Volume 3 – Chapter 28: The Sound of Breathing

Date: August 22

Last 32 Days. 

Not a terrific crash or a long groan of metal bending and giving way to storm winds, but rather that breathing sound that woke Kaito. Rika was still asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, breathing steadily as well. And just then, it struck him: they made it through the night.

The storm is gone.

The world hadn't ended—at least not yet—and neither had the house.

He remained mostly quiet-sleeping, listening to quiet now. Real quiet. No alarms. No sirens. No screaming. Just the quiet, settling creak of beams, and the heartbeat in his ears.

When Rika awoke, she didn't speak immediately. Just looked at him, then out at the window where soft light now filtered through cracks in the boarded glass.

“Still here,” she breathed.

Nod. Kaito did, as he said, “Still here.”

Neither of them smiled. Survival didn't earn celebration anymore. It earned silence. Reflection. A kind of reverence.

They stretched, then stood, surveying the area. Dust coated everything, but the building had stood. Aya came down twenty minutes later, soaked but not injured, with her hoodie wrapped very tightly around her shoulders like armor. Some few others trickled in, too; six of them, a bit haggard, dirt-lined, and hollow-eyed.

Everyone looked the same. Like they'd aged ten years overnight.

That afternoon cleaning commenced.

Lost was the western fence. Supply in storage room c was reduced to soaking beyond saving. The water purifier had been knocked loose but was reparable.

"There isn't much talking going on. We're working," said one of the men. Not in a rush, but slow, careful work of the type one does when running out of time but no longer concerned keeping track of the minutes ticking away.

At the entrance, Rika picked up a broken photo frame. The inside was completely bleached by sunshine's exposure, but she held it for a while anyway. Kaito saw her and watched the way her fingers curled around the broken glass as if it meant something.

Maybe it did.

That night, they assembled once more in what remained of the big hall. A few candles, some warm rice, and silence, the good kind that somehow deserved to be earned.

Aya broke it with a simple question. “Do you think the rest of the world looks like this?”

Kaito looked up from his bowl. “I think… it probably looks worse.”

“No," said Rika gently. "I think it looks the same. Broken. Quiet. People just... trying to keep breathing."

Silence reigned, but there was no argument.

Later, when they were on their own again, Rika got a piece of charcoal and began drawing on the wall. It was not beauty nor art she sought; there were just shapes, lines, shadows.

“Please tell me what it is,” said Kaito, gazing up at her in the dim light.

“I still don't know,” she replied. "But I must leave something behind. Even should it be for our eyes only."

He did not answer. He simply took the second piece of charcoal and drew side by side with her.

And for the first time in what felt like days, they both smiled—not because of some resolution to whatever crisis had taken place, but because for a moment they were reminded of what it felt like to create, rather than endure.

To breathe not just because one had to-but because one still could.