In the room's silence punctuated only by Funi's sobs, Presence realized that grief has a way of turning strangers into people we desperately want to comfort.

In that moment, Funi was no longer a stranger but someone who needed comfort and care.

Between sobs, Funi's words tumbled out, raw and filled with guilt. "If I hadn't asked him to go buy me roasted corn and pear that evening, he'd still be alive," she repeated, her voice cracking with each utterance.

Without prompting from Kel's ghost, Presence gently caressed Funi's thick braids, her touch meant to soothe. "It's not fair to think it was your fault," she said softly, her voice steady and reassuring. "You couldn't have known what would happen."

As she comforted the crying girl, Presence took in Funi's features more closely. The resemblance to Keke Palmer that Kel had mentioned was indeed striking – her beautiful dark skin, full and healthy black hair framing her face. Funi's hourglass figure was evident even in her casual sports bra and shorts.

Presence was acutely aware of the contrast between them. Her own taller, bottom hourglass figure was highlighted by her blue jeans and pretty floral blouse. When they had first met at the door, she had noticed the height difference, but now it seemed insignificant in the face of their shared emotional experience.

As Funi's sobs began to subside, Presence felt a shift in the air. Kel's ghostly presence seemed to intensify, reminding her of the urgency that had brought her here in the first place. There was still so much to discuss – the mysterious letter, the empty USB, and Kel's probable final words to Funi.

Presence took a deep breath, knowing she needed to steer the conversation back to these pressing matters. But she hesitated, not wanting to overwhelm Funi further. The girl in her arms had already been through so much, and now her world had been upended once again.

Presence continued gently rubbing her back. As her gaze wandered around the room, it landed on a crumpled envelope peeking out from under a pile of papers on the desk.

"Funi," Presence said softly, glancing back at her. "Is that the envelope with the letter and the USB?"

Funi sniffled, following Presence's gaze to the desk. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That's the one Anthony brought over last night."

Funi took a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "Umm, Anthony—is a mutual friend Kel and I shared—"

The air in the room seemed to thicken at the mention of Anthony's name. Kel and Presence exchanged a loaded glance, a silent conversation passing between them in microseconds. Funi, lost in her own thoughts, didn't notice.

"Inside," Funi continued, her words gaining momentum like a rolling stone down a hill, "there was a letter. And a USB drive. But the letter..." She paused, the weight of the words she was about to say visible in the slump of her shoulders. "It said the accident wasn't an accident at all. Someone out there wanted Kel dead."

Presence's eyes darted to Kel, a mixture of concern and something unreadable flickering across their face. In that moment, the room felt both infinitely large and suffocatingly small, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Funi's brow furrowed, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "But the USB was empty," she said. "And the letter... it didn't make any sense."

Presence felt a chill run down her spine, sensing that they were on the cusp of uncovering something significant. "Can you show me?" she asked gently. "Maybe together, with Kel's help, we can figure out what's really going on."

As Funi nodded and moved to retrieve the letter, Presence caught Kel's ghostly nod of approval. Whatever secrets were about to be revealed, it was clear that their journey was far from over. The comfort of shared grief was giving way to the tension of impending revelation, and Presence couldn't shake the feeling that they were stepping into something much bigger – and potentially more dangerous – than any of them had imagined.

Presence carefully unfolded the letter Funi had retrieved, reading its contents aloud for Kel's benefit. As she spoke, she noticed Funi's eyes darting around the room, a mixture of longing and curiosity in her expression. It was clear Funi was trying to catch a glimpse of Kel, even though she couldn't see him.

After finishing the letter, Presence relayed Kel's next question. "What about the USB?"

Funi's brow furrowed slightly. "Anthony took it with him," she said, sounding puzzled. "He was here last night, but I don't remember him leaving. He must have gone while I was asleep."

At the mention of Anthony, Kel's ghostly form tensed, his form rippling like disturbed water. He stood and walked to the window, ghostly gaze fixed on the world beyond—a world he was no longer part of, yet couldn't quite leave. Presence watched, sensing the weight of Kel's unease. It hung in the air, invisible but palpable, a reminder that even in death, some things refuse to rest.

