The Edges of the Invisible

In the days following their first encounter, Himeko became omnipresent in Aika’s life, as if she had always belonged there. She always knew exactly where to find her during breaks, and she appeared whenever Aika felt most alone. When she crossed paths with her ex in the hallway, when the whispers of former friends echoed behind her, when the weight of solitude threatened to consume her — Himeko would appear as if by magic, placing a calming hand on her shoulder or gently running her fingers through her hair with a tenderness that melted every trace of anxiety.

Their relationship existed in a hazy space, somewhere between friendship and something more intimate. Himeko’s gestures were laced with a disturbing softness: she would often stroke Aika’s hair, letting her fingers linger at the nape of her neck, tracing slow, deliberate circles on her skin with a strange fascination. Sometimes, Aika would catch her staring at her neck, entranced, as though hypnotized by the pulse beating beneath her pale skin. Those moments made Aika uneasy — but the feeling always faded the instant Himeko smiled and looked away, as if nothing odd had happened.

Himeko seemed to know every small detail of Aika’s life, recalling things she was certain she’d never shared.

One Saturday afternoon, they arranged to meet at Yume Park. But something felt... off. The amusement park Aika discovered bore little resemblance to the one from her childhood memories. The once-bright colors had dulled into faded hues. Paint peeled from the façades of the attractions, the neon lights flickered unevenly , and an atmosphere of abandonment seemed to hang over everything. Even the laughter of other visitors felt muffled, as if weighed down by something invisible.

They wandered between booths and rides, but the unease clung to Aika like a second skin. The carousel creaked ominously, the mascots’ smiles were warped with age and grime, and the entire place exuded a quiet melancholy that knotted her stomach. Yet Himeko beamed, perfectly at ease in this decaying version of the park.

The carousel horses — once so beautiful in Aika’s memory — now showed signs of wear and neglect. Their manes were dulled, their glassy eyes lifeless, and chipped paint gave the appearance of old wounds. Still, Himeko climbed onto one with grace and motioned for Aika to join her on the horse beside it.

As the carousel spun slowly, groaning on rusted metal, Himeko watched Aika with that familiar, unnervingly intense gaze.

"You look so beautiful when you're lost in thought," she murmured, reaching out to softly touch her cheek.

The contact sent a shiver through Aika — not unpleasant, just unexpected. There was something mesmerizing in the way Himeko looked at her, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. That kind of attention was intoxicating, especially after weeks of feeling invisible.

That evening, Aika invited Himeko to her house for the first time. Her mother was out, and she didn’t want the strange yet comforting day to end. They curled up on the couch together, wrapped in a shared blanket, watching a romantic movie Aika had picked without much thought.

Himeko slipped an arm around Aika’s shoulders, and Aika leaned into her, inhaling the subtle, undefinable scent that always surrounded her new friend. There was something familiar about that scent, like a childhood memory she couldn’t quite place. Himeko’s fingers played absently with her hair, and Aika felt herself drifting into a warm, delicious fog.

That’s when she heard the key turning in the door. Her mother stepped into the living room, arms full of groceries, and froze.

"Good evening, Mom," Aika said, straightening slightly. "This is Himeko, a friend from school."

Her mother smiled politely, but her eyes swept the couch with a look of unease.

"Good evening... Himeko," she said, her voice hitching almost imperceptibly. Her smile felt strained, as if she were trying to find someone in the room and failing.

"Good evening, ma’am," Himeko replied warmly, even playfully, rising to greet her.

Aika’s mother nodded, though her worried gaze remained fixed on her daughter.

"That’s... that’s lovely, sweetheart. I’m glad you’ve made a new friend." Her voice carried a strain she clearly tried to hide.

After Himeko left — politely declining dinner, saying her parents were waiting — Aika’s mother came to sit beside her.

"This friend... Himeko," she began cautiously, "how long have you known her ?"

"Been almost a month now. Why ?"

Her mother hesitated, searching for the right words. "It’s just... you seemed to be talking to no one, darling. For a moment, I thought you were sitting there all alone."

Aika stiffened. "Mom, what are you saying ? Himeko was right there. You talked to her."

"Of course, of course," her mother said quickly, brushing Aika’s hair back.

"I’m not crazy, Mom."

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Her mother pulled her into a hug. "It’s just that sometimes, when we’re hurting too much, our heart invents ways to comfort us. What matters is that you’re getting better."

That night, Aika lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, sowing doubts she tried desperately to silence. Himeko was real — she was sure of it. She could still smell her perfume on her clothes, still feel the warmth of her touch on her skin. There was no way all of that could be a figment of her imagination.

And yet... one thing nagged at her. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall anyone else at school actually interacting with Himeko. No teacher ever called on her. No classmate ever spoke to her. But that didn’t mean anything, right ? Himeko was discreet. Shy, maybe. And Aika herself had become nearly invisible since the breakup — of course she would connect with someone as withdrawn as she was.

She pushed those troubling thoughts away and focused on the soothing presence of the red scarf Himeko had given her, now folded neatly on her nightstand. Tomorrow, she would see her again. Everything would feel simple and comforting again. Himeko had a way of making all her doubts disappear with a single smile.