I kept not going.
And somehow… that felt worse than going.
Day 1—
I told myself it wasn't the right time.
Day 2—
I told myself I didn't need to.
Day 3—
I stopped calling it anything.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Just—
not going.
…
Day 4—
I ran out of ways to lie to myself.
The sky looked miserable tonight.
Like it was about to cry.
(It had that look.
I know that look.
I chose to ignore it anyway.)
..
The third floorboard creaks.
I know.
Not tonight.
I stepped over it.
Slow.
Silent.
First came Shou's door.
I stopped outside it.
Pressed my ear against the wood.
Silence.
The specific silence of someone actually asleep.
(Shou sleeps like a soldier.
Which makes sense.
Because he is one.
Was one.
"Sleep well, old man."
(The only person I'd say that to and mean it as a compliment.)
I moved on.
Then Zain's door.
Closed.
(Good.
Stay closed.
Please.
Just— stay closed.)
Outside, finally.
My heart was doing something loud and stupid inside my chest.
(Someone stop me.
Anyone.
It's past midnight.
I'm the only idiot awake.
Going somewhere I swore I'd never go.
Like a student showing up to school after getting expelled.
Except worse.
Much worse.
Nobody stopped me.
(Of course nobody did
I'm probably the only idiot still awake.)
So I kept walking.
(Because that's what I do.
I walk toward the things I'm not ready for.
And deal with them later.
Much later.
Usually in the dark.
Usually alone.)
Then the sky made its opinion known .
Rain..
(I don't hate the rain.
Not really.
It's honest, at least.
It doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is.)
The station was almost empty.
Almost.
A few people.
Strangers carrying their own problems.
Nobody looked at me.
Good.
(I wasn't looking at anyone either.
I was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere between the ring in my pocket
and a house I hadn't stepped inside in eight years.
The people on the platform—
the flickering light—
the sound of rain on the roof—
all of it felt like it was happening behind glass.
Far away.
Not mine.)
My hand found the ring without thinking.
Fingers closing around it.
The symbol.
Think.
Don't think.
Think.
Don't.
...
The train came.
I got on.
Simple as that.
Nothing about tonight is simple.
But getting on a train—
that part I can manage.)
Something shifted the moment I entered the neighborhood.
Like a switch.
Click.
And suddenly— I wasn't driving anymore.
I wasn't the one in control.
My body was.
I tried to forget every inch of this place.
Every street.
Every turn.
But something refused.
My feet moved without asking me.
My body remembered everything
I had spent eight years trying to bury.
(Apparently — forgetting isn't as simple as deciding to.
My body never got that memo.)
My feet stopped.
Just like that.
The house was there.
Of course it was.
(Houses don't leave.
They just wait.
Patient.
Silent.
The loyal dog—
Waiting for you to come back
even after you swore you never would
I stood there.
Rain on my shoulders.
Eyes locked on the door.
(Go back.
You don't have to do this.
Nobody's making you.
Turn around now—
and nobody would ever know.)
...
(But you found the ring.
And you can't unfind it.
You need to know.)
My hand reached for the handle.
Before the rest of me could object—
I pushed the door open.
The smell hit me before anything else.
Not dust.
Not emptiness.
Her.
Tsuki...
Still here.
After everything.
After eight years of no one—
somehow, still here.
(It has no right.
She has no right to still smell like home.
And yet.)
(And yet.)
It was cold.
(So cold.)
I wiped a stray drop from my cheek.
Then another.
Then more.
Wait.
I touched my face.
Wet.
Warm.
Still coming.
Oh.
Right.
(Apparently, my eyes had started a conversation I wasn't ready to
join.)
I wiped them away.
It didn't matter.
More followed.
(Apparently, they don't take orders.
Not tonight.)
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
Rough.
Real.
(Focus, Kai.
You didn't come here to drown in the ghost of who you were eight years ago
You came here for answers.)
..
I stepped forward, and the house answered beneath my feet with a soft, familiar creak.
Fair enough. I left first.
The living room looked smaller than I remembered — though I suppose that's true of most things when you revisit them after eight years.
Rooms, problems, people.
Everything shrinks a little once you've grown past it.
The couch still leaned to one side.
That one short leg survived everything.
Good for it.
The hallway looked longer
Like it was stretching.
Trying to keep me away from whatever waited at the end of it.
(Or maybe it was trying to warn me.
I've never been good at taking warnings )
After a few steps...
The kitchen was on my left.
I looked straight ahead and kept walking.
(My body made that decision before my mind did.
I let it.
Some places don't need to speak to be loud.
I wasn't ready for that room.
Maybe I never will be.)
The first door on the right was ours — mine and Zain's.
I opened it slowly.
Two beds. Mine by the wall. His by the window — always his, because we used to fight about it every single night.
You had it yesterday.
No, you did.
You're lying.
You're ugly.
That's unrelated.
So you admit it.
Shut up, Kai
I always gave it to him in the end. He'd probably say he won fairly.
That room always felt… different.
Not better.
Just something the rest of the house could never be.
Like it belonged to a version of me I don't have anymore.
I just wanted one night on that bed—
like nothing ever happened...
Apparently that's too much to ask.)
I didn't stay.
Hikaru's room was last.
Everything inside was too neat.
Not comfort.
Control.
(It annoyed me immediately. I respected that.)
I searched — desk, drawers, closet, floor.
Every book still in its place.
(A murderer with taste in books.
That tracks.
Burn in hell.
Take the books with you.)
(Dust. Disappointment. Silence.
(Shocking. Turns out trauma doesn't come with labeled evidence.)
I searched again, slower. Still nothing.
No letters, no symbol,
no hidden truth waiting patiently for me.
I stepped back into the hallway
already feeling stupid.
A pointless trip.
A sad midnight pilgrimage to a house that had nothing left to say.
Before I turned towards the door
My eyes lifted by accident.
The photographs.
Still hanging there, exactly where they'd always been.
Several frames. Different years trapped behind glass — birthdays, ordinary afternoons, smiles that didn't know what was coming.
My eyes found her first.
Tsuki.
Of course they did.
She was laughing in one of them, head tilted slightly back, the kind of laugh that assumes the world is safe.
That was rude of her. Looking that alive.
I looked away.
Then — Hikaru.
Standing somewhere I didn't recognize, wearing the same unreadable expression he always had. The one I used to think meant nothing. Now I wasn't sure.
I almost kept walking.
Almost.
Something pulled me closer.
His wrist. The watch — old, plain, the kind you stop noticing after a while.
Except for the mark on its face.
I leaned in.
(No.)
Closer.
Small. Precise. Unmistakable.
The same symbol.
(The ring.
The watch.
Hikaru.)
No.
That's not coincidence.
That's a message.
(Which means…)
Who are you really... Hika—
No.
Wrong question.
At the same time, I felt it.
Something cold.
Not the air.
That feeling.
The one that creeps up behind you—
and goes right through you.
and tells you, very quietly—
you are not alone.
I took a step back.
For the first tim
I didn't want to know
who was standing in the dark.
…
But whatever it was—
it hadn't moved.
It was still looking at me...