Presence turned to Funi, her words careful as a tightrope walker's steps, each one taken with caution to maintain balance. "Have you talked to Anthony much lately?"

Funi's eyes dropped, as if searching for answers in the carpet fibers. "Not really," she murmured, guilt coloring her words. "I've been... avoiding calls. Since Kel..."

Presence nodded, understanding etched in the lines of her face. But beneath that sympathy, curiosity stirred like a restless animal. Anthony's name felt significant, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Her gaze flicked to Kel, still a tense presence by the window. Then, softly, as if approaching a wounded animal: ""Funi, tell me about Anthony. How did he know Kel? And you?" Presence's voice softened. "Even the little details might help us figure things out."

The room held its breath, secrets hovering like dust motes in the air. As Funi's words began to spill out, Presence found herself caught between two worlds – the tangible grief of the living girl before her, and the anxious presence of Kel's ghost.

She couldn't shake the feeling that they were teetering on the edge of something monumental. The letter, the USB, gang wars– all puzzle pieces waiting to click into place. And at the center of it all, a name that seemed to carry more weight with each utterance: Anthony.

Presence's eyes darted between Funi and Kel, her mind racing to connect invisible dots. The dorm room, once a sanctuary of late-night study sessions and shared laughter, now felt like the epicenter of a mystery that stretched far beyond its cinder block walls.

As Funi's story unfolded, Presence felt the weight of understanding settle on her shoulders. She was the bridge between the living and the dead, yes, but also the one who needed to see the whole picture. And with that realization came a dizzying sense of responsibility — 'The Conduit Curse'. Whatever truths were about to be unveiled, she knew they would ripple outward, touching lives far beyond this small circle.

Presence turned to Kel, a silent understanding passing between them. She took a breath, her voice transforming as she channeled his words:

"Baby m," she began, her voice tender and filled with emotion, "you've been hiding away, and it's breaking my heart."

Funi leaned in, tears balancing precariously on her lashes.

"Promise me you'll live," Presence continued, Kel's essence flowing through her words. "Funi, you have to get back out there. I fell in love with your smile, your laughter. They're too amazing to hide away because of grief."

Her voice wavered, heavy with emotion. "Be happy, Funi. Not because you're forgetting me, but because you're honoring us. Every moment you truly live is a love letter to what we had."

In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The air was thick with unspoken goodbyes and the bittersweet promise of new beginnings. It was as if the universe itself paused, acknowledging the profound truth that sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go.

Presence continued, her voice a bridge between worlds: "I'll be with you, Funi. In every sunset, every song that makes you want to dance. But promise me – no more tears. Celebrate what we had instead. Live the life we dreamed of, for both of us."

Funi's tears flowed freely now, but something else sparkled in her eyes – a tiny flame of hope, flickering to life.

"I love you, Funi. Always. And knowing you're out there, living with your whole heart – that's what will let me rest."

As Presence finished, her own eyes glistening, Funi whispered, "I love you too, Kel. I promise."

The moment hung suspended, fragile as a soap bubble, filled with all the bittersweet beauty of love and loss. Then, reality intruded, as it always does.

Presence glanced at her watch, suddenly awkward. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Revision classes."

And just like that, the ordinary world rushed back in, a reminder that even in the face of life's big moments, the small obligations of living go on.

Funi rose, her eyes damp but clearer. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling Presence into a hug that felt like a lifeline. They exchanged numbers in that rushed, fumbling way of new friends, before Presence excused herself to use the bathroom.

In her absence, Kel's ghost sat before Funi, his spectral form radiating love and bittersweet acceptance. He drank in her features one last time, as if trying to memorize a favorite song before the music faded.

Presence returned, farewells on her lips as she opened the door. And there, like a plot twist in a movie, stood Anthony. His hand was raised to knock, breakfast dangling forgotten from the other.

Their eyes met, and in that heartbeat, the world shifted. Recognition flashed across Anthony's face, mirrored by a jolt of fear in Presence. The air crackled, heavy with unspoken truths and sudden danger. The bag of breakfast swung gently between them, a mundane anchor in an ocean of sudden uncertainty.

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