Persuasion

"How come you're the one and only heir when you're the middle child? And what is all of this? You told me you didn’t remember a thing," I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He smirked like he’d been waiting for the question.

"Just like I expected. You're sharp, huh?" he said. Why does everyone keep expecting something from me?

“Well, I only said that so you'd empathize with me… and say yes to helping me.”

I almost choked myself, but before I could react, he continued.

"They're my half-brothers. I’m the only child born inside the marriage."

I wanted to press him; there were so many things I wanted to ask. But then I saw it. The bitterness in his eyes. The subtle tremble in his hands. He was shaking.

So I changed the topic.

"Does that mean you also handle Arrow Publishing?"

He took a slow breath, composed himself, and returned to his notebook.

"I can help you reach your dream… if you help me get back to my body," he said, his voice low and somber. It sent chills down my spine.

"I'm not doing this because I want something in return," I replied, standing firm.

He didn’t say anything. He just stared. Long and hard, as if trying to dig through my words and find the lie buried underneath.

"I want to know the difference," I added.

His brows furrowed. "Difference about what?"

"I want to know… if things would’ve turned out differently if someone helped me when I asked for it."

That was a lie. No matter what I do now, it won’t change the past. No one came. That’s the truth.

He laughed. “That’s kind of a weird reason.”

Then he stood, walked over, and stopped in front of me.

"Then I’ll help you too. It’s better late than never, right?"

But the truth is… I no longer need saving. Someone already helped me when I needed it most. He wasn’t late—he came exactly when I was on the edge.

Tycen.

We don’t talk anymore, and maybe we never will again, but I hope you’re doing okay.

Thank you.

I don’t know how to repay you.

"Cut the crap. What are we going to do?" I asked, pushing the thoughts away.

"Go near them," he replied calmly.

I was about to ask how, when Paris suddenly barged in.

"Syd, am I going to enroll this year?" she asked. Her eyes were sharp, too, just like mine.

I nodded. Her brows tightened.

"How about you?"

I walked toward her and gently pushed her back out the door.

"Mind yourself. Just like you always did." I closed it before she could say anything else.

She’s only twelve. Just starting high school. She doesn't need this kind of weight. Not yet. I can carry it for now. And if the day comes I can’t… I’ll ask for help.

"Why is she asking you that?" Hade asked from behind me.

I shrugged. "Do I look like a mind reader?"

I turned to walk toward him, but my stomach suddenly grumbled—loud enough to echo in the quiet room.

"You just ate," he said, raising an eyebrow like I was some kind of 24/7 snacker. The look on his face made me want to rip that judgmental stare off his skull.

I marched straight to the kitchen and flung the refrigerator open.

Empty. Just water. Nothing else.

Damn.

I walked back to my room and saw him still bent over his notebook, busy plotting whatever insane plan he had in mind.

"Excuse me. Can you please get out? I'm going to change," I said flatly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared at me, like he didn’t quite hear.

Then—finally—he stood up.

"Fine, but you better not steal my brilliant ideas while I’m gone."

"Brilliant, my ass," I muttered under my breath as I shut the door behind him.

"Just go ahead. There’s nothing to see on you," he said, still not looking at me.

He’s so good at getting under someone’s skin.

I clenched my fists. Violence was tempting. And then I remembered the punch scene earlier.

Bingo.

I grabbed a slipper from the floor and threw it at his head.

"Aww!" he screeched, holding the spot where it hit him.

I smirked. I can’t touch you, but objects can. Modern problems require modern solutions.

He just glared at me before fading out.

After I changed clothes, I grabbed my wallet and told Mom and Paris I was heading out to buy supplies.

"About getting near them," Hade said as I grabbed a pushcart and started pushing it toward the toiletries section. He floated beside me like some retail ghost companion. "Where do you go to school again?"

"University of Manila."

"You’ll have to transfer."

I froze and looked back at him.

"To where?" I asked.

