CH9 One Lost Friend

Sunday came, and the trains were more cramped than usual. The sea of commuters and the stuffy air made everything feel more suffocating.

"Ugh, this sucks," I muttered under my breath, shuffling my feet awkwardly in the crowded train. I had spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear for this “meeting,” though it felt suspiciously like a first date. The nervousness gnawed at me the entire morning. My hands felt a little clammy as I held onto the pole, thinking about how I hadn’t felt this way since my dates with Rikka.

Aya, on the other hand, was unfazed. She floated calmly near the roof of the train, completely unaffected by the chaos below. She looked down at me occasionally, her expression unreadable. She hadn't said much about today's plan, though I could feel her lingering presence.

When I finally arrived at the café, I made it five minutes early. I sat down inside, peering through the glass windows and watching the passersby. My heart was pounding, anticipation mixing

with anxiety.

"Hi, did you wait a long time? Sorry, I was pinned by traffic."

The sound of Saki's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see her walking towards me. She was not dressed how I imagined she would be, but in a way, it suited her more. She wore an oversized shirt with a sleeveless camisole underneath, paired with jeans and rubber shoes. There was something undeniably cool and effortless about her look. The sling bag over her shoulder added to her laid-back vibe, and her half-braided hair added a touch of uniqueness. It wasn’t the girly, delicate style I had half-expected, but it suited her. The casual, boyish charm she radiated was kind of... refreshing.

I cleared my throat, standing up awkwardly from my seat. "Oh, hi, Saki," I greeted, trying not to show how flustered I felt. "Please, have a seat."

Saki gave me a polite smile, her presence calm and collected as she sat across from me. As I watched her settle into the seat, I felt Aya hovering nearby, though I avoided glancing in her direction. For some reason, the invisible tension between them felt heavier today.

As I sat there, it dawned on me that this wasn’t just about gathering clues for Aya anymore. The way Saki carried herself, her relaxed nature—it was striking in its own way. I felt a strange mix of curiosity and unease.

“So,” Saki said after she’d ordered her coffee, her eyes looking directly at mine. “You wanted to meet? What’s up?”

I didn’t want to jump straight into the reason I’d invited her out. That would definitely seem weird—"Hey, so I need to ask about this ghost I'm seeing..." Yeah, that wouldn't go well.

“We can order now,” I said instead, waving at the waiter. He walked over with the café menu and handed it to us.

As I opened the menu, scanning through the options, I could feel Aya standing close to me, peeking over my shoulder. She seemed fascinated by the dessert section.

Matcha again? I thought to myself as Aya pointed enthusiastically at the matcha frappe option on the menu. This had become her go-to. Apparently, ghosts can still enjoy a good dessert. I resisted the urge to chuckle, aware of how strange it would look to Saki, who had no idea I was holding a silent conversation with someone only I could see.

“What do you want to order?” I asked Saki casually, trying to keep things normal.

She hummed softly as she scanned her own menu. “Hmm, I’ll try this one—the pancakes.” She smiled and tapped the menu, clearly craving something sweet.

“Then I’ll have the matcha cheesecake frappe,” I added, my own nod to Aya's taste.

The waiter quickly jotted down our orders and left for the kitchen, leaving a brief silence between Saki and me.

I could feel Aya’s presence lingering beside me, but she wasn’t saying much now. Maybe she sensed I was trying to ease into things. I didn’t want to rush this. There was something so normal and casual about sitting here with Saki, but the weight of the real reason behind this meeting sat heavy in the back of my mind.

“So,” Saki began after a moment, leaning back in her chair a bit. “What’s up?”

It was a simple question, but it caught me off guard. I had been so wrapped up in Aya’s situation that I almost forgot to act like a normal person. I scrambled for a response, trying to keep the conversation flowing naturally.

"Oh. I really think we indeed met each other," I said to Saki, trying to lead the conversation in a way that wouldn’t sound too suspicious.

Saki furrowed her brows, thinking. "Hmm, really? But I have no clue. Maybe when we were younger?" she replied, her tone a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Yeah, maybe," I continued, desperately trying to connect the dots. My mind was racing, trying to come up with something that would make sense. "Do you remember the park in front of the convenience store? The one with the big tree?" I asked, bluffing my way through. I felt guilty,

but I needed her to open up. I had to get more information for Aya, even if I didn’t have all the pieces myself.

