Chapter 14: Things You Can’t Say Out Loud

The next morning, I returned to school feeling about 60% alive.

No fever, no sore throat, but I still moved like an old man with heavy bricks tied to his ankles.
My classmates welcomed me back with the usual amount of chaos.

“Yuuji! You survived!” Kenta cried, clutching my shoulders like I’d risen from the dead.

“Barely,” I muttered.

“Did you see ghosts while you were out?”

“No.”

“What about frog hallucinations?”

I paused. “…Maybe.”

Daiki popped up behind me, grinning.
“Word is, two girls visited your house while you were sick. I’m not saying you’re the protagonist of a romantic comedy, but it’s looking suspicious.”

“Why do you people know everything?” I groaned.

“Mika said something about porridge, Kenta saw Airi jump over your fence.”

“I DID,” Kenta said proudly. “She cleared it like an action movie protagonist!”

I facepalmed.

This was how rumors spread.

During morning homeroom, Airi came in late.

Hairpin on, Sweet smile. Soft footsteps.

She looked at me… and her eyes looked down.

I hadn’t opened the letter.

It was still sitting in my bag, untouched, bunny sticker unbroken.

I wanted to open it.

But somehow… I was scared to.

At lunch, I slipped away to the rooftop. I needed fresh air and maybe a little space from the noise.

I wasn’t alone.

Hina was already there, sitting cross legged with her lunchbox in her lap, staring out at the sky like she’d been waiting.

She didn’t look surprised when I arrived.

“Back from the dead?” she said softly.

“Barely.”

I sat a few steps away from her, pulling out my own lunch.

We ate in silence for a while. The kind that felt peaceful.

Finally, Hina spoke again.

“She was really worried about you.”

I didn’t answer right away.

“She tried to stay awake all day,” Hina added. “Didn’t want to switch.”

I turned to her. “She told you that?”

Hina just gave a faint smile. “She didn’t have to.”

I lowered my eyes. “…So it’s true then? She switches every time she sleeps?”

Hina nodded slowly. “Not just full on sleeps, Naps too.”

I took a breath. “How long has this been happening?”

“She doesn’t remember when it started,” Hina said. “But I’ve known about it since middle school.”

My chest felt heavy.

“She acts like it’s fine,” I muttered. “Like it’s just a game.”

“She’s scared,” Hina replied. “Both of them are.”

I looked at her.

“They leave notes. And memories leak through sometimes. But mostly… it’s like living with a twin you never see.”

I rested my arms on my knees, silent.

Hina looked over at me, eyes calm and unreadable.

“If they ever stopped switching… if one disappeared… which one would you miss more?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

She gave a small nod, like that was enough.

When I returned to class, the chaos had resumed.

Kenta was standing on a desk pretending to be a samurai. Mika was apologizing for accidentally turning the rice cooker into a pressure bomb in Home Economics. Daiki was trading snacks like a black market dealer.

And Airi…

She was sitting by the window, watching the clouds.

When she noticed me, she stood up.

Walked over.

And said quietly, “Did you read it yet?”

I shook my head.

She looked disappointed but not surprised.

“…It’s okay,” she said, smiling. “Take your time.”

She started to turn away, then paused.

“…But not forever, okay?”

She left before I could say anything.

That night, I sat at my desk, staring at the letter.

The bunny sticker felt heavier than before.

I peeled it open slowly.

Inside was a single folded sheet of pale pink paper.

It read:

“Dear Yuuji,

I don't know how to say things the way she does. I don’t even know if I should be writing this.

But… we’ve both been holding our breath for a long time.

Thank you for noticing us. Even when we tried so hard to be someone you’d never look at.

We’re still figuring out who we are.

But one thing is true. No matter who wakes up tomorrow… we’re always thinking of you.

PS: If you tell anyone I wrote this, I’ll deny it forever. Especially to myself.”

There was no name.
And no way will I know who's it from.

Bonus Scene

Late at night, the house was quiet.

The hallway lights had been turned off. The only glow came from the small desk lamp in Airi’s room, painting a warm yellow circle over the pages of her notebook.

Usagi sat curled over her desk, pen in hand, hair slightly messy, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes were tired, but she kept writing anyway.

> “Dear Me,

He read the letter. I think he understood it.

Or maybe… he just understood us.”

She paused, hand hovering over the page.

> “I wanted to talk to him more today. I wanted to say things without being interrupted. Without worrying what you’d think when you read this. But I guess you’d say the same thing about me.”

Her handwriting grew softer as her eyes drooped lower.

> “I stayed awake all night just to see him again. But it’s getting harder… Everything’s blurry now. Maybe I should’ve said more when I had the chance.”

She yawned.

> “Just… don’t push him away again, okay? Even if he annoys you. Even if he says something stupid. Just…”

The pen slipped slightly.

> “…stay close to him for me…”

Her head dropped onto the notebook.

Silence.

A moment passed.

Then her fingers twitched.

Her breathing shifted.

When she sat up again, her eyes were sharper. Slower. Her smile was crooked.

“…She really wrote all that?”

Airi stared at the page in front of her.

She read every word. Slowly. Twice.

Her eyes lingered on the last line. Her lips tightened.

“…Idiot.”

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t tear the page out.

But her fingers clenched around the pen.

She flipped to a new one.

And with the same pen, she wrote:

> “Dear Me,

Stop acting like he’s a fairy tale. He’s just a tired guy who likes frog anime.”

She paused, tapping the pen against the desk.

> “But… maybe I get it. The way he looks at us. The way he smiled yesterday. I don’t get why it makes my chest hurt.”

Another pause.

> “He’s annoying. He’s loud. He talks too much. He stares too long.”

The next line came slower.

> “But when he looks at me… I forget to act like I don’t care.”

She stared at what she wrote.

Then, almost like it betrayed her, she scribbled over the last line. Not enough to erase it just enough to pretend it wasn’t there.

And with that, she turned off the lamp.