8:42 PM.
The chalk circle was still there. So was the black fingerprint — smudged but fresh, like someone had pressed it there seconds ago. Itsuki crouched down, staring at it.
He ran a finger along the chalk line. It came away dusty. Real.
"Is this some sick joke?"
He stood up, heart drumming. The closet door hung half open behind him, like a mouth waiting to whisper again.
He shut it. Hard.
The book sat on the desk. Open. The words still clear:
"Let me in."
He didn't sleep much that night.
When he did drift off, he dreamed of a hand — pale, too long, tapping on glass just out of reach.
The next morning felt stale. His mom's voice felt distant. Breakfast tasted like nothing.
He dragged himself to school. The sun was too bright. He almost didn't hear Haruta yelling until his friend smacked him on the back.
"Oi! Zombie boy. You alive in there?"
Itsuki scowled. "Shut up."
Haruta burst out laughing. "Noa, look at this guy — he looks like he hasn't slept in a week."
Noa just raised an eyebrow, adjusting her hair tie. "Did you?"
Itsuki shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "It's nothing."
Haruta leaned in, voice teasing. "Ooooh, scary dreams? Or is it love keeping you up?"
Itsuki punched him in the shoulder, harder than usual. Haruta yelped dramatically.
Noa giggled, slipping her arm lightly through Itsuki's for a moment. Warm. Fearless.
"You know," she said softly, "you can talk to me if something's wrong."
He didn't answer. But the warmth of her hand grounded him, just for a second.
Class felt worse than usual.
He found himself doodling circles in the margin of his notebook. Circles with five dots inside.
Over and over. Sometimes he didn't even remember doing it.
When he looked up, the room felt frozen. No voices. No movement. A static hush that pressed into his ears.
He turned toward the window.
The same figure stood under the old schoolyard tree — a blur. Tall. Watching. He blinked and it was gone.
After school, Haruta dragged him to the convenience store.
"Sugar will fix that haunted face of yours," Haruta said, tossing a bottle of soda at him.
Itsuki caught it but didn't open it. He was staring at the rack near the counter — cheap notebooks lined up neatly.
One of them was open.
He was sure he saw something. Small, but there — a tiny circle drawn in the corner of the page.
Five dots.
He looked again. Nothing.
"Dude, hello? Earth to Itsuki!" Haruta waved a hand in his face.
"Yeah. Sorry."
Haruta sighed. "Man, you're so jumpy lately. It's just a test coming up, not the end of the world."
Itsuki didn't answer.
That night, he stood at his bedroom door, hand hovering over the light switch. The book was still on his desk. Open.
The page was empty this time.
But when he stepped closer, new words bled onto the paper — letter by letter, like someone was writing from inside.
"I'm closer now."
In the dark, Itsuki felt it — a soft brush against his shoulder, like a hand testing the space between them.
He turned, but nothing was there.
His eyes flicked back to the desk.
The page now held one more line, fresh and wet:
"We are friends, Itsuki."
He didn't sleep.
To be continued...