Chapter 56: “No One Notices the Missing”

Mizuki Aoyama did not come to work on Monday.

At first, it meant nothing.

People were late sometimes. People took sick days. People disappeared into meetings and reappeared thinner, quieter, changed. The office continued to hum, keyboards tapping, phones ringing, printers coughing out paper like nothing had shifted.

By noon, her desk was still empty.

Her chair remained pushed in. Her monitor dark. A plant on the corner of her desk leaned slightly toward the window, unwatered.

Kei noticed.

He noticed because he always noticed absences before presences. It was a habit formed from years of responsibility. He checked the attendance list once, then again. He asked casually, “Is Aoyama-san out today?”

The answer came quickly. Too quickly.

“Personal reasons,” someone said.

No one met his eyes.

By Tuesday, her email auto-replied.

I am unavailable.

No end date. No explanation.

Kei frowned at his screen. He typed a message, paused, deleted it. Typed again.

Just checking in. Hope you’re okay.

He didn’t send it.

Something told him not to.

Management called a brief meeting Wednesday morning. They spoke about workflow adjustments. About redistributing tasks. About efficiency. They did not say Mizuki’s name.

Kei waited for it. For the moment someone would acknowledge the empty space where a person used to be.

It didn’t come.

By Thursday, her desk was cleared.

Not ceremoniously. Not publicly. Just… gone. A box had been placed there instead, holding spare stationery. The plant was missing.

Kei stood there longer than necessary, staring at the clean surface. It felt wrong. Too easy.

He approached his supervisor that afternoon.

“About Aoyama-san,” he said carefully. “Is she…?”

The supervisor’s smile was practiced. Gentle. Closed. “It’s being handled.”

“Handled how?”

“We’re respecting privacy.”

That was the end of the conversation.

Kei nodded and returned to his desk, unease settling like dust in his chest. He told himself it wasn’t his place. That he had already overstepped once. That he was doing the responsible thing now.

Still, the silence bothered him.

At home, the house was warm.

Yui hummed while cooking. Rurika folded laundry carefully, aligning edges as if the neatness mattered more than the task itself. Touko sat at the table, reading.

Kei mentioned work over dinner. Nothing specific. Just that someone had left unexpectedly.

Yui tilted her head. “That happens sometimes.”

Touko didn’t look up. “People disappear all the time.”

Rurika’s fork paused midair.

Kei glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Just tired.”

Touko reached over and refilled Rurika’s glass without being asked.

That night, Kei lay awake longer than usual. The absence followed him home. He thought about the last time he’d spoken to Mizuki. The way she’d apologized for existing in the same space as him.

He wondered if he should have done more.

He wondered if noticing was enough.

Eventually, sleep claimed him anyway.

The next morning, Mizuki Aoyama’s name was removed from the internal directory.

No announcement. No farewell email. Just gone.

The office adjusted seamlessly.

Work filled the gap.

At school, Touko received praise for a perfect test score. At home, Yui planned the week’s meals. Rurika learned which shelves were hers and which were not.

Life continued.

That evening, Touko finished her homework early. She showered, brushed her hair, and slid into bed without lingering thoughts. The house was quiet in a way that felt earned.

She slept deeply.

No dreams.

No doors.

Just rest.

Somewhere in the city, a space remained unoccupied. A desk unused. A name no longer spoken.

No one noticed the missing.

And Touko slept well that night.