The Letter

Asahi stood still, coldly staring into Haruto’s eyes. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “No.”

Haruto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t even heard me out yet.”

“I don’t need to. You show up after so long, tell me to drop everything, and expect me to go along with it? The city is a warzone, Haruto. If you think I’m stepping out there, then you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“So what? You’re just gonna rot in here till the end?”

“Sounds preferable to getting stabbed and robbed by some lunatic in the streets.”

Haruto clicked his tongue in irritation. “Asahi, you seriously think this is living? Locking yourself away, waiting for it all to collapse?”

Asahi turned away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I no longer care about the world, Haruto. It never cared about me either.”

The words hung in air like something heavy and final. Haruto exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re still the same. Still running away from everything.”

That made Asahi’s jaw tighten. “And what about you huh? Why do you suddenly care so much? You disappeared too, remember?”

Haruto opened his mouth but had nothing to say. His fingers curled into fists before he forced them to relax. “I thought you’d at least want to see the truth for yourself,” he muttered. Then, without another word, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, folded letter. He hesitated at first, but after thinking for a while, he decided to hand it over to Asahi.

“For you.”

Asahi eyed it warily. The envelope was simple, unmarked except for two words:

“To Asahi”

Before he could ask what it was, Haruto turned around and walked out the door.

“I won’t force you,” he said over his shoulder. “Think about it carefully… and if you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.”

Then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Asahi stood in silence; the letter heavy in his hands.

He turned it over. The paper was slightly creased, as if it had been handled too many times before reaching him. On the back, two words were scrawled in neat handwriting.

The moment his eyes landed on them, his grip tightened. A sudden, violent surge of anger bubbled in his chest, raw and unrelenting. His breath hitched as his fingers trembled.

“Why?”

Without thinking, he stormed towards the window, shoving it open with force. The city outside was chaos – fires, sirens, screams that faded in the distance. But he wasn’t looking at any of that.

With a flick of his wrist, he threw the letter out of the window.

It fluttered in the air for a second before vanishing into the dark alley below.

His heart pounded and his throat felt tight.

He didn’t know what was in the letter, but he didn’t want to know.

Grinding his teeth, he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling above. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his mind tangled in a mess of thoughts.

Before long, his exhaustion took over, and he dreamt.

Warm sunlight spilled through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the wooden floor. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of paint and old books.

A voice – soft, teasing – broke the silence.

“Asahi, you’re spacing out again.”

He turned his head, and there she was. His breath caught in his throat as he choked on his own spit.

“Oh… what’s wrong? Are you okay? Here, drink some.”

She looked exactly as he remembered – her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, her eyes filled with quiet warmth. Her eyes were a deep shade of amber, the kind that made the world feel just a little softer. There was a gentle curve to her lips.

She sat by the window, bathed in golden light, absentmindedly stirring her coffee. The ceramic cup in her hands had tiny cracks along its rim, one she had always meant to replace but never did.

Her posture was relaxed, yet there was something effortlessly elegant about her – the way her fingers brushed against the rim of the cup, the rhythmic tap of her spoon against porcelain, the soft, steady rise and fall of her breathing.

For a moment, his entire being flooded with relief, gratitude and something close to joy. His vision blurred as his eyes swelled up. His pent-up emotions hit him all at once.

She smiled, tilting her head as she handed over the coffee to Asahi. “You always do that when you’re thinking too hard.”

His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her –

But something was wrong.

The sunlight dimmed. The warmth faded. Her smile became increasingly distant. As if she was already slipping away. His stomach twisted.

“No – Wait!” he gasped, trying to grasp her fingers –

But then –

His eyes shot open. His chest was heaving, his body drenched in sweat. The ceiling above was the same as always – peeling paint and dull cracks. His uneven breathing filled the room. But his mind was still stuck between the dream and reality.

He pressed his hand to his forehead. His pulse was still erratic and his breathing uneven. Then, his gaze flickered toward the window. The letter. He had thrown it away in anger, but now… he wasn’t so sure.

A deep unsettling feeling coiled in his stomach. Why now? After all this time? He had sworn he would never –

Just then, he heard a soft rustling sound which pulled him from his thoughts. He turned towards the window.

A pigeon had landed on the railing. A pigeon, similar to the ones she loved. It hopped twice, its tiny head twitching as it regarded him with its dark, beady eyes.

For a moment, Asahi simply stared at it, unmoving. Then, something within him cracked.

A memory – hazy yet piercingly clear – flooded his mind.

A park. The sky painted in shades of dusk. He saw her laughing, arms outstretched, as pigeons swarmed around her feet.

“They’re just like us, Asahi,” she said, grinning. “Scattered, restless, but still searching for something.”

His breath hitched.

His nails dug into his palm as he clenched his fists. His entire body tensed up with grief and regret. Without another thought, Asahi shot up from his bed.

The letter.

He had thrown it out the window in a fit of rage. Now, he needed to get it back.

Ignoring the sharp pounding of his chest, he grabbed his coat and stormed toward the door, determined to get the letter back.