‘Look!’ I shout over their squabbling.

They do. And they see.

Es is convulsing. Her translucent, glow-less, floating body gives a jerk like she’s a rag-doll, as if she is having a fit. Post-death seizure? I don’t know, is that a spirit thing?

But then we watch as her bouncing movements recede, and her body sets itself on the floor. Her translucent form starts solidifying, turning into a thick skinny coat, layer by layer. Her eyes, which were glazed up till now, become full and alive. Her hair, strand by strand, materialize from chiffon and nil. We are all transfixed by what is going on, too engrossed in the fine details of the conversion . . . until there she is, our Es. As a human, not a spirit.

I honestly have so many questions.

As if not quite able to believe himself, Marra gently prods her. He can touch her. He can touch her. He can touch her.

He cries. I cry. Bee cries. We all cry. (Even Rasthrum seems to tear up a bit. Maybe. I have no clue. I don’t know why I said that.)

But she is still unconscious, human or not.

Marra snaps his fingers under her eyes. Mr. Om shakes her. Bee slaps her. See licks her. I stand there, leaning against Rasthrum, biting my lip, chaffing my nails, praying.

No response.

As hope begins to sigh away like wind out of an unoccupied inn, I find my shoulders slumping. Rasthrum pats me gently (gently for him) on the back. Well, at least we can carry the body now, at least. We are ready to go, ready to leave, but then Marra starts humming. Humming happily, loudly, cheerily. I wonder if he’s lost a bolt up there. Trauma that he’s gone through, it won’t be implausible.

But then another voice joins his humming and they create a counterpoint of sorts. A beautiful synchrony rises into the air and seems to lift us off the ground.

The other humming, it appears, emanates from the lips of the body lying on the ground.

Beauty is a funny thing.

Young love is even funnier.

Death is the biggest joke of all time.

I love you, you beautiful person, and I will love you till I die.

Probably.

Maybe.

Or not.