Our bodies remember things our minds often try to forget.
Scents, textures, sounds—sometimes, that's all it takes for a memory to come flooding back. Not as a thought, but as a feeling. Goosebumps from a gentle breeze that once meant safety. A sick stomach at the sound that once meant fear. Even without words, our bodies carry those traces like invisible fingerprints left behind by everything we've lived through. Long after we've mentally forgotten something, the body still reacts—still flinches, still softens. It remembers how we held tension when we were scared, how we curled up when we wanted to disappear.
There's a kind of muscle memory in emotions. Our posture shifts depending on who we're around, or which room we're in. Sometimes, we shrink without realizing it. Sometimes, we breathe a little deeper just because someone made us feel seen. Touch, especially, can bring back entire moments—fingers brushing the fabric we wore on a significant day, a hug that reminds us of someone we've lost, or the ache in our feet that echoes the time we ran away instead of facing something. The body doesn't distinguish between "what matters" and "what's forgotten"; it only stores what it feels deeply and repeatedly.
And that's what makes healing so layered. It's not just about changing our minds—it's about gently retraining our bodies to feel safe again. To remind ourselves that we're no longer in the place where the memory first left its mark. It's learning to breathe through tension, to move without bracing, to trust a hand on the shoulder as comfort, not warning. The body keeps quiet records of our stories, and if we listen closely, it can guide us not only back to what hurt—but forward to what heals.
It got me thinking—maybe going to the places tied to my memories and spending time there would help trigger something, help retrain my body to remember the memories I've lost. If that's the case, I wouldn't mind trying.
Ding Dang Dong.
The class-ending bell rang. I began packing up my school supplies, making sure I wasn't forgetting anything. That's when I saw Najam approaching, already packed and ready to go.
"Yo, Sahabi! So, who's our next target?" he asked excitedly.
"I was thinking of meeting Caraka today," I replied, tapping my chin thoughtfully.
"Oh, then that'll be easy—I know where to find him."
"That's great, that really helps."
"If I remember right, he's always at the running field after class. So we should head there."
"Alright, let's go," I said, finishing up my packing.
We both hurried out of the classroom. Just outside, I spotted Betania standing in the hallway—arms loosely crossed, her gaze shifting from the floor to the doorway, like she had been waiting for something-or maybe someone. She didn't look impatient or upset, just… thoughtful, as if her mind was elsewhere, even though her feet stayed rooted in place. Something about the way she stood—still, yet full of quiet expectation—made me pause. I wondered if she had been waiting for me but hadn't said anything yet. I was about to call out when she looked up and our eyes met. She gave me a familiar, subtle smile—the kind that doesn't need words to feel like a greeting.
"Mind if I come with you?" she asked straight to the point.
I glanced at Najam, who smiled and gave a gesture that said, It's your call.
"You sure you want to come with us?" I asked to confirm.
"Of course. You guys are making the rounds with the 95th-year seniors, right? I'm curious about how our upperclassmen are doing."
"Um, wait—how do you know that?" I asked, surprised.
"Because I'm a witch," she said with a serious tone and a smile.
I sighed. There was no point in small talk to try and talk her out of it. I had a feeling she'd already made up her mind to tag along, even if I said no.
"Alright then, sure," I said, sounding like I had surrendered.
"Welcome aboard, new recruit! Welcome to the Team That Investigates Class 95!" Najam cheered, striking a pose.
"Yup, thank you," Betania replied with a cheerful smile.
The three of us walked toward the running field outside the school building. On the way, Betania and Najam chatted about light topics like music trends and trivia. Watching them talk made my body feel a little more at ease. My body had only associated their relationship with that of murderer and victim, so every time I saw them or remembered them, a chill would run through me. The same thing happened with any of my friends who had lost their lives—whether as victims or perpetrators. Seeing their relationship now in a more normal light felt like a new layer covering those painful memories.
When we arrived at the running field, there was no one else around—except one girl warming up in the corner. She had short, curly blonde hair with side bangs and curled tips. She wore a pastel purple varsity-style jacket with a star emblem. I was certain it was Tami—Tami Zulaika.
"Hm, this is strange. I don't see Caraka anywhere," Najam said, puzzled.
"Maybe he had something else to do?" I suggested.
"Could be, but usually, even if he had something else, he'd prioritize training. It's already late afternoon—prime time for practice," Najam explained.
"Should we ask that girl over there?" Betania suggested.
"Good idea," Najam agreed.
"Um… I really don't recommend we get involved with her," I replied, clearly uneasy.
"You know her, Sahabi?" Betania asked curiously.
"Yeah, that's Tami Zulaika. She's one of Caraka's classmates," I answered.
"Oh, then technically she's on our list, isn't she? Should we change our target?" Najam offered.
"Nope. I am completely unprepared to deal with her," I said flatly.
"Heeey, but she's super hot! What a waste not to at least say hi," Najam said, sounding disappointed.
"I don't think you'll be disappointed for long," Betania replied, pointing toward the corner of the field.
Tami was now looking straight at us. After what looked like a moment of consideration, she suddenly got into a sprinting stance and dashed toward us. Startled and slightly impressed, the three of us barely had time to react before she was standing right in front of us—her expression unreadable but clearly blocking our way.
"We really should've just left when we saw her," I muttered.