Saki’s eyes widened a little as if she was suddenly struck by a memory. "Oh," she said, her voice softening. "I remember playing in that park when we were little." She paused for a moment, reflecting. "Yeah, we used to go there all the time."

I swallowed, pushing forward. "I think I met you there," I added, watching her closely to see if this would stir anything deeper.

Saki blinked, clearly surprised. "Wait, what?" She gave me a slightly confused look. "It's been ages, and surely I look different from when I was a kid. You sure it was me?" she added with a nervous laugh. Her skepticism was understandable. People change a lot from childhood to adulthood, after all.

"Yeah," I nodded, trying to maintain my calm facade, but inside, I was scrambling. What now? I thought to myself. The whole situation was precarious—I was treading on thin ice with these half-truths and bluffs.

"Uh, well, that's why I invited you... to confirm if it was you. We played there together." I forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too awkward. "There was also... another girl we used to play with," I added, trying to bluff my way into getting her to mention Aya—or someone else, anyone who might give us a clue. Aya, who had been silent all this time, was watching us intently, standing by the side of the table as if waiting for something to be revealed.

Saki's expression softened, as if she was trying to dig into her memories. "Another girl?" she asked, her tone genuinely curious now.

I nodded, feeling a nervous weight lift slightly off my chest. Maybe I’m getting somewhere, I thought.

"Yeah, there was another girl. We all used to hang out there. Do you remember anyone else from back then?" I prodded gently, hoping this would jog her memory.

Saki leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting upward as she seemed to pull from a distant part of her mind.

"Yeah, there was another girl I was always with," Saki said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My best friend." Her words hung in the air, laden with an unmistakable weight of sorrow. She turned her gaze to the window, her eyes distant, as if searching for something in the skyline that only she could see. The air between us thickened with unspoken emotion. This could be the

biggest clue we’ve encountered so far.

I glanced to my right. Aya sat quietly beside me, her usually serene face tense with concentration. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on Saki, like she was trying to pull fragments of a forgotten memory from the depths of her mind. I could tell—Aya was

remembering something important.

But before anything else could be said, a voice cut through the thick atmosphere.

"Excuse me, sir, ma’am," the waiter said as he placed a tray on our table. "Here’s your order." He set down the cups with a light clink, and after a courteous nod, turned and left. The sudden intrusion felt like someone had broken through a fragile bubble of emotion, but I realized this could be the perfect opportunity.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the smooth edges of the photo I had brought with me. Now was the time. I slid the picture across the table, the soft rustle of paper drawing Saki’s attention.

"So... is this her?" I asked, my voice steady despite the tension building inside me.

Saki’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for the photo, her brow furrowing in confusion. As her eyes fell on the image, I saw her expression shift from sadness to shock. Her mouth parted slightly, her gaze darting between the faces in the picture.

"Why? Why do you have this?" she demanded, her voice shaking as her fingers clenched the edges of the photograph. Her reaction was more intense than I had expected.

"Saki, please, listen to me," I began, trying to maintain calm as her emotions surged. "It was an accident, I swear. I wasn’t searching for anything. I was just strolling near the park. I sat down on a bench when I saw a small box beside the tree. My curiosity got the better of me, so I opened

it. Inside, I found this photo."

I gestured toward the picture on the table. "At first, it was just a photograph. I recognized this

girl on the left—she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why. But the other girl," I pointed to the right figure, "I didn’t know her. That is, until I flipped the photo over and saw the names ‘Mika’ and ‘Saki’ written on the back."

Saki’s face turned pale as I spoke. Her fingers brushed the names on the photo, as if the worn ink would somehow confirm her suspicions. "Mika..." she repeated, her voice barely audible.

I took a breath and continued. "That’s why I reached out to you, Saki. I thought you might know something about this picture. I thought... maybe it belonged to you."

Saki’s grip tightened on the photo, her knuckles white. Her breathing had grown uneven, her body tense like she was fighting to keep control.

"I don’t understand," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "This photo... it’s from so long ago. How did you find it?"

"I don’t know, honestly. It was just... there. Almost like it was waiting to be found," I said, the words sounding strange even to my own ears. "And now that you’ve seen it, I have to ask... is this Mika? Is she the girl you mentioned, your best friend?"

Saki swallowed hard, her gaze fixated on the photograph. For a moment, it seemed like she might not answer. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, she spoke.

"Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "This is Mika. We were inseparable... until she disappeared."

Aya's presence next to me grew heavier. I could feel the emotional strain as she struggled to piece together her fragmented memories. Her eyes bore into the photo, as though seeing herself for the first time—a reminder of who she had been, of what she had lost.

Saki lowered the picture onto the table, her hands retreating into her lap as if the image had burned her fingers. "I thought I’d never see this again," she murmured. Her eyes were wet, though she fought back the tears.

I exchanged a glance with Aya. There was so much more beneath the surface, layers of history, memories, and pain that neither of them had fully processed yet. But this was a breakthrough— a connection that we hadn’t had before.

"I need to know," I said softly, leaning forward. "Saki, what happened to Mika? When did she disappear?"

Saki’s lips trembled, and she closed her eyes, as though bracing herself for the flood of emotions threatening to overtake her. "It was... years ago. She just vanished one day, without a trace."

Her voice grew unsteady, each word carrying the weight of a painful memory. "I didn’t know where to find her. I searched everywhere, but it was like she disappeared off the face of the earth."

She paused, her eyes still shut tight, as if trying to keep herself from breaking down. "Her

family... they didn’t answer me. No one told me anything. It was like... like they didn’t care. I kept asking, begging for answers, but they just shut me out. Her house was empty within weeks."

A heavy silence fell between us. Saki’s hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. I could see the anguish on her face, a pain that had clearly haunted her for years.

I glanced at Aya again, my heart sinking as I saw her eyes wide with shock. It was clear that

something was stirring within her—something that connected deeply with Saki’s words. But Aya remained silent, as if the memory was still just out of reach.

"I thought... maybe she ran away," Saki continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "That

something had happened at home, or with her family. But as the days turned into weeks, then months... I started to lose hope. I had no idea what to do. I felt so helpless."

Her words hung in the air, and I didn’t know what to say. I could feel Aya’s tension growing beside me, as if Saki’s words were unlocking pieces of her own forgotten past.

"But why didn’t her family tell you anything?" I asked softly, leaning in, trying to understand. "If you two were so close..."

Saki opened her eyes and met mine. There was a hardness there now, mixed with deep hurt. "I asked myself the same thing. Over and over. Her parents were always... distant. They never

seemed to care about her the way I did. And when she disappeared, they acted like it wasn’t their problem anymore. They just... moved on." She let out a bitter laugh. "I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to scream at them, shake them until they told me where she was."

Saki’s eyes grew distant again as she stared at the photo on the table, her fingers tracing Mika’s face. "I never gave up, though," she whispered. "I kept looking for her, hoping that one day, I’d find her. But I never did."

Aya's gaze never left Saki, and I could sense a deep sadness settling over her. She was close—so close to remembering something important, but still trapped in the fog of her fragmented

memories.

I leaned forward, my voice gentle. "Saki... do you think something happened to her? Something that her family knew about but didn’t want to share?"

Saki’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but didn’t have the words. "I don’t know," she said finally, her voice small. "But I have this feeling... that there’s more to it. That her disappearance wasn’t just random. There’s something they’re hiding."

"I'm sorry that I brought this up to you," I said, feeling a heavy weight settle in my chest. Guilt washed over me, deep and uncomfortable. I regretted pushing the conversation in this

direction, especially with the lie I’d told her about us knowing each other as children. But I didn’t have much of a choice—I needed to do this for Aya's sake, even if it meant dragging up painful memories for Saki.

The mood between us had shifted. The air, once filled with the excitement of discovery, had turned sour. I could see the sadness lingering in Saki’s eyes, and it only made the guilt in me fester further.

"It's okay," she replied, offering a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry too, for getting so emotional and... ruining the mood.

"No," I quickly shook my head. "It’s not your fault. This was my doing. Are you okay?"

Saki hesitated, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with the napkin in front of her. "Yes, I’m fine," she said softly, though her voice lacked conviction.

"You sure?" I pressed gently. "If you’re not feeling up for it today, we can hang out another time."

Her eyes flickered with a hint of gratitude as she nodded. "Is that okay with you? I think... I need to learn how to suppress my emotions better. I didn’t mean to get so upset, but... yeah, maybe we can hang out again sometime."

I offered a reassuring smile, despite the turmoil inside me. "Of course. Whenever you’re ready."

