Chapter 13 — “Himari’s Diary”

The page that should have stayed closed.

The sun sets slowly over Saint Elora, turning the sea outside the dorm windows into melted glass. The hallways hum with the faint chatter of girls returning from class, laughter echoing off white walls.

Mizuki walks alone. Her steps are small, quiet, as if afraid to disturb the stillness that follows her wherever she goes.

Himari had stayed behind for club duty. She’d kissed Mizuki’s forehead lightly before leaving, told her to rest, and promised to return before lights-out.

Mizuki smiles at that memory, though it feels brittle — like glass too thin to hold.

When she enters their shared dorm room, the air smells faintly of lavender. Himari’s scent. The window is half open, letting the sea breeze curl through the curtains. On the desk, beneath a small reading lamp, lies a single object — out of place.

A diary. Small, navy blue, its corners slightly bent. A delicate lock holds it closed.

Mizuki stares at it for a long time.

She knows she shouldn’t.

She tells herself to walk away.

But her hands are already moving.

She sits down, the chair creaking softly, and pulls a hairpin from her hair. The click of metal against metal is almost too loud in the quiet room. It takes three tries before the lock gives a small sigh and opens.

The scent that escapes is faint and familiar — lavender and ink.

The pages are filled with neat handwriting, small and careful, the kind of handwriting of someone who controls everything they feel.

At first, the words are soft.

> “She smiled today. I think she’s finally happy.”

“Her laugh sounds like the sea when it’s calm.”

“She’s beautiful when she draws — like she’s somewhere else.”

Mizuki’s lips tremble. Her heart feels full, warm.

But as she turns the pages, something begins to change.

The handwriting grows darker. Sharper. The rhythm of the words breaks apart, like cracks in porcelain.

> “Sometimes, I want to see her cry.”

“When she talks to others, I feel something burning in me.”

“She belongs to me, doesn’t she? She should.”

Mizuki’s fingers tighten around the paper.

She turns another page.

> “I kissed her blood once. It tasted honest.”

“I dreamt she left me. I woke up shaking.”

“If she leaves me, I’ll die first.”

The lamp hums softly, the only sound in the room. Mizuki’s reflection on the window glass looks unfamiliar — pale, hollow-eyed, almost ghostly.

Her chest hurts, but she doesn’t know why.

She closes the diary slowly, as if it were made of fragile skin. The lock dangles open, useless now.

For a moment, she just sits there, staring at the dark cover, hearing her own pulse in her ears.

When the door finally opens, Himari steps in, her voice gentle as ever.

> “You’re still awake?”

Mizuki flinches, her hands sliding away from the desk too quickly.

Himari doesn’t notice. She smiles and sets her bag down, pulling off her blazer. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold night air, her eyes bright.

> “Did you eat dinner without me?”

> “No,” Mizuki murmurs.

Her voice sounds strange even to herself — like someone else is speaking through her.

Himari hums softly, then steps behind her, wrapping her arms around Mizuki’s shoulders.

> “You smell like smoke,” she teases gently.

Mizuki freezes.

Her gaze flicks to the diary on the desk — still slightly open, the pages breathing faintly in the wind.

Himari follows her stare. For a moment, her smile falters.

Then she closes the book with a soft snap.

> “You were curious?” she asks, almost playfully.

Mizuki looks down. “I’m sorry.”

> “Don’t be.”

Himari’s voice is warm again, but something behind it shifts — an undertone that doesn’t sound like forgiveness.

She touches Mizuki’s chin, lifting her face. Their eyes meet.

> “Did you find anything interesting?”

Mizuki doesn’t answer.

> “Or maybe,” Himari whispers, smiling faintly, “you just learned how much I love you.”

Her lips brush Mizuki’s forehead, soft, sweet — but her hands are trembling.

When Himari turns to undress for bed, Mizuki keeps staring at her back. Something inside her — something quiet and terrified — begins to unravel.

That night, after Himari falls asleep, Mizuki sits by the window.

The diary lies beside her, its blue cover glimmering faintly in moonlight. She touches the lock again, now broken. It feels warm against her fingertips.

She thinks of the words inside: “If she leaves me, I’ll die first.”

Mizuki wonders if that was a promise — or a warning.

Her chest feels tight. The sea outside roars softly, as if whispering secrets to the shore.

She pulls out her sketchbook. The one filled with Himari’s face.

Page after page of love, obsession, devotion.

She flips to the last one — an unfinished sketch of Himari sleeping. Her expression peaceful, almost divine.

Mizuki tears the page out.

She holds it over the candle flame until it catches fire.

The paper curls, blackens, and turns to ash in her hand.

The ashes cling to her fingertips like gray petals.

For a long time, she watches them fall onto the floor — quiet, weightless, beautiful.

Behind her, Himari murmurs something in her sleep. A name. Mizuki’s name.

But it doesn’t sound like affection anymore. It sounds like possession.

Mizuki closes her eyes. The ashes cling to her skin like ghosts refusing to let go.

And as dawn begins to crawl over the sea, she whispers to the empty air:

> “If love is a cage, then maybe I was the one who locked the door.”