Yuki stared at the photo in her trembling hands.
It was undeniably her—curled up under the floral quilt her grandmother stitched years ago. The angle was strange. Slightly tilted. As if taken from inside the room… while she was asleep.
Ren leaned closer, his brows furrowed. "This wasn't here yesterday?"
She shook her head. "I cleaned this attic myself. There was only one box. This one just appeared."
He reached into the box and pulled out a letter. The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar. Elegant. Almost too perfect.
To the girl who kept writing after he left.
The air in the room shifted. Like even the house was holding its breath.
"I don't like this," Yuki whispered.
"I do," Ren said. She turned, shocked. "Not the creepy photo part—definitely hate that. But the rest? You kept writing after I left. You remembered me. That means…"
"That means you have no idea how much it hurt," she snapped, the fear suddenly mixing with anger. "You disappeared without a single word, Ren. And now this? A mystery letter and a photo of me in my sleep? You think this is some kind of romance novel plot twist?!"
He was quiet.
"Yuki…" he finally said. "I'm not the only one who came back."
She froze.
"What do you mean?"
Ren rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding her eyes. "I wasn't the only one who got one of your letters. I think… someone else was reading them too. And now they want you to know."
"That doesn't even make sense," she said, her voice cracking. "I never sent those letters."
"But someone was reading them anyway."
Thunder cracked outside the window. The sudden downpour hit the roof hard, like footsteps racing above.
She felt a chill crawl up her spine.
They decided to go back downstairs—carefully, quietly. The box stayed behind, but the fear followed.
The rain didn't stop that night. Yuki made tea, Ren stayed in the guest room, and the silence between them was loud with unfinished conversations.
At 3:04 a.m., Yuki sat in bed, unable to sleep. She pulled out the photograph again. On the back, scribbled faintly in red ink, were five words:
"You were never really alone."
Her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
She opened it.
"Still writing letters, Yuki?"
Photo attached.
She opened the image.
It was a picture.
Of her.
Right now.
In her room.
Looking at her phone.
To Be Continued…