There was a brief pause before I spoke again. "Do you want me to walk you home?" I offered, concerned that she might not be as fine as she claimed.

Saki shook her head. "No, I’m okay. Really." She tried to sound more confident, but the sadness was still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

"Alright," I said softly. The conversation felt heavy, like it could crumble if I pushed any further. I raised my hand and waved down the waiter, gesturing to the untouched plates in front of us. "Can we get these to go, please?"

As the waiter gathered up the plates for packing, I glanced at Saki one last time. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss—for the trust I’d fractured by lying, for the pain I had unintentionally unearthed. And yet, I knew this was necessary. Aya needed answers, and I had to keep pressing forward, no matter how hard it became.

Still, as I sat there in the silence that followed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d crossed a line that wouldn’t be easy to return from.

We exited the café, the door closing softly behind us. Saki and I exchanged a brief, almost awkward goodbye before heading in opposite directions. Her figure quickly disappeared into the crowd, but the weight of the conversation stayed with me, heavy and unmoving.

Aya and I walked in silence toward the station, our steps slow and unhurried. The quiet between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a strange tension. I glanced at her a few times, catching

her expression—distant, like her mind was somewhere else entirely. I could feel it, the conflict brewing inside her. She must’ve remembered something today. Something important. But it wasn’t enough to make everything fall into place.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, unsure of what to say. The revelation we’d uncovered felt like a turning point, yet it brought more uncertainty than clarity. Aya… Mika…

What should I even call her now? Was she still the same ghost who had been by my side all this time, or was she slowly becoming Mika again—the girl in the photograph with Saki?

I glanced at Aya again, as if she might vanish at any moment. She hadn’t said a word since we left the café. Maybe she was trying to process it all, just like I was.

As the silence between us grew heavier, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I slid my earpiece in, pretending I was on a phone call. The weight of everything we’d just learned sat heavy in the air between us, so I tried to lighten the mood—just a little.

"So," I said casually, glancing at her from the corner of my eye, "what should I call you now? Mika, or are we sticking with Aya?"

She stopped walking for a moment, surprised by the question. A faint smile touched her lips, though there was still that unmistakable sadness behind it. "I’m still Aya," she said softly. Her voice, though gentle, carried the weight of uncertainty—like she wasn’t quite sure if she was trying to convince me or herself.

I nodded, smiling back at her. "Aya it is, then."

But I couldn’t ignore the melancholy that lingered around her, and even though she smiled, it felt fragile—like it might crack at any moment. I wanted to say something else, something

comforting, but the words just wouldn’t come. Instead, we walked side by side.

Days had passed since our meeting with Saki, and while Aya seemed to be acting normally around me, I could still sense an underlying tension. She was trying her best to maintain a

facade of calmness, but the conflict within her was palpable. She’d become more distant, often lost in thought, and I could feel the weight of her unanswered questions hanging over us.

The main question gnawing at me now was: Where was Mika? If she was indeed Mika from the photograph, what had happened to her? The mystery of her disappearance was growing more urgent and anxiety-inducing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers we were seeking might reveal something far more unsettling.

Aya, as a ghost, could provide some clues, but her memories were fragmented and elusive. I wondered if she could remember more if we pushed harder or if there was another way to uncover the truth. The uncertainty about her past and the very real possibility that Mika’s body might still be out there—or worse, that she might be dead—was a heavy burden on both our minds.

I needed to find a way to help Aya confront these questions and find some resolution.

But before all of that, I wanted to cheer up Aya. I scrolled through my phone, looking for ideas. I wasn’t sure what could make a ghost happy, but I figured a distraction would be good for both of us. Then, I stumbled across a post about an amusement park nearby. It was close enough for a spontaneous trip.

I glanced over at Aya, who was sitting on the couch, focused on the game she was playing on the big TV. She was engrossed, completely at ease, her fingers expertly moving the controller. It always fascinated me how, despite being a ghost, she could still interact with certain things. I mean, she could pass through walls and people when she wanted to, but at the same time, she could sit on the sofa and hold the controller, as long as no one else was around. There was so much about her that I still didn’t understand.

I couldn’t help but wonder: Can ghosts enjoy amusement parks? Could Aya still feel the thrill of being on rides? It seemed like something she might enjoy, especially with how much she liked gaming. Maybe the adrenaline rush of a rollercoaster would be just the thing to lift her spirits.

