Summary
Synopsis:
My lover died, he died for me.
Everyone in the world is telling me to move on and not look back. I think they must be crazy; how could he bear to leave me?
I returned to our home, because I knew he would never want to leave me.
It’s been more than seven days since his death (the traditional mourning period), and I don’t know if the soul-summoning ritual will work, but I pray, praying for him to come back to my side.
The summoning failed, drawing in a bunch of low-level, despicable spirits instead. Our house became like a haunted house, but I didn’t care.
Five days later, I had to politely dismiss these minor ghosts because he had returned. I needed to clean the house, otherwise he would be angry.
He was indeed angry, and he became completely unfamiliar. When I dreamt at midnight, he always seemed to want to take my life.
I could only hold him and say, with a sense of grievance, “You’re so fierce. You never used to treat me like this. I’m a little sad.”
But it doesn’t matter; I know this is temporary. Once his anger subsides, we will reconcile and be as we were before.
As I expected, he quickly accepted me. But this peaceful life didn’t last long before my world completely collapsed.
On a rainy night, our doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole, and outside the door stood my soaking wet lover. He said, “Aren’t you going to let me in? I’ve missed you so much.”
If the man outside the door is my lover, then who is the one currently in my bed? Who is the one I have been living with day and night for so long?