A few days passed, and Haruto hadn't stepped outside once.
He stayed in his room, lying on his bed with the curtains half-closed, sunlight barely leaking through. The world outside moved on—birds sang, wind brushed against the trees, but Haruto felt detached from all of it. His phone was silent, his thoughts loud.
Each morning blurred into the next. He would stare at the ceiling for hours, mind drifting between memories and nothingness.
What am I doing?
Where am I going?
He had food, shelter, and people who cared—yet something inside him felt hollow, like his life was paused between one breath and the next. He wasn't moving forward, but he couldn't go back either. He had everything… and somehow, nothing at all.
With a quiet sigh, he finally pushed himself out of bed and headed downstairs. The wooden floor creaked under his feet.
