Reaching out and touching thin air startled her. Sitting up and staring at the back of the unoccupied couch made reality hit home. But her eyes still searched for Keiji in the darkness of her room.
She shoved the dark thought to the back of her head, and replaced it with the notion that Keiji was simply taking a shower like he did every morning.
Kasumi got up half-asleep, and walked to the lounge to make tea. Then it was suddenly hard to breathe, and Kasumi found herself wiping stubbornly at her eyes, realizing she had just wasted a cup of tea because she didn't take milk or sugar with hers.
Keiji was gone.
The thought left her with a hollow feeling deep within her chest.
Kasumi couldn't fall back to sleep so she gave up trying. On the edge of her bed she sat wrapped in her sheets, eying the greybox, shivering in the chilly air. A tiny voice in the back of her mind scolded her, told her that it was time she laid it and Keiji to rest. But she wasn't ready. Not yet.
She almost tripped over the sheets as she reached for the strange contraption. Kasumi had to see him, had to hear his voice. In an instant she stood in the dark hall of memories, standing before the ghost of Keiji and feeling so horribly alone.
Kasumi reached out and caressed his cheek, murmuring "I love you."
But he just stood there, like a statue at most, repeating the warning she had heard a thousand times. Every time she visited, she expected things to be different, as if he would say something else instead of begging her to delete the memories, to delete him.
It was all she had left of him, and words could not describe how thankful she was to Shepard for letting her keep it. Just seeing him and hearing his voice made everything seem okay, like everything was going to be all right. Even if he could not feel her touch or say anything in return to her, it was still a comfort to see him, to simply be reminded of what he looked and sounded like.
She exited the greybox before it became too difficult to do so.