Yuki's POV
> "I'm not breaking.
I'm just trying to carry something I never learned how to put down."
—from Yuki's unsent journal entry, 4:07 a.m.
---
Morning
The house was quiet, except for the ticking wall clock in the dining room.
Yuki lay curled beneath her blanket, the ceiling fan whirring softly overhead. From beyond the closed door, she could hear her mother moving in the kitchen—pans clinking, the faint bubbling of miso soup. Her father was already gone. He always left early on Thursdays.
She knew she had to get up.
But her body resisted, heavy like it had absorbed too many thoughts in the night.
The exam was tomorrow.
It should've felt urgent.
Instead, everything felt distant. Muted.
---
8:40 a.m., Kitchen
Her mother smiled gently when she walked in.
> "You finally woke up. I didn't want to disturb you. Big day tomorrow, hmm?"
Yuki nodded, trying to smile back.
She poured herself tea, though her hands trembled slightly.
> "Eat properly," her mother added, placing grilled fish and rice on the table. "It'll help you focus."
Yuki ate silently.
Each bite was automatic. Mechanical.
She felt her mother's eyes studying her, not with suspicion—but with quiet concern.
> "Ayane called yesterday," her mother said casually. "She wanted to wish you luck."
Yuki didn't answer.
Her chopsticks paused mid-air.
Ayane's name still stung.
Her mother didn't push it.
Just sipped her tea and looked away.
---
9:30 a.m., Bedroom
She sat on her futon, legs crossed, the study materials spread out before her like puzzle pieces she no longer had the energy to connect.
Her room hadn't changed much since high school.
Posters of novels she once adored still clung to the walls, curling slightly at the edges.
The bookshelf leaned with old journals and borrowed emotions.
Her eyes fell on the corner where her middle school yearbook sat untouched.
The one with the photo of him—the boy Ayane had stolen.
Yuki had never torn that page out.
She just avoided opening it.
---
10:21 a.m., Study Time
She tried to focus on formulas.
Typed outlines.
Key definitions.
Her phone buzzed once—group chat from class.
She didn't open it.
Instead, her gaze drifted to the window, where autumn leaves flickered in sunlight.
A memory rose uninvited:
Riku nudging her elbow during last winter's cram session, joking that she scowled more when focused than when angry.
She blinked hard. The memory left a sting.
---
11:00 a.m., Still at Her Desk
Yuki scribbled down answers.
Corrected a few diagrams.
Underlined a quote about ethical psychology in case study format.
But she knew she wasn't absorbing.
She wasn't stupid.
She was just tired of pretending things were fine when everything still hurt.
Her thoughts drifted to Ayane again.
How betrayal didn't always come with cruelty.
Sometimes it wore a familiar face and hugged you goodbye with a lie.
She wondered if Ayane ever felt guilty.
Probably not.
---
12:13 p.m., Lunch
Her mother had set out food.
Omelet rice. Her favorite.
> "I'll be at the market this afternoon," her mother said. "Need anything?"
Yuki shook her head.
> "I'm okay."
A lie.
Her mother studied her again, but didn't press.
> "Just remember, one exam doesn't define you."
Yuki managed a smile.
> "Thanks."
She ate the omelet rice in silence.
---
1:30 p.m., The Backyard
Yuki stepped outside for air.
Her family's backyard was small but quiet.
A plum tree leaned against the fence, its leaves thinning for winter.
She sat on the old bench and stared upward.
No messages from Riku.
No apology from Ayane.
Just the low hum of traffic beyond the wall.
The rustle of leaves.
The weight of silence.
She had thought she'd feel more prepared by now.
Instead, she felt like she was carrying an invisible wound no one saw.
---
3:00 p.m., Her Room Again
Yuki opened her phone.
Checked her old messages.
Riku's last words were still there.
> "I wanted us to be something real. But maybe we were just timing gone wrong."
She typed a reply.
Then deleted it.
Then typed again:
> "I never stopped hoping you'd show up."
She deleted that too.
Instead, she opened her journal app and wrote a line to herself:
> "It still hurts. And it's okay that it does."
---
4:20 p.m., Desk, Studying Again
Her father was home early. She could hear his voice downstairs, laughing with her mother about something on TV.
She returned to her notes.
Pushed through two full chapters.
Rewrote important points.
Reviewed diagrams.
Understood a few things for real this time.
It didn't feel victorious.
But it felt real.
A small reclaiming.
---
6:30 p.m., Dinner Table
They ate together.
Miso soup, pickled vegetables, and grilled saba.
Her father asked about the exam.
Yuki answered briefly.
> "I think I'll manage."
Her parents didn't say much more.
They didn't need to.
The warmth of the meal was enough.
---
8:00 p.m., Shower
Steam curled around her like a cocoon.
She let the hot water erase the static in her head.
Didn't cry.
Just stood there and let herself feel tired.
Not from studying.
From holding everything in.
---
9:30 p.m., Bed
The house was quiet again.
Her parents were watching a drama in the next room, voices muffled through the walls.
She stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she'd take the exam.
Tomorrow, the test would end.
But not the ache.
She whispered to herself:
> "I'm still here. Even after everything, I'm still here."
And for tonight—
that was enough.
---
Riku's POV
He woke before the alarm.
5:47 a.m.
