The rain didn't stop all night.
It tapped at the dorm windows like fingers trying to wake something. The kind of storm that didn't roar or crash—just whispered steadily until you started to forget silence ever existed.
Shoya sat at his desk, the paper still on his lap. The name—Kaori—looped faintly in pencil at the corner.
He tried searching for it in his memories. Did any upperclassmen mention someone named Kaori? A senior from years back? Nothing.
The university had thousands of students. Faces came and went like weather. But there was something about the sketch… something familiar, even though it wasn't Naomi.
Because of his love for drawing he kinda saw things differently about sketches and arts, thats why he always could feel something about them that others didn't.
He set the drawing down carefully inside his sketchbook and closed it.
---
The next morning, the world was soaked but brighter.
Class moved sluggishly. The halls were warm and smelled faintly of wet paper and dust. Shoya noticed something odd as he walked past the student board near the library—an old club flyer had peeled halfway off the cork.
Curious, he tugged it free.
Art Club Showcase – October 2nd
The year printed on the bottom: Three years ago.
Below the typed names of participants were small printed roles:
Seto, Kazumi – Sculpture
Takeda, Ryo – Lighting
Kaori S. – Model / Concept Muse
He froze.
Kaori.
The same name.
But the last name was only an initial. The rest of the flyer was warped from age, blurred in places. But something about the handwriting on the sketch and the name here matched.
"Concept muse?"
He whispered it like a question.
Who even used that term anymore?
He turned the paper over. Nothing on the back. Just a thumbtack mark and old yellowing edges.
He folded it gently and kept it in his sketchbook beside the torn drawing.
---
That afternoon, Taka noticed him sketching again.
"You're at it hard lately," he said, peering over. "Don't you get tired of drawing that much of nothing?"
Shoya paused, then shut the sketchbook. "Kind of."
Ken leaned over. "We saw you with her the other day, i see you get along well!"
Shoya didn't answer right away. "Nah it's not like that, but She's… different."
Taka: "You got her number?"
Shoya: "No."
Taka: "did you get to know which department she is from?"
Shoya: " no man like i said we are not that close, if it wasn't for my stupidity we wouldn't have talked even!"
Taka: " well someone gotta be stupid hehe~"
Shoya gave him a side eye as he has to be joking and said nothing
Then Shoya asked Taka if he could know by any chance how he can get some information about art club members?
And Taka replied " you can just take a look at the archives…. who knows maybe you find something that might help you, but tell me the details later"
Then Taka took his leave and Shoya stayed in there thinking what he has to do?
Later that day, curiosity got the better of him.
He walked into the campus archives office on the first floor of the humanities wing. The kind of quiet, dusty room filled with old newsletters, yearbooks, and campus event records.
An older assistant looked up from her desk. " How can i help you?"
"Um, I'm looking for information on past art showcases," Shoya said, trying to sound casual. "Specifically the one from three years ago."
"Hmm yeah. You're lucky—it's in the physical folders, not digitized. Over there."
She pointed to a cabinet.
Minutes later, he was flipping through photos and pamphlets. Smiling students. Canvases propped on easels. Paper-mâché sculptures under spotlights.
Then he found it—a group photo. Labeled names below it.
Kazumi Seto, Ryo Toshida, and…
Kaori Sakamura.
Her full name.
She was seated in the front. Pale hair tucked behind her ear. A distant look in her eyes even as she faced the camera. She looked soft. Real. Alive.
Shoya stared at the photo, not realizing how long he'd stopped turning pages.
The caption below it read:
> "Final club exhibit before renovation closure. Art Basement officially sealed, Dec. 2nd."
The art basement.
The one where he found the sketchbook.
The one Naomi sat in—drawn like a ghost into pages.
But Kaori had come before that. And she had sat in the same spot Naomi did now.
---
That evening, Shoya returned to the sculpture garden.
The light was low. Shadows long across the gravel. The stone was still damp from the rain.
Naomi wasn't there.
He sat alone.
Listening.
Waiting.
He didn't know why.
But he felt it again—that quiet pulling sensation. Like a thread being tugged from something just outside of reach.
The leaves didn't rustle. The wind didn't answer.
But somewhere inside him, something shifted.
Like the story wasn't just beginning anymore.
It had already started. Long before him.
---
To be continued in Chapter 6…