A Ribbon in the Cold

Kazu stayed sitting on his bed for a long, quiet moment. His palm still felt the mattress. His lungs still felt the leftover weight of that impossible descent. And the faint droplets from 25th Hour rain still clung to his hair like evidence that shouldn’t exist. Nothing in his room moved. Nothing distorted.

The digital clock held steady at 7:00 A.M. Ordinary. Painfully ordinary.

Kazu exhaled and let his back fall onto the bed. The ceiling looked the same as yesterday. The stain in the upper corner stared back like always. But everything still felt… tilted. Not wrong, not dangerous — just heavier, like he returned carrying something the real world wasn’t designed to hold. He checked his phone. No missed calls. No strange notifications. No “Welcome back” messages from a world that ate time for breakfast. Good.

He didn’t know what he would’ve done if the 25th Hour had followed him home through text. He pushed himself up and dragged his feet to the bathroom. The lights flicked on normally. His reflection appeared instantly — no delay, no second version of him blinking slower. He still flinched.

“…Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Still me. Hopefully.”

He washed his face. Cold water — normal cold, not that unnerving time-still cold. He brushed his teeth, grabbed his towel, changed clothes, and tried not to think about the lanterns whispering inside his skull. In the mirror, his eyes looked different. Not glowing. Not changed. Just… awake. Awake in a way that made him feel older than he was. He sighed and headed to the kitchen. Breakfast was instant — reheated curry rice from last night and the driest toast known to man.

He shoved the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and grabbed his bag. The hallway lights were normal. His apartment door creaked normally. The morning outside was cold, white, winter-still. The real world. He should’ve felt relieved. But he didn’t. The noise of the city folded around him — traffic, chattering, bicycle bells, someone yelling about cheap takoyaki on the corner. Normal life. Normal problems. Normal air that didn’t feel borrowed. And yet… 

He felt watched. Not by a monster, not by lanterns, not by time itself. Watched by fate. As if the 25th Hour hadn’t ended. As if it was only waiting for the clock to blink wrong again. His phone buzzed.

Takumi: Bro you alive? Kazu sighed. That grounding stupidity was almost comforting.

He texted back: Barely. Takumi replied instantly: Cool, I'm close by we'll go together. Bring notes for lecture I forgot mine. Kazu snorted. “Moron.”

His breath puffed in the cold morning air as he walked through the street crossing. People moved past him in big coats, scarves, winter boots. He blended in — one more college student in a rush. But inside, the feeling grew louder. A tug in his chest. A whisper of awareness. A presence he didn’t know how to name. Not danger. Not magic.

Just… Someone.

“The moment he entered the morning crowd at the street crossing—” The crowd parted for a second. And he saw her. Black hair brushing her scarf. Red eyes calm and unfocused. A loose ribbon hanging from her uniform. Bag strapped neatly to her side. Reina. He didn’t know her name yet. Didn’t know anything about her. But his feet slowed again. Something inside him… recognized her. Not from a memory. Not from anything logical. Just a soft, inexplicable pull. He had bumped into her before in college campus. 

He straightened his back. Fixed his hair without thinking. Stepped sideways to give her space as she passed through him. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t even notice him. But the moment she walked past— Kazu’s chest fluttered with a warmth he couldn’t explain.  Like something inside him whispered: “There.”

Takumi bumped his shoulder from behind him. “Bro? Why’d you stop again?” 

Kazu blinked. “…Thought I dropped something.” Takumi checked the floor. “You didn’t.”

Yeah. He didn’t. But something else had dropped. A tiny thread connecting him to a girl he had never spoken to. And he didn’t know why, but it scared him more than the 25th Hour did.

Kazu reached campus earlier than usual. He didn’t plan to. His feet just moved faster than his mind, like he was trying to outrun something — the 25th Hour, the lanterns, that strange tug he felt when the girl passed him. Or maybe he was trying to outrun himself. Winter wind brushed against his coat as he stepped through the college gate. Students were scattered around — some rushing to class, some yawning with iced coffee in hand, some complaining loudly about grades.

Everything was noisy and alive. Perfectly normal. Perfectly safe. So why did it feel like the air had… weight? Takumi appeared beside him out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Kazu’s shoulder. “You look like you’re about to fight God,” he said casually. Kazu rolled his eyes. “It’s too early for your stupidity.”

“True. But trauma wakes you up better than coffee.”

