Three weeks.
That's how long it had been since Haru walked out the door —quietly, respectfully, with nothing but a look that said "Don't forget me."
She hadn't.
But she hadn't crumbled, either.
She folded his hoodie, put it in the drawer,and started learning how to breathe without needing someone else's lungs.
The city was the same.
The concrete didn't care about your past.
The people moved too fast to notice if you were crying behind your sunglasses.
The ramen stalls still smelled like grease and late-night regret.
And the skyline?
It just kept blinking.
Like it had nothing better to do than watch her try to become someone else.
She got a part-time job at a bookstore.
Nothing glamorous.Just old shelves and older receipts.A bell that jingled when the door opened.
There were two other employees: one girl named Yoon who wore Doc Martens and refused to alphabetize anything,and a guy with a nose ring who played underground bands through a speaker no one had approved.
She liked it.
There were no eyes watching her.
No whispers behind her back.
Just paper. Ink.And the hum of a world that didn't need her to bleed to feel real.
At first, she barely spoke.
She showed up on time.Did her work.Left quietly.
But by the second week, she was laughing at Yoon's bad jokes.By the third, she brought in coffee for everyone without being asked.
She even fixed her chipped nail polish.
Blue this time.
Still a little messy.
But hers.
At home, Ayin was rarely around — but she was texting.
Small things at first.
[7:03pm] ayin:did u eat?
[7:06pm] aara:yeah. u?
[7:07pm] ayin:lol chips
A few nights later:
[9:14pm] ayin:u still hate me?
Aara stared at the screen for a long time.
Then finally:
[9:22pm] aara:no.i just don't know who we are anymore.
[9:23pm] ayin:i'm trying.that's all i got.
[9:24pm] aara:that's enough.
The next morning, someone unfamiliar stepped into the bookstore.
Tall.Expensive coat.Sneakers too clean for the street.
Their presence was quiet — but it vibrated like a string pulled too tight.
They didn't browse.
They scanned.
As if looking for something they already knew was there.
Aara didn't look up until the person stopped at the poetry section.Then turned.
Walked to the counter.
And said:
"You're Aara."
Not a question.
A certainty.
Her body didn't move.
But inside, every muscle remembered what it meant to be hunted.
"No name tag," she said evenly."That was a guess?"
"No. That was a memory."
They pulled a flyer from their coat.
Slick paper.Red and black.Underground code.
She didn't have to unfold it to know what it was.
She'd seen a thousand like it during the Rae years.
"I'm not interested."
"Didn't think you were."
"Then why give it to me?"
"Because someone else thinks you should see it. Thinks you're… losing your edge."
"And who is that?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
They smiled.
No warmth.
Just a mouth that had learned how to fake it.
"They remember Ash.They don't believe Aara can handle what's coming."
She stared at them.
Didn't blink.
"Then let them find out the hard way."
They leaned in, resting both hands on the counter.
Close enough for her to see the scar tucked behind their ear.
A burn mark.
Healed. But not forgotten.
"They're building something. Something bigger than Rae. Smarter.No names. No contracts. Just obedience."
"Sounds familiar."
"You broke a legacy," they said softly."Now they're building an empire."
"I'm not interested in power."
"That's why they're scared of you."
They placed the flyer down.
Didn't push it toward her.Didn't threaten.Didn't smile again.
"They'll come knocking eventually.You can either be ready —or be ruined."
They walked out.
No purchase.No goodbye.
The door jingled behind them like a warning.
She stood there long after they were gone.
Not afraid.
Just awake.
Like a part of her spine had snapped back into place — the part that knew how to stand tall when the air turned sharp.
She didn't take the flyer home.
But she remembered it.
Every curve of the logo.Every code phrase hidden in the margins.The date. The place. The blood it hinted at.
That night, she sat on her windowsill with a mug of something warm.
Didn't cry.
Didn't shiver.
She just existed.
And that was enough.
The city below her blinked in neon and shadow.
She remembered the first time she stood on a rooftop with Haru.
How the sky had felt like it belonged to someone else.
How freedom had felt too big.
Now?
Now it didn't scare her.
Not because she was healed.
But because she finally understood:
Peace isn't quiet.It's choosing not to answer every noise like it's a war horn.
Her journal stayed closed that night.
Instead, she just whispered to herself —softly, under her breath.
"They think I vanished.But I didn't.I just started walking alone."
And she smiled.
Because now, her footsteps were her own.