“Hey, Aya,” I called out, trying to sound casual. “How do you feel about amusement parks?”

She didn’t look up from the game but tilted her head slightly in my direction, intrigued. “Amusement parks? You mean with roller coasters and stuff?”

“Yeah,” I said, walking over to her. “There’s one not far from here. I thought maybe we could go check it out? Get out of the apartment for a bit, have some fun.”

Aya paused the game and looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “I’m a ghost, remember? Not sure how that’ll work.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Well, you can sit on couches, hold a controller when no one’s looking. I figure rides might not be too different. Besides, it’s worth a try, right? Worst case, you can watch me scream like an idiot on the roller coaster.”

She chuckled softly, and I could see her considering it. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. It could be fun.”

“Awesome,” I said, grabbing my jacket and the earpiece I always slid on my ears. “Let’s go.

The amusement park was bustling when we arrived. People were milling about, the bright lights from the rides flickering in the evening sky, and the sound of excited laughter filled the air. I glanced at Aya, who stood beside me, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. I wasn’t sure if it was nostalgia or curiosity, but something in her expression told me that this was already helping her feel a bit lighter.

We—or should I say I, since no one else could see Aya—headed toward the ticket booth. The entrance was chaotic, with children running around, their faces lit up with excitement. Parents struggled to keep up, while teenagers laughed with their friends, pointing at the tallest roller coasters.

As I waited in line to pay for our tickets, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of familiarity. The sights, the sounds—it brought back memories of my childhood. It had been years since I last set foot in this park, and back then, it was with my parents and Rikka’s family.

Rikka. That name triggered a flood of memories, some bittersweet, some painful. I remembered her laughter as we wandered through the park together, the way she would excitedly drag me from one ride to the next. And I especially remembered the haunted house.

Rikka had insisted that she was brave enough for it, and when we stepped inside, her confidence quickly crumbled. She screamed the moment we were greeted by the first jump- scare—a fake ghost flying out from the wall. I remember laughing at her, trying to reassure her it was all fake. But her grip on my arm had been so tight, it took nearly the entire walk through the haunted house to get her to calm down.

Thinking about it now, I couldn’t help but smile. That was before everything had gone wrong between us. Before the accident. Before her betrayal.

“Are you okay?” Aya’s voice pulled me back to the present. She must have noticed me spacing out.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head as if to clear the thoughts away. “Just… remembering some things.”

“Good memories?” she asked, her tone soft. “Some,” I replied. “Others… not so much.”

Aya didn’t press further, though her gaze lingered on me for a moment. She had a way of

understanding when not to push, even without knowing the full story. I appreciated that about her.

I paid for my ticket and made my way through the turnstile, with Aya slipping through beside me effortlessly, like she belonged in this world of excitement and joy, even though no one but me could see her. Once we were inside, I turned to her, putting on a more cheerful face.

“Alright, what do you want to do first?” I asked, gesturing toward the sprawling park ahead of us.

Aya's eyes sparkled, and she smirked. “Let’s see if I can handle the big one.”

We made our way to the rollercoaster, weaving through the crowd. As we got closer, I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. What if Aya couldn’t experience it the way I hoped? But she

seemed excited, more alive than I’d seen her in days.

When it was our turn, I sat down at the last car, buckling myself in, and glanced over at Aya. She slid into the seat next to me with ease, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but marvel at how

normal it all seemed. The bar came down over us, and Aya gripped it like she belonged there.

As the rollercoaster slowly ascended, the world around us became smaller. Aya, to my surprise, looked calm, a small smile playing on her lips. “You ready for this?” I asked, my own heart racing in anticipation.

She turned to me, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I was born ready.”

The ride dropped suddenly, and my stomach lurched as we plummeted down, the wind whipping past us. I yelled, partly from excitement and partly from the rush of adrenaline, but when I glanced at Aya, she was laughing—really laughing. The joy on her face was infectious, and for a few moments, all the heaviness and uncertainty melted away. We were just two people enjoying a ride.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a stop, I was breathless, but Aya looked exhilarated. “That was incredible!” she exclaimed, her eyes still bright with excitement.

“I didn’t think ghosts could enjoy rollercoasters,” I teased, feeling more at ease than I had in a while.

“Apparently, I can,” she replied with a grin. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime,” I said, smiling back at her. “You want to try something else?”