Kazu, “I’m not traumatized.” Takumi gave him a side-eye. “That’s what traumatized people say.” Kazu didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy to explain the kind of things he had seen… or the kind of things watching him now, invisible. They walked together toward the courtyard, boots crunching on patches of leftover frost. Kazu couldn’t focus. Every sound around him felt slightly sharper. Every shadow slightly darker. Every passing person slightly more present. The 25th Hour had done something to him. Even outside it, the world felt… hyperreal. Alive.

As if he was still inside a puzzle that hadn’t finished unfolding. Takumi kept talking about something — probably a game update or some gossip — but Kazu’s mind drifted back to that girl from the morning. Winter sunlight had caught on her hair. Her ribbon was slipping, like she was too tired to tie it properly. And those red eyes… soo beautiful.

He shook his head. He didn’t even know her name. And thinking about a stranger was ridiculous.

“Kazu?” Takumi nudged him. “You hearing me or are you having an out-of-body experience?” 

“Just tired.” Kazu.

“You look like you saw a ghost.” 

“…Maybe,” Kazu murmured without thinking.

Takumi stopped. “What?” Kazu snorted. “Nothing. Forget it.” Takumi squinted suspiciously but let it go. Kazu was grateful. He didn’t want eyes on him — not Takumi’s, not anyone’s. He just wanted a normal day. But the world had other plans. The winter sun had climbed higher by noon, though it still didn’t feel warm. Students poured out of classrooms like a flock escaping captivity, laughing, complaining, scattering toward food stalls or the campus garden. Kazu walked with Takumi toward their usual spot by the bench near the fountain. 

He balanced his lunch box on one hand, adjusting his scarf with the other — and that was when his feet slowed. Because there she was. The girl from the morning crowd. Sitting alone on the stone edge near the leafless winter tree. Not a cherry blossom — just a quiet, bare, grey-limbed tree that looked like it was trying its best to survive January. Her bento rested on her lap. Her breath made tiny white clouds in front of her.

Her scarf was neatly wrapped, except for the ribbon on her uniform — still loose on one side, like she never bothered fixing it properly. She wasn’t reading or scrolling her phone. She was just eating quietly, as if the entire world had lowered its volume around her.

Kazu’s chest tightened with the same warm flicker he felt in morning. Takumi noticed him slowing down. “Oh no,” he whispered dramatically. “You found something interesting, didn’t you?”

Kazu shot him a glare. “Shut up. Keep walking.” But his feet didn’t obey. They paused again — not in fear, not in confusion. In recognition. A recognition that made no sense. Takumi followed his gaze and raised both eyebrows.

“A girl? Seriously? You?”

Kazu looked away. “I’m not looking at anyone.”

“You’re staring at her like you’re watching a rare Pokémon spawn.”

“I’m not staring!” Kazu blushing. 

Takumi smirked. “Okay okay, Romeo.”

Kazu elbowed him hard. Takumi laughed and finally went ahead toward the benches. But Kazu… didn’t join him. Not yet. Because the wind blew again. Cold winter air swept across the courtyard, lifting leaves and fluttering scarves — and her ribbon, already loose, slipped completely off. It fluttered once… twice… and fell to the pavement.

Before Kazu knew it, his feet turned toward her. Not dramatically. Not romantically. Just quietly. Like a pull he didn’t choose. He reached the ribbon first, crouching down to pick it up. His fingers brushed the fabric — soft, warm from her lap. When he lifted his head— Her eyes were already on him. Red eyes. Not glowing. Not cold. Just surprised. Curious. Soft. Her lips parted slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say. She looked so… beautiful. And Kazu’s brain stopped functioning.

He forgot he was holding the ribbon. Forgot the cold wind. Forgot Takumi, the college, the noise. Forgot the 25th Hour entirely. There was just this girl with quiet red eyes looking at him like he had intruded on a moment he didn’t deserve. His heartbeat stumbled. His throat tightened. His thoughts tripped over themselves like idiots: Wow…“She’s really…”

“Why does it feel like I’ve seen her somewhere?” “No. Impossible.” 

“Stop staring, idiot—”

“Um… hi?” she said softly, snapping him back.

Kazu blinked so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “Ah— I— sorry— I mean— this— you dropped— uh— this!” He held the ribbon out like it was a sacred artifact.

She blinked once. Twice. Then a tiny smile appeared. “Oh. Thank you,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “It keeps slipping today.” Her voice was gentle. Not too high, not too shy — just warm enough to make the cold feel a little less cold. Kazu forced himself to nod. “Yeah. Happens.” No it did not. No one’s ribbon fell that gracefully in slow motion. She reached out to take it, their fingers accidentally brushing for a millisecond. Kazu felt it like electricity. Not dramatic electricity. Just a small jolt that said:

You’re paying attention. To her. Why?