"T University. They’ll credit your current subjects, I swear. Plus, they’ve got a great engineering program."

I stared at him. Of course, he’d suggest something like that.

"Hade, think about what you’re saying. I can’t even afford an eight-thousand-peso tuition per semester. And you’re talking about what—sixty thousand? Per sem?" I snapped.

He looked down, rubbing his chin like he was thinking hard.

Then he looked up and flashed a big grin like he just solved a world problem.

I raised my hand before he could speak. "And TU’s too far from our house. I need to stay close to Mom and Paris as long as I can."

I wasn’t trying to be rude. But this wasn’t just about academics or transferring schools, like it was some casual task. I had responsibilities he’d never understand. I had no safety nets, no rich dad, no spare cash lying around. Just me and the people depending on me.

"I can help with tuition," he said brightly. "I have a friend who owes me big time."

I rolled my eyes and kept pushing the cart.

Shampoo.

Conditioner.

Soap.

Tissue.

Toothpaste.

I just kept going. Into the pantry next.

Money was never a problem for people like him. But for me? It was survival. Every penny mattered. He wouldn’t understand what it’s like to choose between dinner and data. And I would never understand the luxury of never having to worry.

"I mean it. I’ll cover everything. Your education, your mom’s care—I can help," he insisted, trying to sound reassuring.

But instead of feeling relief, I just felt… tired. Irritated.

I wasn’t angry at him—I was angry at this whole mess I voluntarily walked into. And now here he was, making promises I knew weren’t that easy.

"And how, exactly, is your friend going to help when he can’t even see you?" I snapped.

He had no answer to that.

"Come on, Sydney. You’ve seen the progress in your mom’s health. Don’t use her as an excuse," Hade said, firm and unrelenting.

"Shut up, Hade. You know nothing." My voice was calm, but it carried a weight I couldn't disguise. This isn’t just about Mom. Or Paris. They were never the reason I hesitated.

He stepped closer. “Then what?”

I turned to glare at him, eyes narrowed. You’ll never understand.

If I failed to do what he asked, I’d carry that failure for the rest of my life. I’d never sleep right again. What if this ends in jail? In ruin? Hade could just vanish, let go, return to wherever ghosts go. But I’d be left with the mess. Alone.

"It’s personal. Shut the fuck up!" I snapped, voice cracking. My chest tightened. I saw him stiffen—saw his confidence shrink, just a little. His glare softened into something… sadder.

Then someone behind him spoke up.

“Uh… sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

My heart dropped. I blinked past Hade’s silhouette and saw a guy standing a few feet behind him, eyebrows lifted, an awkward smile on his face.

Shit.

Hade turned too, then whipped his head back at me, wearing the same confused expression I had.

The guy pointed vaguely in our direction. “Is he your boyfriend? Are you two breaking up or something?”

My mouth opened slightly. Wait—can he see Hade too? But Hade was already putting it to the test.

He stepped in front of the guy and raised his right arm, waving it side to side. Then he spun around dramatically and bent his knees, bobbing like a clumsy dancer. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. What the hell is he doing?

When he saw no reaction, he stood straight, dusted his hands off, and gave me a smug grin.

“He can’t see me,” Hade confirmed, voice light. “But he is trying to hit on you.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, he’d say that. “Can’t you hear the sarcasm in his voice?” I hissed.

But deep down, I wasn’t even mad at Hade anymore. I was just exhausted by all of it. By this situation. By this secret. By the constant fear of choosing wrong.

"Uh… aren't you gonna hang up the call?" the guy asked, now clearly puzzled.

My brain froze.

I looked at Hade. He just blinked at me, just as lost.

Then it hit me.

Oh my god. I’ve been talking to Hade this whole time. Out loud. In public. In the middle of the grocery store.

He thinks I’m on the phone. But still—talking to air?

I slowly raised my right hand to my right ear, pretending to adjust a hidden earpiece. Thank God my hair covered both ears.

