He hadn't stepped foot in school for a week.
Every morning, he'd wake up drenched in sweat, his heart still racing with the echoes of Mei's voice. His mother had tried everything — coaxing, pleading, even begging — but the thought of seeing that girl again, the one who looked so much like Mei, filled him with a terror he couldn't explain.
Yet the image of the bracelet haunted him. Every night, it glowed behind his eyelids, spinning in the darkness until his head throbbed. That bracelet… why does she have it?
By Saturday evening, the walls of his room felt like they were closing in. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stand the silence. He slipped on a hoodie and stepped out into the crisp twilight air, telling himself a walk might clear his mind.
The world outside felt muted, the fading sun casting long shadows across empty streets. He drifted without direction, lost in the familiar ache of memories until he reached the quiet park near his school — the same park where he and Mei used to sit on warm afternoons, talking about everything and nothing.
He stopped dead when he saw her.
The girl. She stood beneath a cherry tree, her back to him, head tilted as she laughed with a friend beside her. Her black hair fell in soft waves, just like Mei's. And there, catching the last light of day — the bracelet, dangling from her wrist.
His pulse roared in his ears. The friend waved goodbye and disappeared down the path, leaving her alone.
He didn't think. He couldn't.
"Haru-kun…"
He heard it. Mei's voice, floating on the breeze, impossibly close.
He lunged forward, grabbing her hand — the one with the bracelet — gripping it tight. "Mei!" he gasped, his voice breaking.
The world went black.
Sound fell away, swallowed by a thick, heavy silence. The air grew cold and suffocating. He spun around, but saw nothing. Only endless darkness.
"Mei? Where are you?" he shouted, his voice echoing into the void. The darkness pulsed. Soft whispers slithered through it — Mei's voice calling his name again and again, growing more frantic with every repetition.
"Haru-kun… Haru-kun… Haru-kun…"
He reached out blindly, stumbling through the pitch black. "Where are you? Mei!"
A shape flickered at the edge of his vision. Glowing yellow eyes blinked open in the dark — the kitten from that night. Its gaze bored into him, unblinking.
"Haru!"
A different voice broke through — sharper, higher. Reality snapped back like a rubber band.
He was in the park again, the evening light faded into night. The girl was staring at him, eyes wide with fear, desperately trying to pull her hand free from his grasp.
"Haru… let go! You're hurting me!" she cried, tears brimming in her eyes. Haru's breath came in ragged gasps as he released her. He staggered back a step, the blood pounding in his head louder than ever. His vision swam. The bracelet still glinted on her wrist, taunting him.
"I-I'm sorry," Haru stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you… are you okay?" He looked up, expecting anger — and saw her eyes shimmering with fear. His stomach twisted. He must look like a monster.
She stepped back, cradling her wrist, rubbing where his fingers had dug in too hard. She turned her head away sharply, refusing to meet his eyes.
Guilt crashed over him like a wave. He dropped his gaze to the ground, words failing him. His eyes flicked back to her wrist, drawn again — that bracelet… what had just happened? What was that dark place?
"Why do you keep staring at my bracelet, you creep?" she snapped suddenly, her tone sharp, cutting through the quiet night. "What is wrong with you?"
Haru felt like the ground had opened beneath him. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "I… I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning away. "I really am. Bye."
He started to walk off, but her voice stopped him.
"Hey, wait up!" she called, her tone softer this time. He turned, surprised. She hugged her arms around herself, eyes downcast. "Look… I didn't mean to be rude. Shoji told me about… what you're going through. I'm really sorry."
Her words knocked the wind out of him. His chest tightened — she sounded just like Mei when she'd comfort him, gentle and warm. He looked away, embarrassed by the tears pricking his eyes. "Thanks… it's fine," he said hoarsely, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really am sorry. We've gotta stop meeting like this…"
She let out a small, bright giggle that somehow made the world seem a little less dark. "I'm Yuki," she said, smiling shyly as she extended her hand.
So… her name isn't Mei, he realized. His heart sank with a strange mix of relief and disappointment. He reached out, shaking her hand while his eyes drifted back to the bracelet on her other wrist, the silver charms catching the streetlights.
"I'm Haru…" he began, then paused, realization creeping in. He pulled back a little. "Wait… how did you already know my name?"
"Oh!" she said with a laugh, cheeks pink. "Shoji told me. That day… when you sorta fainted, remember? He was worried about you." Her eyes softened as their hands dropped.
Haru tried to smile, but the questions swirled too loudly in his head. His gaze fell again to the bracelet. He took a shaky breath. "Yuki… can I ask you something?"
She blinked. "Sure."
"That bracelet…" he began carefully, heart pounding, "where did you get it?"
She looked down at it, twisting it thoughtfully around her wrist. "This?" she said with a small, wistful smile. "I've had it for as long as I can remember. Honestly… I don't even know where it came from."
She laughed softly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I know it's silly, but… the first time I wore it, I had this dream about a kitten — the cutest kitten I've ever seen."
Haru felt like ice water poured down his spine.
A kitten.
That kitten.
From that night.
Yuki continued, oblivious to the storm raging in his mind. "I've always felt attached to it… like I can't take it off. But… I really can't remember how I got it."
Yuki tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You keep staring at my bracelet… why are you so interested in it?"
Haru's mind spun with half-truths and desperate explanations, but he forced himself to shrug, plastering on a weak smile. "Oh… it's nothing," he lied. "Just… reminded me of something, that's all."
