The rain tapped against the glass. A steady, rhythmic sound. It filled the room. I sat in the chair by the window. The glass was cold. My breath fogged on it. I wiped it away. The view outside was blurred. Trees. Gray sky. The water ran down in thin lines. It looked like tears. Or perhaps just rain.

I checked my watch. It was three in the afternoon. I had been waiting for two hours. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my ears. I could hear my own heart. A slow, dull thud. It felt wrong. Too slow. I stood up. My knees cracked. The pain was sharp. A reminder. I am old. My body is a machine that is rusting. It breaks easily.

The door opened.

It was not the person I expected.

It was Elias. He stood in the doorway. His coat was wet. Water dripped from his hair. He looked thin. Too thin. His eyes were dark circles under pale skin. He looked at me. I looked at him. We did not speak. We never spoke much. Words were unnecessary. We had served together for twenty years. We had buried men we loved. We had seen things that do not have names.

He walked in. He did not take off his coat. He hung it on a hook by the door. The wet fabric dripped onto the floor. A dark spot formed. It spread.

"Is she here?" he asked. His voice was low. Rough. Like gravel.

I nodded. I pointed to the back room. The door was closed. A heavy oak door. It had no handle. It did not open easily. It was a barrier. A wall between the living and the dead. Or what was left of them.

Elias moved toward it. His steps were slow. He held his side. A hand pressed against his ribs. He winced. I saw the blood. A dark red stain on his shirt. It was fresh.

"You are hurt," I said. It was not a question.

He ignored me. He reached the door. He placed his hand on the wood. He did not knock. He just stood there. He breathed in. He breathed out.

I watched him. I remembered when we were young. We were strong. We could run for miles. We could lift heavy things. We believed we were invincible. We believed the world would bend to our will. We were wrong. The world did not care. It just kept spinning. It kept raining. It kept taking.

Elias turned to me. His eyes were wet. He looked tired. So tired.

"I have to go in," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I have to see her."

"Who?"

He did not answer. He knew who I meant. We both did.

The room felt smaller. The air was thick. It was hard to breathe. I looked at the clock. The second hand moved. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time was passing. It never stopped. It never waited. It just drained us. Bit by bit. Drop by drop.

Elias moved back to the window. He looked out. The rain was heavier now. It drummed on the roof. A loud, chaotic sound. It drowned out the silence.

"She is not real," I said. My voice was quiet. I wanted him to hear me. I wanted to be clear.

He turned his head. He looked at me. His expression was neutral.

"Of course she is real," he said. "She is the only thing that is."

I shook my head. It was a mistake. I should not have said that. But the words were out. I could not take them back.

Elias smiled. It was a sad smile. It did not reach his eyes.

"You do not understand," he said. "You never did. You always wanted to control it. To fix it. To make it make sense. But it does not make sense. That is the point. It is not a puzzle. It is a fact."

I felt a chill. It ran down my spine. I looked at my hands. They were trembling. I clenched them into fists. I forced them to stop.

"I am a soldier," I said. "I follow orders. I do the job. I do not look for ghosts."

Elias laughed. It was a short, dry sound. Like a twig snapping.

"Are you?" he asked. "Or are you just a man who is afraid?"

The question hit me hard. I felt it in my chest. A hollow ache. He was right. I was afraid. I had been afraid for a long time. I was afraid of the end. I was afraid of what came after. I was afraid that I had wasted my life. That I had done it all for nothing.

He moved to the door again. This time, he did not stop. He placed his hand on the wood. He pushed.

The door did not move. It was locked.

He tried again. Harder. His muscles strained. His face turned red. The blood on his shirt spread. It dripped onto the floor. The sound of the drops was loud. Plink. Plink. Plink.

"It is sealed," I said. "You cannot open it. Not from the outside."

He stopped. He leaned against the door. He slid down. He sat on the floor. He put his head in his hands. He shook.

"I need to see her," he whispered. "I need to tell her. I need to say it."

"Say what?"

I did not want to know. But I asked.

"I was wrong," he said. "I was so wrong. I hurt her. I let her go. I was afraid. I was so afraid. I am sorry."

The words hung in the air. They were small. Fragile. They broke easily.

I looked at him. He was a stranger. A shadow of the man I had known. He was broken. I saw it then. He was not trying to save anyone. He was trying to save himself. Or perhaps he was trying to let her go.

The rain stopped.

Suddenly. The silence returned. It was louder than before. It was absolute.

Elias looked up. His eyes were clear. The pain was gone. The fear was gone. He looked peaceful.

"Thank you," he said.

He stood up. He moved to the window. He opened it. The cold air rushed in. It smelled of wet earth and pine. He looked out. He took a deep breath. He filled his lungs. He held it. He held it for a long time.

Then he let it go.

He turned to me. He nodded. Just once. A small, final nod.

He walked to the door. He did not try to open it. He just stood there. He closed his eyes. He leaned his forehead against the wood.

I watched him. I did not move. I did not speak. I could not.

He stayed like that for a long time. Minutes. Perhaps hours. Time had lost its meaning. The clock on the wall had stopped. The second hand was frozen.

Then, he opened the door.

It opened easily. There was no lock. There was no resistance. It swung wide.

The room beyond was dark. It was empty. There was no bed. There was no body. There was only a chair. A simple wooden chair. And on the chair, a single white flower.

Elias stepped into the darkness.

He did not look back.

He disappeared.

The door closed behind him.

I was alone.

I looked at the window. The rain had started again. It was light. A gentle mist. It blurred the world outside.

I looked at my hands. They were still. They were calm.

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. A heavy, gray weight. It had been there for years. I had not noticed it. I had carried it so long I had forgotten it was there.

It was gone.

I stood up. My knees did not crack. The pain was gone.

I walked to the door. I touched the wood. It was warm.

I turned away. I walked to the chair by the window. I sat down.

I looked at the rain. I watched it fall. I watched it disappear into the gray.

I did not feel fear. I did not feel hope. I felt nothing. And that was enough.

The clock started to tick again. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I closed my eyes. I listened to the sound. It was steady. It was true.

I was not afraid anymore. The end was not a door. It was not a wall. It was just a path. A long, quiet path. And I was walking it.

The rain continued. It would stop eventually. It always did.

I waited.