After he got that message
The words on the screen stayed burned into Shoya's eyes.
Shadows still have the details you haven't noticed.
He sat upright, heart thudding—not fast, but deep, like a heavy drum echoing in a hallway. He read the message again.
Still no name. No icon. Just that same blank profile with a grey silhouette. And one tick beside the message.
He stared.
Then typed:
Who is this?
No response.
He tapped the profile—nothing. No mutual contacts. No link to any platform. Just a line of digits with the area code redacted.
He considered blocking it, but something stopped him.
It was that phrasing—shadows still have the details.
Details… of what?
He turned off his screen, tossed the phone on his desk, and leaned back into his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, the cicadas had gone quiet. Or maybe he'd stopped hearing them.
.
.
Morning came hazy. Sun's heat clung to everything—walls, hair, even thoughts.
Shoya sat in class, but his attention frayed at the edges.
Professor Amari's voice drifted in and out like a half-remembered song.
"...Literature often holds truths not spoken directly. It whispers, not shouts."
He blinked.
Naomi sat three rows down, flipping pages with her usual calm. Asuna was next to her, whispering something between giggles.
Even Taka looked unusually focused, tapping notes into his phone with his tongue between his teeth.
Everything looked normal.
But nothing felt it.
His eyes darted toward Amari Yui for just a second.
She was writing something on the board—The Weight of Omission in Prose—but Shoya caught her pausing, just slightly. Her shoulders tensed, then loosened again.
It was subtle. But it was there. That was the kind of details he could caught and it bothered him.
During lunch, he sat in his usual place on the bench near the garden,
sketchbook open. Just lines again. Circles. Loops. A half-drawn clock.
Naomi found him there.
"Hey," she said simply, sitting beside him,
He didn't answer right away.
She glanced at the sketch. "Looks like a wheel."
He smiled faintly. "Clock. Maybe."
Naomi pulled out a small drink from her bag—apple tea—and offered it silently.
He took it.
They didn't speak for a moment.
Then she murmured, "You seem… different today."
He looked at her. "Do you ever get a feeling that changes the air around you?"
Naomi tilted her head slightly, unsure. "What kind of feeling?"
He hesitated. "Not sure. One that makes you doubt what you know."
Naomi went quiet. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup.
"Maybe you're noticing what's always been there," she said softly.
That sentence stuck to him.
After school, Shoya walked alone. Taka and Ken were arguing over ramen. Asuna and Naomi had gone off again—to that same shop near the station.
The buzz of his phone made him stop mid-step.
Another message.
Try the rooftop now. Alone.
Shoya's chest tightened.
He turned around.
And walked.
Shoya: " catch you later guys "
And he left them
Toward the stairs. Toward the rooftop.
Where everything was supposed to be locked.
Where something, or someone, might be waiting.
The stairwell smelled of rust and dusted sunlight—faintly metallic, like forgotten places tend to.
Shoya climbed slowly. Each step was quieter than it should have been. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear footsteps behind him or no footsteps at all. Either would mean something.
When he reached the rooftop door, he paused.
It was supposed to be locked. Always was. Students weren't allowed up without staff.
But the padlock dangled loose on its latch.
Unhooked. Waiting.
His throat went dry.
He pushed the door open.
The rusted hinges let out a single, tired creak.
Sunlight spilled across the rooftop in long, soft slants—pale gold over concrete. A breeze tugged at his shirt. Somewhere below, the city murmured faintly: traffic, cicadas, wind through wires.
But up here, it was quiet.
No one was waiting.
Not visibly.
The space was emptier than he imagined it would be.
A few plastic chairs lined the wall. A pigeon fluttered once and disappeared behind a vent.
He stepped forward.
At the far end, near the edge, a chair had been pulled out. Something rested on it—a small object, dark against the sun-faded plastic.
Shoya walked over.
It was a folded piece of paper.
No envelope. Just a plain, neatly creased note.
He unfolded it slowly.
> You're starting to hear it now, aren't you?
The silence isn't empty.
It's just layered.
Beneath the text, a symbol had been drawn. It looked like an open eye, stylized—surrounded by petals, almost like a lotus.
No signature. Nothing else.
He stared at the shape. It meant nothing. Which means everything.
A shadow passed behind him.
He turned quickly—but saw only empty space.
Nothing. Just heat rippling off concrete.
But for a brief moment, he felt it.
Like the air had thickened around him. Watching. Waiting.
He shoved the note into his sketchbook and turned back toward the stairwell.
But when he reached for the door handle—
It clicked.
From the inside.
Locked.
His breath caught.
He tried again. Rattled it harder.
Still locked.
He banged once, hard. The metal echoed, hollow and unsympathetic.
Was someone inside?
No footsteps. No answer.
Just the wind.
He stepped back.
He looked at the door.
Then at the wide stretch of empty sky above him.
Was this someone's idea of a message?
Or a warning?
He sat on the ground, back against the rooftop wall. Waited.
Thought. Whats happening?! Is this really a prank!? Doesn't it have gone too far?
Why him? He barely knows anyone
He doesnt even know what he has done for the past years.
He was drawn deep into these thoughts..
Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe twenty.
Finally—footsteps on the stairs.
Then: a click.