She looked like she might press him, but then she checked the time on her phone. "Well, I should get going," she said softly, shifting from foot to foot. "It's getting late…"
Haru's heart kicked up a beat. This was his chance — maybe if he went with her, he'd finally understand what this all meant. "Hey, can I walk you home?" he blurted, trying to sound casual. "It's dark, and… it's not safe alone."
She hesitated, eyes flicking across his face like she was searching for an ulterior motive. But then she smiled faintly. "Alright… but just to the edge of my street, okay?"
They fell into step, the quiet park giving way to narrow sidewalks lined with swaying trees. A chilly breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the fading light turned everything dusky and blue.
As they walked, Haru kept stealing glances at her wrist. The bracelet seemed to shimmer faintly in the twilight, silver charms dancing with each step. The sight made his stomach churn.
"Hey haru-kun..." Yuki said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. "Do you ever feel like you're being… followed? Like someone's watching you even when you're alone?"
He stiffened, eyes darting around. "What do you mean?"
She clutched her bag tighter against her chest. "I don't know… lately I feel like I'm not alone. Like there's something… or someone… I can't see."
A cold dread washed over Haru. He swallowed hard. "It's probably… nothing," he said shakily.
They turned onto her street, a quiet road lined with shuttered shops and dim porch lights. At the far end stood an old, dilapidated house — its gate hanging open, weeds spilling onto the sidewalk like reaching fingers.
Yuki pointed. "That's my place."
Haru froze. The house looked abandoned, paint peeling, windows cracked. The air around it felt… wrong, thick with an unnatural stillness.
"Are you… sure?" he asked, voice wavering.
She gave him a puzzled look. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She stepped through the gate, then glanced back at him. "Thanks for walking me, Haru-kun. See you at school…?"
He nodded numbly. "Y-yeah… see you."
She smiled — the same warm, gentle smile Mei used to give him — and slipped inside.
Haru stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the dark house. Every instinct screamed that something wasn't right. His eyes fell to the bracelet one last time as the door closed.
That same bracelet.
That same kitten.
That same feeling.
And the darkness in his mind whispered: She's waiting.
Haru's legs felt like lead as he dragged himself home. His thoughts were a mess of tangled threads — the bracelet, the kitten, Yuki's unsettling words, and the hollow emptiness of Mei's absence.
The night had grown colder, the mist rolling in low and thick along the darkened streets. Every shadow seemed to move at the corner of his eye, every whisper of the wind sounded like someone calling his name.
When he finally reached his front door, he stood frozen for a moment, staring at the chipped paint, the warm light spilling through the cracks of the curtains. It was the only place that still felt real, like it was holding him together.
He pushed the door open quietly. The smell of miso soup drifted from the kitchen, warm and familiar, wrapping around him like a fragile safety net. His mother stood by the stove, stirring gently, her face etched with worry.
She looked up as soon as she heard him. Relief and anger flashed across her eyes. "Haru! Where have you been? It's late!"
"I just needed to clear my head," he said, his voice low, eyes darting away.
She set the ladle down and hurried over, pulling him into a fierce hug. "I was so worried," she whispered into his shoulder, her voice trembling. "You can't just disappear like that. After everything… I can't lose you too."
"I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, guilt stabbing deep into his chest. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, feeling the warmth of her love, the desperation behind it.
She pulled back, searching his eyes. "You're shaking," she said softly, brushing his hair from his face. "Come on. Let's have dinner. You look like you haven't eaten all day."
He nodded numbly and followed her to the table. She ladled soup into bowls, the steam rising between them, curling in the kitchen's soft light. For a moment, everything felt almost normal — the clink of chopsticks, the gentle slurp of noodles, the quiet comfort of shared silence.
But his mind wouldn't let him rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Yuki's face, Mei's smile, the kitten's glowing eyes.
"Haru…" his mother's voice pulled him back. She was watching him closely, fingers fidgeting with her own chopsticks. "Do you… want to talk about it?"
He hesitated, words caught in his throat. How could he explain something even he didn't understand? How could he tell her about the darkness, the visions, the feeling that Mei was still reaching out to him?
"I'm okay," he lied, forcing a small smile. "Really."
She sighed, eyes sad but resigned. "You don't have to pretend with me, Haru. You know that, right?"
He nodded, but the words stuck like stones in his chest.
After dinner, he helped clear the table, washing dishes side by side with his mother. She hummed quietly, a soft, familiar tune that once lulled him to sleep as a child. For a fleeting second, he felt like he could breathe again.
They finished cleaning up, and she handed him a towel. "Get some rest," she said, kissing his forehead. "Tomorrow's a new day."
He climbed the stairs slowly, feet heavy, every step echoing with memories. In his room, he closed the door gently behind him. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting pale stripes across the floor.
He sank onto his bed, tossing his phone aside. His eyes fell to the sketchbook still wrapped on his desk — the gift he never got to give Mei. He reached for it with trembling hands, pulling the ribbon loose.
One by one, he flipped through the pages. Each drawing was a piece of her — her laugh, her sleepy morning face, the little ways she'd wrinkle her nose. The sketches blurred through the tears welling in his eyes.
He lay back on the bed, the sketchbook pressed to his chest, and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere beyond the quiet night, he thought he heard a cat's soft mewl.
Mei… are you still out there?
His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling him under. But just before sleep claimed him, he heard it again — a soft, familiar voice whispering from the darkness:
"Haru-kun…"