Chapter 13: She Was Never There

The rain returned that night.

Thin, cold, and endless — the kind of rain that didn’t cleanse anything.

The MC sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor like he was waiting for it to open and swallow him.

His room felt unfamiliar again. He didn’t remember choosing the curtains. Didn’t remember the calendar on the wall. The pages were blank now.

He turned to his notebook — the one he used to write in when his head felt too loud.

He flipped it open.

The pages were full of scratches. Words crossed out. Scribbles that looked more like claw marks.

But one phrase repeated again and again:

“Don’t forget her.”

“Don’t forget her.”

“Don’t forget—”

He turned the page.

And found a drawing.

A face.

A girl’s face.

No name.

No eyes.

Just the faint shape of a smile.

The lines shaky. As if drawn by someone who no longer remembered how to hold a pencil.

He touched the page with the tips of his fingers.

Her name—

It was—

He paused.

Tried to say it.

But it caught in his throat like broken glass.

He opened his mouth again, slowly.

“…A…”

The rest didn’t come.

He tried to picture her.

Her hair? Brown? Or black?

Her eyes — soft, right? Or sharp?

Did she smile with her lips or with her eyes?

Was her voice high-pitched? Or gentle?

Did she ever even speak?

He pressed his palms to his temples.

Why couldn’t he see her anymore?

Why couldn’t he remember—

The pain hit.

Sharp.

A migraine born of guilt, of loss, of something deeper than death.

He forced himself to his feet.

He had to find something.

A photo.

A message.

Something real.

He tore open the drawers.

Pulled his phone charger. Plugged it in.

Waited as the screen slowly came to life.

1%.

He opened his gallery.

Scrolled.

The photos were still there.

Of the sky. Of empty benches. Of classroom windows.

Nothing with her.

Not a single one.

Not her shoes.

Not her keychain.

Not her smile.

He checked his contacts again.

No Aki.

No trace of her name.

He checked his call history.

Only empty logs.

No missed calls.

No outgoing ones.

No one.

Just an empty list.

He stumbled back, phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

He bent to pick it up — and caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room.

But the mirror didn’t show anything.

It was blank.

No reflection.

No room.

Just gray.

Flat.

Lifeless.

He stared.

And for a second — just a second — something moved in the glass.

Not him.

Not his shape.

Something… else.

A girl’s outline.

Flickering.

Then gone.

He fell back, heart racing, breath sharp.

“What’s happening…?”

His voice sounded too loud in the silence.

He looked down at his hands again.

Still there.

But not warm.

Not cold.

Just… numb.

And somewhere deep in his chest, he felt it:

A slow, agonizing loss.

Not of her.

But of the reason she ever mattered.