he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. 

"Shut up!" he snarled, his face twisted in rage.

"You think you can just run away from me? " 

Her heart raced, each beat echoing in her ears. She struggled beneath him, feeling helpless and trapped.

But she couldn't let him do what he wanted. 

Summoning the last bit of strength within her, she twisted her body and use her knee to strike his crown jewel. 

"Fuck!" He staggered back, caught off guard, giving her a chance to run out of her room and into the living room.

She felt a rush of adrenaline as she sprinted, but he quickly chased after her.

THUD!

They crashed into each other , both struggling to take control in the floor. 

She pushed and shoved, trying to break free, but he was too strong, overpowering her.

In a fit of anger, he slammed her against the wall and grabbed a nearby chair. "Stop running!" 

BAM!

With a loud crash, he brought the chair down on her. Pain shot through her head.

She gasped but refused to give up. She would wait for him to stop and then try again.

However— 

He didn't stop and kept hitting her head.

"P-please, stop!" she pleaded, raising her hands to grab his shirt, but it was too late. He was consumed by anger.

As her vision started to fade, she saw his eyes—they were hollow, and he wore a creepy smile stretching from ear to ear.

This was the first time she experienced the supernatural.

One Hour Later

The sound of the ambulance and police sirens filled the neighborhood, causing people to rush outside in a panic.

When the police arrived, they found a young woman lying on the floor, dead, her head smashed brutally. The crime scene was so sickening that some of the officers broke down in tears.

In the aftermath, they discovered that the other person involved was her relative and the owner of the small building.

After doing the unthinkable, he had taken his own life. 

On the Street

"Kid you're not allowed to be here," One of the policeman said . 

Asher paused after hearing about the incident. For a moment, he feared the victim was Yuki, but he kept his expression neutral, hiding the uneasy feeling rising in his chest. 

But when he glanced at her window, relief washed over him. There she was, still looking out and waving at him.

'Good thing she's safe,' he whispered to himself, and for the first time, he waved back at her.

Unknowingly, a wide genuine smile crossed his face—something he rarely did.