~normality that feels too smooth always hides something wrong~
1. Ripples That Were Never Calm
The moment I saw the photo, the world around me felt hollow.
The faces in that picture looked so real, as if they were staring straight into my soul, demanding answers I could not give.
What did all of this mean?
Were Misaki and Hitomi really biological sisters all this time…?
But in the photo, Hitomi looked far more mature—not just in her face, but in the way she carried herself in the world. And yet, the school records that were never supposed to lie instead mocked me coldly: she was one year below us.
The contradiction became a weight in my chest, like something out of tune, refusing to align, quietly pressing against my breath.
If that were true, would that mean Hitomi was actually Misaki's older sister?
And that Misaki never truly had a younger sibling?
My head throbbed. My stomach churned. Unease spread from my feet to my chest, tightening every breath I took. The flood of conflicting information sent my thoughts spiraling out of control.
It felt like being trapped inside a labyrinth with no exit—every corridor birthing new questions, none offering comfort. I tried to stay calm, but my heart pounded violently, as if it wanted to leap out of my chest, signaling that the world I knew had shifted in an instant.
After the couple showed me the photo, I ended the conversation with a thank-you that sounded empty even to my own ears. Once more, I asked about the last news of the two children, but their answer was flat and uncertain—after the fire, there had been no further trace of the siblings.
"Maybe that's why it was sealed off with caution tape…" I murmured quietly, swallowing the bitterness creeping up my throat.
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2. A Sign Hidden Among the Ashes
Unable to hold myself back, I decided to sneak into Misaki's family home. A not-quite-locked window became my way in. My steps brushed softly across the floor. Everything looked normal—silent, calm—yet heavy with unspoken memories.
Each creak of the wooden boards beneath my feet sounded like an echo from the past trying to tell me something.
I moved from room to room:
the living room that still bore traces of life,
the quiet family room,
and the kitchen that appeared to be the origin point of the fire.
"Maybe it was a gas leak," I thought, trying to soothe myself with a simple deduction.
Ten minutes passed with nothing to show for it. I gave up and dropped onto the old sofa in the family room—its cushions sagging, yet still holding the faint scent of the people who once lived here.
That was when I noticed it.
The bookshelf.
It looked ordinary.
Except…
Except for the row of books I had once bought together with Misaki—the books we chose side by side, the ones she absorbed with deep affection, like someone searching for the meaning of her life between fragile pages, as if they had been waiting to be found.
Instinct and curiosity pushed me to open them one by one. Behind one of the books, I found something I never expected: a letter, neatly written, addressed to me.
My heart dropped.
Was this a coincidence?
Or… had she truly left it for me?
An instinctive pull guided me closer to the shelf.
One by one, I pulled the books free.
Some were light. Others felt heavy, as if they carried secrets.
And finally—
Between the pages of a white-covered book—the one she had told me about so many times, the one we bought together—I found it.
A letter, folded in two.
My name was written on the front.
In handwriting I could never forget.
Misaki's handwriting.
My hands trembled. My breath caught. That single sheet of paper felt as if it carried her entire soul, calling me to feel everything she had felt—to sense the closeness she had never been able to express.
It was not merely paper, but something deliberately hidden, waiting for the moment I would be careless enough to discover it—like a secret she did not dare speak aloud, yet could not bring herself to throw away.
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3. The Letter That Stopped Time
Slowly, I drew a long breath, trying to steady myself before fully unfolding the paper, each finger trembling as it held back the surge of nerves. My breathing turned uneven, my chest tight, as though the weight of the world pressed against my ribs.
Uncertain feelings rolled within me—curiosity, fear, and a faint trace of hope. Every second before reading the letter felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, afraid that the words inside would pierce my heart and leave me unable to hold back the tears that might fall.
No sound came from my lips—only the echo of my heartbeat filled my ears. The letter felt like a window into another world—Misaki's hidden world—and I was nothing more than a listener granted a rare chance to witness a fragile and sincere soul.