The city outside was still draped in blue shadow, that pre-dawn quiet reserved for insomniacs, street sweepers, and people left behind.
The bed beside him was empty.
Still shaped to her outline.
Still faintly warm.
But Yuki hadn't returned last night.
She had left the morning before — without warning, without excuse. No text. No note. Just a soft click of the front door as he dozed off at his desk, followed by a silence that deepened rather than settled.
She had only stayed for two nights. The first time ever.
And now she was gone.
---
He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, letting the weight of the silence press into him. It wasn't the silence of solitude. He knew that kind well.
This was something else.
The silence of something unfinished.
---
His phone was on the floor beside the bed, screen-down.
He picked it up.
No notifications.
No new messages.
Their last conversation was still open.
A joke about iced coffee.
A blurry photo of the two of them laughing over instant noodles.
Her reply to his quiet offer—"You can stay if you want."
Just:
"Okay :)"
That was all it had taken. No drama. No hesitation.
Just a smile behind the screen, and then her toothbrush in his bathroom.
And now—
Nothing.
---
He opened the keyboard, typed:
"You good?"
Paused.
Deleted it.
Tried again:
"Coming by today?"
Backspace.
Closed the app.
---
The coffee machine hissed, breaking the stillness.
He poured two cups out of habit before realizing.
He poured one back.
Her mug — white ceramic with a chipped rim — still sat in the sink.
He remembered the way her lipstick had barely marked the edge.
Soft peach. Almost gone now.
He didn't scrub it off.
Not yet.
---
He sat at his desk. The textbook lay open to the review section.
The exam was tomorrow. It should have felt urgent.
It didn't.
He turned a page, then another. Nothing stayed in his mind.
He couldn't remember what he'd just read.
Only the way she used to tap her pen against the table, thinking.
Only the way she sat too close when she was tired.
---
She'd said her parents thought she was at Ayane's place.
He never asked if that was a lie.
Maybe she went home because she had to.
Maybe she left because she wanted to.
Maybe she regretted staying.
But if she had regrets, why didn't she say anything?
If she didn't — why was she gone?
---
His phone buzzed.
He grabbed it too fast.
Just the college reminder:
"Exam: Tomorrow. Review session: Today, 6 PM."
He replied mechanically:
"Noted."
Then turned the screen face-down again.
---
The room still smelled faintly like her.
Shampoo. Skin. Something gentle.
He told himself it was just his hoodie.
He didn't check.
---
Outside, the clouds were low and pale, the kind that promised neither sun nor rain — only a flat grey stillness.
The kind of weather that hovered.
Unmade, undecided.
Neither morning nor night.
Neither love nor loss.
He looked at the mug again.
Then washed it.
The lipstick mark disappeared with a single swipe.
Faster than he expected.
Faster than he wanted.
---
He stood by the window for a while, waiting for the light to change.
It didn't.
---
By noon, the apartment felt thinner.
Too many windows. Too much quiet.
He ate standing up — rice reheated from a box, something bland he couldn't taste. The spoon clinked against the bowl in the wrong rhythm.
He used to study in silence. Now, it sounded like absence.
---
He sat again at his desk, textbook open, notebook angled like always.
But even the pages looked dimmer now.
The clock ticked.
The light never shifted.
---
Around three, he opened their chat again.
Still nothing.
He almost typed, "I'll be at the review session," then stopped.
If she wanted to know, she'd ask.
If she wanted to see him, she'd come.
He closed it again.
---
The review session was at six.
By four-thirty, he was already showered, dressed, and staring at the door like someone waiting for a cab that might not come.
He wasn't early.
He just had nowhere else to be.
---
5:45 PM
Campus — Third Lecture Hall
The chairs were half-filled when he arrived.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Someone coughed. Someone yawned.
He scanned the room automatically.
Not here.
He sat at the far end, same row they always took when they came together.
Second from the wall. She always liked the aisle.
The seat beside him remained empty.
---
The professor started with logistics, walked them through exam structure, reminded them not to bring any bags.
Riku barely heard any of it.
His pen moved over the page, transcribing words he wouldn't remember.
He kept glancing sideways, as if a door might open and she'd slip through without looking at him.
She didn't.
---
Halfway through, Ayane walked in — alone.
She met his eyes briefly, then sat on the opposite end of the hall.
No nod. No expression.
Only silence.
If Yuki wasn't with her, it meant she hadn't lied about going home.
Unless—
Unless it was something else.
---
He didn't ask.
---
After the session, the hallway buzzed with tired chatter.
Riku moved through it without speaking.
He checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
No new message.
No unread reply.
Not even a typing bubble that disappeared.
---
Outside, the city had cooled.
The air carried that faint end-of-summer chill — like something was letting go.
He stood at the gates for a while, watching people head off in pairs and groups.
Some laughing.
Some holding hands.
Some alone.
He didn't know which one he looked like.
---
Back home, the lights felt too bright.
He turned off half of them.
Then sat at the edge of his bed, not undressing, not moving.
Just listening.
The silence wasn't heavier now.
It was familiar.
And that scared him more.
---
His phone buzzed once.
A single name on screen.
Not hers.
A reminder:
"Exam: Exam tomorrow. Sleep well."
---
He muted it.
Then lay down.
---
The shape of her still lived in the pillow beside him.
So did the silence she left behind.
But tomorrow hadn't come yet.
And he was still here.
---