His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he sprinted through darkness.
There was no sky, no ground—just an endless, black void beneath his feet and above his head. His legs moved on their own, like something had gripped the strings of his body and forced them into motion.
Where am I?
Why can't I stop running?
And then—he saw it. A small blur, fast and white, darting through the void ahead.
The cat.
That damn cat again.
Its fur glowed faintly like mist under moonlight, gliding effortlessly as Haru stumbled behind it, desperate, panting. "Hey—stop!" he shouted, his voice echoing weirdly through the void. But his body didn't slow down. It wouldn't. Even when he tried to stop, his legs kept moving. Chasing. The cat suddenly stopped. Just like that. Frozen. Waiting.
So did he.
Its glowing eyes turned toward him—not innocent or blank, but knowing. Mocking. The same look it gave Mei that night.
The night she…
Haru fell to his knees. His throat tightened. "Who are you?! Why do you keep showing up? Why wereyou there when she…?" His voice broke. He couldn't finish. The void felt colder now. Lonelier. The cat walked toward him slowly, soundless. Then the charm around its neck began to glow—the unmistakable light of her bracelet.
"What—?" he whispered, staring wide-eyed. "That's… how do you have that?"
But the cat didn't answer. It never did.
Instead, it bolted into a sudden, blinding white light. The brightness surged like a wave crashing down.
And Haru—
gasped awake.
But this time, he wasn't in bed. He was at his desk, head buried in folded arms, faint morning light leaking through the half-closed curtains. His neck ached. He groaned, sitting up slowly, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. When had he even… fallen asleep?
He glanced around.
His room was quiet, still. His sketchbook lay open beside him, a half-finished drawing smeared slightly by his sleeve. The bracelet again. Always the bracelet. Something about the dream lingered. That light. That look in the cat's eyes. Like it knew something he didn't.
The door creaked open.
"Morning," his mom's voice called softly. "You didn't come down for breakfast. I left something on the table."
He muttered a faint "Thanks," rubbing the sleep from his face. She didn't press. Just quietly shut the door. Haru sat there for a moment longer, staring at his hands. Then he stood, changed into something decent, and shuffled down to the kitchen. The eggs were cold. The toast a little soggy. But he ate anyway. And just as he finished, he noticed a slip of paper by the fruit bowl.
"Shoji called. Said you should come out for a bit. You've been inside too long."
—Mom
If Shoji wanted to talk, he could've called me instead of calling my mom and making her worried. Damn it, Shoji, Haru thought, crumpling the note and stuffing it into his hoodie pocket. The late afternoon air was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made every step feel heavier than it should. Haru stepped out of the house reluctantly. He hadn't seen anyone from school since the day he saw Yuki—since the day everything felt like it was starting all over again.
But he had to try.
His mom had been too quiet lately, too careful with her words. He couldn't keep breaking her heart. He promised himself—*No more weird thoughts. No more cats. No more bracelets.
Just Haru.
The school gates loomed ahead like iron doors to a life he was pretending he still belonged in. The minute he stepped inside, the world didn't slow down for him. Students swarmed the courtyard and corridors, chatting, laughing, yelling. Life kept going. He moved quickly through the hall, hood up, eyes lowered. Just blend in, he told himself. As he stepped into the classroom, he saw her.
Yuki
Sitting near the window again, a soft breeze stirring her dark hair. She wasn't smiling this time, just looking outside. Haru tried to focus on his desk, his bag, anything. But his eyes found her wrist.
The bracelet.
She looked up. "Hey," she said quietly.
Haru cleared his throat. "Hey."
She gave a faint smile. "Feeling better?"
He nodded. "Trying to."
Then her eyes dropped to her wrist, and back to him. "You keep looking at this," she said, her tone curious, not accusing.
"It's… familiar."
She lifted her hand, watching the bracelet twist slightly in the light. "I know I've had it for years, but I just feel weird without it. Like it's part of me. Even if I don't remember where I got it from.''