He quickly stood up, nearly tripping over absolutely nothing. “I—I should go,” he blurted, bowing awkwardly.

She looked up at him, slightly puzzled but still smiling. “Thank you again.”

Kazu nodded aggressively. “Yes. Okay. Bye.” Smooth. Unbelievably smooth.

He walked back to Takumi with the stiffest posture known to humanity. Takumi stared at him like he’d just discovered Kazu’s secret second life. “…Bro,” he whispered. “What was THAT?” 

Kazu opened his lunch box and stabbed a piece of veggies. “Eat. Shut up.” Takumi leaned closer. “You like her.” Kazu turned slowly, eyes flat, face red. “I do not.”

“You froze like a Wi-Fi connection in a storm.”

“Takumi.”

“You were staring at her like she was a sunset.”

“Takumi.”

“You bowed while running away— that’s like advanced-level awkward.”

“TAKUMI.”

Takumi held his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

A beat passed. “But you doooo like her.” Kazu stabbed his food again. He didn’t know what he felt. But he knew one thing: The 25th Hour had left him uneasy, unsteady, half-wired. But this girl… this small, ordinary moment… this human softness… It shook him more than any lantern or time distortion ever had. And he had no idea why.

The rest of lunch passed in uneasy silence—at least for Kazu. Takumi talked like usual, laughing at his own dumb jokes, scrolling through memes, complaining about professors. But Kazu barely heard any of it. His mind kept drifting back to that moment. Her red eyes meeting his. Her soft “thank you.” The warmth of her fingers brushing his when she took the ribbon. It was stupid. It was small. It was nothing. So why did it feel like everything inside him had shifted half a degree? The bell rang, slicing his thoughts cleanly in half.

“Come on,” Takumi groaned, stretching his arms. “Another two hours of hell.” Kazu stood up automatically. “Yeah.” But as they walked back toward the building, something strange happened—not supernatural, not terrifying. Just… quiet.

He saw her again.

Reina was walking across the courtyard, holding her notebook against her chest, her hair swaying with each step. She wasn’t looking at him—of course she wasn’t. She was focused on the ground, or maybe on her thoughts, or maybe on absolutely nothing. But for one brief second, the winter wind carried her faint scent past him—soft, clean, something like white soap and cold air.

Kazu’s shoulders stiffened. Takumi noticed. “Bro, don’t say you’re looking again—” 

“I’m not,” Kazu snapped, too fast to sound convincing. Takumi snickered. “Yeah, okay, lover boy.” Kazu didn’t bother responding. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and followed the flow of students inside.

The afternoon classes dragged on. Numbers blurred. Words lost shape. Kazu stared at the board, but his mind replayed the same two seconds over and over again: the ribbon falling, her eyes meeting his, his heartbeat tripping over itself. By the time the final lecture ended, he felt more exhausted than he had after surviving the 25th Hour. Students poured out into the golden hour light, relieved, loud, complaining again. Kazu stepped outside with Takumi, the cold air immediately biting at his cheeks.

“Work today, right?” Takumi asked. “Yeah.” Kazu adjusted his bag. “Evening shift.” Takumi yawned. “Good luck not dying.” “You too,” Kazu muttered.

They split paths at the gate. Takumi jogged toward the bus stop. Kazu took the road leading back towards his home—the familiar one, the one he always walked. The same route. The same buildings. The same wind. Everything felt ordinary. Painfully ordinary. But something inside him wasn’t.

His steps slowed when he passed the crosswalk where he’d first seen her in morning. The memory washed over him again—soft, strange, warm in a way that didn’t belong in winter. He touched his chest, annoyed at himself.

“Get it together,” he muttered. “It’s just a girl.”

But the words felt thin, flimsy, like paper trying to shield him from a storm. He kept walking. Shadows stretched longer along the pavement as the sun dipped lower. Streetlights flickered awake with a faint electric buzz. The world felt calm—too calm. As if holding its breath. As if the 25th Hour was somewhere just behind him, watching. Waiting.

Kazu pushed the thought away. He needed to get home, change clothes, and leave for work. Nothing weird was going to happen today. He refused to let it. But as he reached the small alley behind his apartment complex, he noticed something. A faint shimmer on the ground. A droplet. Not rain. Not melted frost. A perfect sphere of water—the kind that only fell from a sky where time had stopped. Kazu froze. His chest tightened.

“…No,” he whispered weakly. “Not again.”

But the droplet didn’t vanish. It stayed. Still. Unmoving. Waiting for him to look closer. And Kazu realized—

Today wasn’t done with him. Not yet. Not even close.