I’m a Girl, He’s a Psycho, and This is Fine

The equipment room had returned to silence, the air finally free of oppressive spiritual energy. But for Shi Mo, the ghost's departure wasn't the end—it was the beginning of a deeper understanding.

The ghost girl had left behind one final message.

A memory.

That night, while sorting through the old belongings left behind in the storage area, Shi Mo discovered a worn diary. The cover was faded, the pages yellowed. It was tucked between stacks of forgotten textbooks and dusty files.

She sat cross-legged on the dorm floor, the diary open in her lap, her eyes scanning the handwritten words.

"I don't want to die.""I just want someone to talk to me.""Every day, I wait by the stairs hoping he'll say hi. He never does."

Shi Mo turned the pages carefully.

The entries were short, scattered, and painfully honest.

"I wore the red shoes today. No one noticed.""The other girls said I was trying too hard. But I just wanted him to see me.""He looked at me once. I smiled. He turned away."

By the final pages, the ink was smudged.

"I thought… maybe if I danced alone, he'd notice.""But I slipped. I couldn't breathe.""Everything went dark."

Shi Mo exhaled slowly and closed the diary.

So that was it.

The ghost hadn't been vengeful from the start. She had simply died unnoticed. Forgotten. Alone.

Her spirit hadn't lingered out of hatred.

It had lingered out of grief.

Shi Mo returned to the equipment room the next day with Fu Yunshen.

Together, they swept the floor, rearranged the clutter, and placed a single incense stick in the center of the space.

"Are you sure this will help her find peace?" Fu Yunshen asked quietly.

Shi Mo nodded. "It's not the ritual that matters. It's the remembrance."

They burned the incense.

Watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling like a farewell letter.

Fu Yunshen stood beside her, silent.

Then he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"She reminded me of someone."

Shi Mo looked at him.

"My stepmother used to cry like that. When she thought no one was watching."

Shi Mo didn't speak.

"She wasn't always a monster," he continued. "She changed. Or maybe… I changed."

"You were a child," Shi Mo said softly.

He looked away. "Doesn't mean I didn't notice."

The silence between them deepened—not awkward, but contemplative.

They had both seen too much. Felt too much.

Yet here they were.

Standing in a dusty room, mourning a ghost neither of them had ever truly known.