The door swung open. Professor Amari Yui stood there.
Her expression was unreadable.
"Shoya!!? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be up here," she said.
"I didn't… someone told me to," he said.
Her gaze didn't waver. "Told you?"
He held up the note.
She didn't take it.
Instead, she looked past him—for a long second. Her eyes flicked toward the plastic chair. Then back.
"I'll have maintenance check the lock," she said softly. "Go back to class."
Shoya didn't move.
She didn't flinch.
"Take care, Shoya," Amari said.
Shoya: " uhm yeah sorry and thank you professor "
He stepped past her, down the stairs, the sound of her heels behind him.
But not too close.
Then he walked back to his dorm zoning out because he didn't know what just happened!?
He rest for a bit until night.
---
That night, his phone buzzed again.
> Good. You listened.
You're not asleep like the others.
Shoya's thumb hovered over the screen.
> What do you want?
This time, the reply came instantly.
> For you to keep watching.
Start with her.
The girl with the garden.
He froze.
Could it mean...Naomi!?
---
The message wouldn't leave him.
> Start with her.
The girl with the garden.
He tried to forget it—shoved the phone in a drawer and went about his day. But it stayed with him, tucked in the edges of everything. The way you feel a dream hours after waking. Or a word someone didn't say.
At school, Naomi was... Naomi. She greeted him with a soft smile in homeroom. Nodded when she passed. Sat in her usual seat. She laughed once at something Asuna said.
But he kept watching her. Carefully. Quietly.
That was what the message had said, wasn't it?
Keep watching.
---
Lunch came. Instead of sitting alone, Shoya lingered in the courtyard garden—a small enclosed space behind the science building, where students sometimes came to sketch or read.
Naomi was there.
Kneeling in front of one of the garden beds, brushing dirt off her hands. She was alone. Her bag sat beside her, open. A trowel. Gloves. Small shears.
Shoya didn't approach at first.
He just observed.
The flowers were thriving—too much so. Even in the early summer heat, everything here looked overgrown. Petals opened too wide. Leaves too deep a green.
Something about it was... unnatural. Not wrong. Just too alive.
Finally, Naomi looked up. Saw him.
"You're early," she said.
He blinked. "I didn't say I was coming."
She smiled softly.
He walked closer. "Do you take care of all this?"
Naomi nodded. "The club's basically dead. No one really waters them anymore. Except me."
Shoya: "Why?"
She hesitated. "Because I owe them something."
Shoya tilted his head. "The plants?"
"No," she said. "The ones who planted them."
That answer should've felt strange. But it didn't. It felt... heavy. Like she was saying something else entirely.
He crouched beside her, quietly watching as she clipped a dry stem and brushed petals from a bloom.
"They're still blooming," he said, almost to himself.
Naomi looked at him. Her eyes, soft but unreadable.
Naomi: "Some things keep growing"
Before he could ask more, a voice called from across the garden.
"There you are!"
Asuna trotted into view, waving. Behind her were Taka and Ken, arguing about soda flavors.
"Come on, Naomi! We're going into town, remember?"
Naomi: "I am?"
"You are now." She linked arms with Naomi.
Naomi gave Shoya a small nod. Almost an invitation.
Asuna noticed it and said " you must come too shoya"
Shoya: " shall i?"
Ken: " it's a must "
And somehow, for a moment, things felt... ordinary.
They left together. Walked down the narrow school path into the city. Laughed about nothing. Browsed stores they didn't buy from. Naomi helped Asuna with picking.Taka dropped a subtle hand on Asuna's shoulder when she got distracted. Shoya noticed, but didn't say anything.
By the end of it, they were tired and full and pretending everything was simple.
But it wasn't.
---
That night, just past midnight, Shoya lay awake again.
The message still haunted him.
And as if summoned by the thought—
His phone buzzed.
> You saw it.
Dig deeper
He stared and didn't answer.
"Saw what..!? Dig what?! I just can't get what does this want from me...!" Shoya in his mind.
He stared at the screen.
> You saw it.
Dig deeper.
That was it. No follow-up. No signature. Just those two lines. Like he was being watched, judged. Scored.
Shoya's hands felt cold. He closed the message. Locked his phone. Sat there in the dark, lit only by the dull blue of his desk lamp and the city leaking through the blinds. Outside, a motorcycle passed. The hum dissolved into silence.
His sketchbook lay open on the desk. He flipped to the rooftop note—the one with the drawn eye surrounded by petals. It felt like it was looking back now, more than just ink. He traced the lines slowly. Wondered again:
Who had left it?
Who knew where he'd be?
Who keeps texting him?
His eyes flicked toward the corner of his room, where his backpack slouched against the wall.
A soft sound echoed in his head—clippers snipping, petals falling, roots twisting in the dirt.
He hadn't shown the note to anyone. Not yet.
Because... what if it was Naomi?
What if she wasn't as kind and warm and delicate as she looked? What if it was all planted?
And yet—when he saw her earlier, smiling softly under the sun, sleeves rolled up, earth under her fingernails—he didn't feel threatened. He felt drawn. Tethered. Like she was reaching toward something inside him he hadn't named yet.
But the message wouldn't let go.
Start with her.
---
To be continued in chapter 10...