The guy gave me a nod of understanding. “Alright, cool. Hope it goes well… or not—if it’s a breakup or something.”

He walked away.

Hade started giggling again. “You should’ve seen your face.”

I shoved the cart forward with a bit more force than needed.

I’m literally helping a ghost. And now strangers think I’m a walking red flag.

"I’ll hang up now. Don’t you dare open that fucking mouth of yours," I warned, touching the side of my ear like I had wireless earphones on. I didn’t. I couldn’t afford those anyway. I just needed the performance.

Then I looked at the guy who caught me mid-argument with a ghost.

He didn’t look creepy—just curious. He wore round glasses, a black mask, a maroon V-neck shirt that framed his biceps a little too perfectly, and casual black shorts and slippers. His elbows rested lazily on the handle of his pushcart, like he had all the time in the world.

"What do you want?" I asked, cold and flat.

I could feel Hade grinning behind me, probably proud—like he raised me to be this bitchy in public.

The guy chuckled under his mask, then lowered it just enough to talk.

“I’m Caleb,” he said, flashing a smile that could bleach teeth. His eyes smiled, too. Seriously? Even his eyes? He looked like someone God favored a little too much. Same grocery, same humidity, same slippers—and he still looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

Unfair.

"See? Told you he's hitting on you. What a cheap guy," Hade cut in smugly. "Clearly doesn’t have taste."

I mentally threw a chair at him.

“I’m Nat,” I replied to Caleb, forcing a smile.

His eyebrows drew together, lips pursing like he’d just heard something interesting.

“Nat?” he echoed, intrigued.

I let my eyes smile back. “Interested?” I murmured, then turned and pushed my cart forward. I wasn’t in the mood to flirt or chat. I just wanted to go home, bury myself under the covers, and escape this extrovert simulation.

Grow faster, Paris. I can’t keep being the grocery runner. I hate going out. I hate talking to people.

“That was so good!” Hade said between snickers. He was clapping now, like he’d just watched a brilliant sitcom. “You’re getting funnier!”

“Could you please stop laughing? You're irritating,” I snapped.

“But… no one’s laughing, ma’am.”

I froze.

I turned slightly and spotted one of the store employees looking at me like I’d just spoken to the fruit display. My soul left my body.

Damn you, Hade.

I bowed in embarrassment. The employee did the same out of instinct, and I bolted, pushing the cart faster, avoiding eye contact, regretting every life choice that led me to this exact moment.

I checked out, stuffed everything into a few plastic bags, and stepped outside like I’d just escaped a hostage situation.

“Hade, hold this for me,” I said, handing him a bag without looking.

He raised a brow. “Do you want people screaming over floating plastic bags?”

“Who’d be scared of that?” I scoffed. “Some plastics walk and talk. I talk to them daily.”

He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “What a psycho.”

“Coming from a ghost,” I muttered under my breath.

When I got home, I handed the bags to Paris and asked her to put everything in place. Then I dragged my body into my room and flopped onto the bed like a sack of despair.

Just five minutes. Let me rest. Just five. Then I’ll figure everything out.

“Syd… Syd.” I heard my mom’s soft voice calling me. I slowly sat up and looked at the door. She was peeking in, her head slightly tilted.

“Yes, Ma?” She tapped her finger on her chin, trying to think of the right word to say. This was our daily game—her broken words, my tired smile. Even with all the bitterness in my chest, I couldn’t help but feel something warm.

“Uh… market? Market?” she said carefully.

“Yep. I already bought the whole market, so I never have to go there again,” I joked.

She laughed at that, and so did I. A weak laugh, but still. “I’ll rest for five minutes, then I’ll cook, okay?”

“Ok… ok,” she said, and walked away slowly, circling around the house like she always did.

I was just about to fall back onto the bed when her voice rang out again.

“Go… school? Syd? School?”

