Night fell with no event. No message. No sudden knock. Just the slow unfolding of quiet.
Shoya lay in bed, the photo of Kaori still on his desk beside his sketchbook. The rain had finally stopped, but the air carried a strange stillness. The kind that made every sound feel louder than it should.
The faucet in the dorm bathroom clicked once. A floorboard creaked outside.
He closed his eyes.
But sleep never came easily anymore. Not since he remembered that he actually heard Naomi's voice when she said those words:
> "Sometimes I think I was supposed to disappear, too."
He didn't know what she meant by those words, he wondered why she is like that?! Why always some words and not connected to each other ! Why she even say these!? He wondered why he gave these strangers quite the attention and mind? Why he wants to know more about them? He was never like that,he wasn't the type to care about others!
---
The next day passed in a kind of gray blur. Shoya barely registered the lectures, though he was present for all of them.
When his teacher called his name during roll, he almost didn't respond.
There was a substitute in their Art Theory class. A tall woman with a voice like glass—soft, clear, but distant. She wrote her name on the board in neat chalk strokes:
> Prof. Amari Yui
"Let's begin with perception," she said. "Not just what we see—but what we carry into what we see."
Shoya found himself sitting straighter.
"We project memory into moments," she continued, walking slowly along the front of the room. "When you look at a chair, you don't just see it—you recall every time you sat down. When you look at a person… you see who they remind you of. Who they could have been."
Something inside him froze.
> Could Naomi be someone he was remembering wrong?
Or not remembering at all?
When class ended, he waited a moment before packing up. He glanced toward Prof. Amari as she erased the board.
She caught his gaze and smiled faintly. "You're Shoya, yes?"
He nodded.
"You're the one always sketching, and not paying attention to lectures."
He blinked. "You… know me?"
"Ryo mentioned you," she said casually, referring to Takeda, their usual instructor. "He said you've got an eye for details others skip. That you see what's not being shown."
Shoya wasn't sure how to respond to that,he didn't know Ryo whose only a former classmate noticed him being like that!
Amari continued, more gently now. "Details are important. But don't let them pull you out of the world. Don't forget you're in it."
He gave a slight nod, her words hovering somewhere just outside of understanding.
---
That afternoon, he found himself back at the sculpture garden again.
Naomi still wasn't there.
But something was.
A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. Not strong—just a breath of it. Like someone had been sitting there only moments before he arrived.
He touched the stone ledge. Still warm.
He sat anyway.
Opened his sketchbook.
And for the first time in days, he didn't try to draw her.
He drew Kaori.
Not as she looked in the photo—posed and faraway—but how he imagined she might've been, here. Alone. Before the club showcase. Before anyone remembered her name.
He let the pencil guide him.
Lines. Hair. Arms folded tight. A face turned slightly away. Something unfinished in her posture.
The page stayed quiet when he stopped. No message. No sudden gust.
But as he closed the book… he thought he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned—
No one. Just the wind stirring the trees.
Still, he stood quickly.
Because for a split second… he'd been sure someone was standing right there.
Watching him.
---
The leaves shifted. That was all.
Still, Shoya kept looking over his shoulder for a few seconds longer, his pulse too loud in his ears. Then, slowly, he sat back down.
His fingers brushed the edge of his sketchbook again — the faint lines of Kaori's half-drawn expression still visible beneath the fading light. Something in the way her eyes never quite met the viewer's felt like Naomi. Or maybe Naomi reminded him of Kaori. Or maybe… neither were fully themselves anymore. Not in his mind.
Just pieces of a shape he didn't have words for.
He stayed there for a while.
Not drawing. Not thinking clearly. Just sitting. Letting the wind do the talking.
And that's when he heard it.
Footsteps. Soft this time — deliberate. On gravel.
Shoya didn't turn immediately. He knew who it was.
Naomi.
She walked past him without a word, her long cardigan swaying slightly in the breeze. She saw what Shoya was drawing then she sat on the far side away from him keeping the distance. Like always.
Like routine.
She didn't say hello. And neither did he.
But for some reason… the silence felt different.
She opened her notebook. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't writing — just staring at the blank page, the pen hovering. Like she was waiting for the page to speak first.
After a long time, Naomi spoke.
> "It lacks headphones, your sketch, She used to wear headphones most of the time."
Shoya blinked. Her voice had come softly — not quite sad, not quite anything. It just floated.
"Kaori?" he asked, almost sure.
Naomi gave the smallest nod. "She said it helped her avoid conversations. That if people thought she was listening to music, they'd leave her alone."
Her gaze dropped to her notebook again. "But she never turned them on. Not once."
A strange pressure settled in Shoya's chest. He hadn't known that. And he wasn't sure why he'd care.
"She didn't like music?" he asked.
"I don't know," Naomi said. "Maybe silence was her music."
They sat like that for a while — Shoya sketching slow lines that didn't become anything. Naomi not writing. Just… sitting.
The light began to shift. Late afternoon had crept in without warning, painting long shadows over the stones and flowerbeds. The garden, in that moment, felt held apart from the world — like it had folded around them and refused to open back up.
Naomi stood.
So did Shoya, reflexively.
She didn't look at him right away. Just stared out across the quiet green.
Then — very softly — she said,
> "I don't think Kaori disappeared."
Shoya's breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
Naomi glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Lost is a better word."
She turned then. Walked away.
Not fast. But not waiting for him, either.
Shoya didn't follow.
But before she vanished through the narrow gate leading out of the garden, Naomi paused… just briefly.
And without turning back, she said:
> "The garden forgets people too."
To be continued in chapter 7…
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