Haru's fingers curled around the edge of his desk. Years. How was it even possible, that was the same bracelet I gave Mei, the same one she was buried with. Haru thought to himself. Before he could say anything more, the classroom door slammed open. Shoji burst in like a storm. "Haru! Finally, man! You're back!" He rushed over and clapped Haru on the shoulder with a grin. "We're going out Friday night. Just some drinks. You, me, Yuki. Some of the others. Don't bail."
"I'm not sure—"
"You need this," Shoji cut in, his voice softening. "You're still young. You're not meant to fade into nothing like this. Mei wouldn't want that." The name hit Haru like a punch. He winced. Shoji noticed and winced too.
"Sorry. But please come."
Yuki turned to him. "It could be nice to hang out with real people again," she said gently.
Haru exhaled slowly. "Fine. Just for a little while."
---
Friday came too fast.
The bar was a student-favorite—dimly lit, cozy, filled with soft music and warm lighting that reflected off beer bottles and half-eaten fries. Haru sat tucked into a booth beside Shoji, across from Yuki. He barely touched his drink. Everyone else was laughing. Even Shoji cracked jokes that made Yuki giggle. But Haru's mind drifted. Yuki looked… different in this lighting. Softer. Her smile wasn't Mei's. It was quieter, more hesitant. But it was still warm. Haru tried to focus on that.
A voice rang from the table behind them.
"Hey, isn't that Haru? Damn, didn't think you'd show your face after… you know. Mei."
Another voice joined in. "Yeah. That was brutal. Poor guy. I heard he lost his mind for a bit."
Shoji's smile dropped. He leaned forward. "Ignore them."
But Haru's blood was boiling. One of the guys twisted around in his seat, half-drunk and way too loud. "Hey, Haru! Respect, man. Takes guts to crawl out of grief like that. You doing okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Haru stood up sharply. "Say that again."
The guy raised his hands, mocking. "Whoa, whoa. Chill. I'm just saying it's cool you're not still crying in your room."
Haru moved fast, hands clenched into fists.
Shoji was up in an instant, blocking his path. "Hey! Chill, man. Don't let him get to you."
Yuki quickly got out of the booth, grabbed Haru's wrist gently. "Come on. Let's go."
His breath was shaking. His pulse thundered in his ears. But he let her pull him away.
---
Outside, the air was crisp. Streetlamps buzzed. The stars were faint, blurred behind clouds. Haru leaned against the brick wall of the building, eyes closed, head back. Yuki stood beside him, silent for a long time.
"I hate people like that," she finally said. "They think grief is something you just get over. Like a cold."
He didn't answer.
She shifted closer. "You okay?"
"No," he whispered. "I'm not. I thought I was. I told myself I wouldn't fall apart tonight. But hearing her name like that, from someone who never even knew her..."
Yuki's voice was soft. "It's okay not to be okay."
He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She wasn't pitying him. She wasn't afraid of his pain. She was just… there.
"You remind me of her sometimes," he said quietly.
She looked down. "I know."
"But you're not her."
"I'm not trying to be."
He stared at her, searching her face for something he didn't know how to name.
"I want to help you," she said. "Even if it's just walking you home."
He didn't speak, just nodded. The two began walking under the dim glow of streetlights. The city felt quieter. The silence between them wasn't heavy. It was gentle.
As they neared the corner of his street, Yuki slowed down.
"I'm glad you came out tonight," she said. "Even if it sucked a little."
He chuckled faintly. "It sucked a lot."
She laughed. "Yeah. But I think… you're going to be okay."
He stopped walking. Turned to her. She looked up at him, and in that second, he felt the weight on his chest ease just a little.
"Thanks," he whispered.
She smiled and reached out, fingers brushing his. "Goodnight, Haru."
"Goodnight, Yuki."
As he watched her walk away, something in him shifted—softly, quietly. He still missed Mei. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel alone.