She was smiling, nodding repeatedly like she could get me to say yes. I smiled back, unsure how to respond, and just gave her a small nod. She seemed satisfied and walked away humming to herself.

I let my body fall onto the bed, spine-first. School again? They keep asking because they saw my resume—the one I used to apply for full-time jobs. Not that it mattered. I didn’t even pass the last one.

“See? Your mom wants you to go back to school,” Hade chimed in from the doorway, arms crossed. “She’ll be fine, Sydney. I can be like… your CCTV.”

I raised a brow.

“I mean it,” he said, standing straighter. “I can travel through space and time. If there’s an emergency, I’ll tell you right away. I can even spy on your sister if she’s doing something shady.”

I didn’t answer. Just stared at the ceiling.

What am I supposed to do now? Would school be better than job hunting? If I transfer, how will I explain how I can suddenly afford tuition? Can I even survive the pressure?

Just thinking about it made my head hurt. It’s like signing up for a new type of hell when I haven’t even survived the one I’m already in.

“Don’t overthink,” Hade said, suddenly cheerful. “What’s important is that you’re alive!”

Alive. That word again. Everyone keeps saying that. Why is being alive so important when all it means is more time to suffer?

“Stop being a pessimist, you peasant,” Hade said with a theatrical scoff.

I turned to him. He was holding To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, of all things.

“Your face says it all. You’re like an open book,” he added. “But damn, you’re good at lying. Scary good.”

He smirked, put the book down, and looked straight at me. Like he could see through every thought I was trying not to think.

You're one of the reasons I’m like this, I thought, but didn’t say. I just rolled my eyes.

He tilted his head. “How do you do that? Why are you so good at manipulating yourself?”

I stared at him. Manipulating?

Isn’t that just... surviving?

“I don’t know. Maybe because I believe in myself? That all of this—these thoughts—they’re just in my head. Not real,” I said, not entirely sure what I was even saying. “Maybe… I like the idea of being pitiful. But I’m not. Because I can do everything on my own.”

The words felt both empty and too real.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stood there—watching me.

His expression was blank. Not in a cold way. More like… stunned. Or maybe confused.

Did I say the wrong thing? Did it sound stupid?

I looked away. It was quiet. Too quiet. And I hated that it made me feel even more alone.

“Take a rest and do what you tend to do,” Hade said as he walked toward my desk, flipping the pages of the book in his hands. “Life is short. Don’t make yourself suffer for something you never even deserved.”

He sat there quietly, his legs slightly swinging off the edge like he had all the time in the world. The book—still To the Lighthouse—rested in his palm, half-forgotten.

Life is unfair.

Why do children have to pay for their parents’ mistakes?

Why are we the ones dragging the weight they should be carrying?

Why bring us into this world, only to make us clean up after the wreck?

“How do you do that?” I asked, almost in a whisper.

He glanced at me, then back at the book.

“Because I believe in Him,” he said softly, smiling—not a smug smile, but something distant, full of warmth I could never seem to hold on to.

God. I believe in Him, too… but maybe not the way Hade does. Maybe not enough. Not anymore.

“And someone taught me to be an optimist,” he added. “I’m really glad she did.”

There was something in the way he said she—a soft reverence, like the memory still lit something in him. It made me ache. I wonder if anyone would ever speak about me like that.

“By the way,” he said, standing now, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans, “you still have fifteen days to think about transferring. I’ll check on Jarred first.”

Then he disappeared.

Just like that.

I stared at the empty space he left behind. How often does he do that—reach out to the people he cares about?

I could never match his kind of resolve. He doesn’t just think—he moves.

He acts.

Me? I just overthink. Every time. I sit with fear, cradle it, and talk to it until I convince myself it’s real. And in doing so, I forget the one thing that could have saved me: action.

He reminded me of Tycen.

Maybe that’s the real reason I fell so hard for him.

He never made promises. Never hyped himself up with flowery words.

He just did things.

Quietly, but always.

Never failed to surprise me.

Always left me in awe.