When he opened his eyes, it didn't feel like waking up it felt like returning from somewhere he was never meant to come back from. His vision blurred for a moment before settling on a ceiling he didn't recognize, pale and unfamiliar, holding no memory, no comfort. For a few seconds, he simply lay there, staring upward, trying to understand where he was, or even who he was in that moment. Everything felt distant, as if the world had moved on without him and only his body had been dragged back into it.
A strange coldness wrapped around him, not the kind that made him shiver, but something deeper, something that settled inside his bones. His body felt weak, almost strange like it didn't belong to him anymore. Even the simple act of breathing felt heavier than it should have been, as though his lungs had forgotten their rhythm. Slowly, with effort that felt disproportionate to the movement, he lifted his hand toward his neck.
His fingers paused for a brief second before touching the skin, as if some part of him already knew what he would find. When they finally made contact, his breath hitched. The marks were still there. Faint, but undeniable. Real in a way that made everything else feel unreal.
A quiet realization settled over him not sudden, not sharp, but slow and suffocating.
He hadn't died.
But something about him… had changed.
He tried to sit up, but his body resisted, muscles trembling under even the smallest strain. It felt like he had been asleep for far too long, like time had passed without asking him for permission. His limbs were heavy, unresponsive, as though they had forgotten what it meant to move freely. A weak breath escaped his lips as he pushed himself just slightly upward, enough to feel the world tilt around him for a moment before stabilizing again.
That was when he noticed it.
The silence.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't peaceful. It pressed against him, thick and unmoving, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Even his own heartbeat sounded wrong slower than it should have been, quieter, almost distant.
And then, breaking through that silence, came a soft, familiar presence.
He turned his head slowly, the motion deliberate, as though even that required thought now.
The fox was there.
Sitting in the corner of the room, still and composed, its eyes fixed on him in a way that felt almost human. There was no fear in its gaze, no confusion only a strange, quiet understanding. It didn't move when he looked at it. It didn't react at all. It simply watched, as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.
A faint breath left him, something between disbelief and recognition. He didn't question its presence not anymore. Somehow, seeing it there felt… right. Familiar, in a way he couldn't explain.
Before he could gather his thoughts, before he could even process the weight of everything around him, the sound of footsteps approached from outside the room. Soft, hurried, unaware.
The door opened.
And in that instant, everything shifted.
A girl stepped inside, holding a tray of food carefully in both hands. She hadn't looked up yet, her focus still on balancing what she carried. But the moment her eyes lifted and met his…
She froze.
Completely.
The tray slipped from her hands before she could stop it, hitting the floor with a sharp, sudden sound that shattered the silence of the room. The plates clattered, food spilling across the ground, but neither of them moved to react to it.
Her expression had changed instantly shock, disbelief, something deeper.
"You're… awake?"
Her voice was barely steady, like she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was real.
He stared at her, trying to focus, trying to recognize her. Something about her felt familiar not directly, but through memory, like a distant connection.
"…where am I?" His voice came out dry, weaker than he expected. "Whose house is this…?"
The girl took a step forward, still looking at him as if he might disappear if she blinked. "You… you don't remember?" she asked quietly, then shook her head slightly, as if correcting herself. "No… you wouldn't."
She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer now, but more grounded.
"This is my house."
A pause.
Then
"My name is Shanzey."
The name lingered in the air for a second before something clicked in his mind not a full memory, but a connection.
The library "I saw her at library, that girl with a scarf ".
A presence near her.
His chest tightened slightly at the thought, a reaction so immediate it surprised even him.
Shanzey noticed the shift in his expression, the way something unspoken had passed through him. She exhaled slowly, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say.
"You've been unconscious for a week," she continued, her voice steady but carrying weight. "We found you barely alive. If we had been any later…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't need to.
"You kept saying things," she added after a moment. "Even when you weren't awake. Names… broken words…"
A brief pause.
Then, more quietly
"You said 'Maha'… more than anything else."
The room fell silent again.
But this time, it wasn't empty.
His heartbeat shifted.
Not faster.
Just… heavier.
Like it had remembered something it couldn't let go of.
The moment her name was spoken, something inside him shifted in a way he couldn't control. It wasn't just a memory it was a reaction, immediate and deep, like his entire being recognized her before his mind could catch up. His fingers tightened slightly against the fabric beneath him, and for a brief second, the weakness in his body felt secondary to the sudden weight in his chest.
"Maha…" he repeated, more to himself than to her, his voice quieter now, almost cautious, as if saying her name too firmly might break whatever fragile connection he still had to it. He lifted his gaze toward Shanzey, his eyes searching her face, not for answers but for confirmation. "She… she was there, right? That night… I saw her."
Shanzey didn't answer immediately. There was a hesitation in her expression, something thoughtful, almost conflicted, as if she was deciding how much to say and how much to hold back. She glanced briefly at the fox in the corner just for a second but it was enough to suggest that she had noticed it too, and that its presence wasn't entirely normal to her either.
"Yes," she finally said, her voice softer now, more careful. "She was there."
The confirmation didn't bring relief.
If anything, it made things heavier.
His breathing slowed, but not in calm more like he was trying to steady something inside him that refused to settle. "Where is she now?" he asked, the question coming out more direct than he intended, but there was no hiding it. Not anymore.
Shanzey looked at him for a moment, then looked away.
"She hasn't come back since that night."
The words were simple.
But they landed hard.
Something in his expression changed not dramatically, not visibly enough for someone who wasn't paying attention but it was there. A slight drop in his gaze, a quiet shift in the way he held himself, like something inside him had expected that answer… and still wasn't ready for it.
"She stayed here until you were stable," Shanzey continued, filling the silence before it could grow too heavy. "For two days, she didn't leave your side. You didn't wake up, but she still…" She stopped herself briefly, then continued in a quieter tone, "…she still talked to you."
That made him look up again.
Not sharply. Not suddenly.
But slowly, like the information had to travel through something heavy before reaching him.
"She… stayed?" he asked, almost under his breath.
Shanzey nodded once. "She did."
That single confirmation carried more weight than anything else she had said.
For a moment, he didn't speak. His thoughts didn't form clearly, they moved around each other, incomplete, tangled. But one feeling stood above the rest, stronger than the confusion, stronger than the weakness in his body.
She was real.
Not a dream. Not something his mind had created to escape whatever had happened that night.
She was real.
And she had been there.
The silence that followed wasn't empty anymore. It was filled with something quieter, something heavier but also something that felt… alive.
He leaned back slightly, the movement small but enough to remind him of the limits of his body. The weakness was still there, pressing against every motion, every breath. But now, it felt like something he could ignore at least for a little while.
"…why didn't she come back?" he asked after a moment, his voice steadier, but carrying something underneath it. Not doubt. Not fear.
Something closer to longing.
Shanzey didn't answer right away. She walked a few steps forward, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor, then stopped near the side of the bed. "Maham isn't… the kind of person who stays in one place for long," she said, choosing her words slowly. "And after what happened that night…" She paused again, her expression tightening slightly. "Things aren't simple anymore."
That answer didn't satisfy him.
But it didn't need to.
Because deep down, he already knew whatever was happening, whatever he had become… it was connected to her now.
Whether he understood it or not.