Chapter 14: I Want You Back

Rehearsals had become a blur of repetition.

Scene after scene rolled by like a well-oiled machine—neat, orderly, almost flawless. The dialogue grew fluid. The blocking became precise. Even the laughter shared between takes sounded light, as if there were no lingering weight between us.

Yet, inside me, a hollow space remained, stubbornly refusing to be filled.

Every time I stood on that stage as the Sleeping Beauty, a strange sensation gnawed at my chest. I felt like a bride draped in a breathtaking gown, only to realize with a sinking heart that the man standing at the end of the altar wasn't the one she had waited for her entire life.

The Prince of the story arrived, right on cue. But it wasn't him. And that alone was enough to make every breath feel heavy.

During a heated debate scene with the Stepmother, my fingers instinctively bunched into the fabric of my white gown. One name echoed relentlessly in the chambers of my mind.

Harumasa Kengo.

“Cut!”

Otoya’s voice sliced through the atmosphere. “Mitsuzu-chan, are you alright? Your expression just now… it was far too tragic.”

I blinked, startled, like someone jolted awake from a fever dream. “I-it’s nothing.”

Otoya narrowed his eyes, looking past my polite facade. “Your eyes can't lie.”

The rest of the cast fell silent. They felt it too—the jarring dissonance in my performance. I offered a faint, brittle smile.

“It’s just… for some reason, I feel like this role is incomplete.”

Incomplete. Because this fairy tale was hobbling along on a broken leg without the prince I actually desired.

Meanwhile, across town—

Hachoo!

Kengo let out a soft sneeze at his part-time job.

“Catching a cold, Kengo-kun?” a coworker asked.

“Who knows,” he replied casually, sliding a box onto a shelf. “I probably just have people talking behind my back.”

He returned to his work as usual. He had no way of knowing… that someone was currently screaming his name over and over again within the silence of their heart.

Rehearsal resumed. Lines were repeated. Footwork was corrected. But my thoughts continued to drift backward.

Back to high school. To a smile as bright as a spring morning. To the way he laughed without a care, as if the world hadn't yet learned how to be cruel.

I wanted him back. Not as the tree standing silently in the corner of the stage. Not as the shadow refusing to step into the light of the narrative. I wanted the version of him that used to exist.

When rehearsal finally wrapped, I climbed down from the stage and walked toward the corner of the room. Yukari was perched on a small step, surrounded by script pages covered in frantic scribbles.

“Um, Ishikawa-san… do you have a moment?”

She lifted her head. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “Can you add a scene? About the real prince. The one who never arrived.”

Yukari went still. Her eyes narrowed—not out of confusion, but out of a sudden, sharp understanding. “Hmm… so you’ve been thinking that far ahead.”

I lowered my head, unable to meet her gaze.

“Fine,” she said softly. “It’s a good idea.”

Rehearsal continued, but I remained trapped in the same loop. Afterward, Yukari called me to the back of the room.

“Mitsuzu-chan.”

I turned.

“Do you want the truth, or do you want to keep pretending?”

I remained silent. She stared into me, her gaze clinical yet empathetic. “This is about Kengo-kun, isn't it?”

My chest tightened. I couldn't deny it anymore.

And so, I told her everything. About high school. About the smile that used to come so easily. About Akito. About the day the world collapsed. About a reunion that felt like meeting a stranger. About a door that had been bolted shut.

I told her how many times I had knocked… and how I had never received an answer.

Yukari listened in silence. When I finished, she stood up and looked into the distance, as if seeing something invisible to everyone else.

“The world breaks everyone,” she said slowly, her voice soft but firm. “And afterward… some are strong at the broken places.”

I was stunned into silence.

“It’s not a weakness,” she continued. “It’s a survival mechanism. The most painful tears are the ones that fall from the heart and are never seen.”

Her words felt like a physical weight on my chest.

“And the saddest thing,” Yukari whispered, “is loving someone who has long since stopped believing in love.”

The tears fell then, unrestrained. I remembered that small notebook he had once dropped. I remembered the words written inside:

“One of the easiest ways to be happy is to accept reality and not hope too much for what isn't there.”

“Let your hopes shape your future, not your hurts.”

“To stop hoping doesn't mean to stop loving; it means learning to protect yourself.”

“Don't hope for people to stay, because eventually, they always leave.”

I bit my lip, suppressed a sob. “That was when I realized,” I whispered, “just how lonely he must have been.”

Yukari offered a cryptic, faint smile.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I have an idea,” she said shortly.

“An idea?”

“A secret.” She stepped down from the ledge. “Tomorrow… you need to be ready.”

Ready for what? I didn't know. But there was something in the way she smiled that made my heart beat a little faster.

That night, as I walked home, the wind felt colder than usual. Beneath a sky turning to ink, I repeated a single phrase in my mind.

I want you back.

Not just the Kengo standing in front of me now. But the Kengo who once smiled without fear. And if I have to stand in front of that door a thousand times to bring him back—I’ll do it.

Because this time, I’m done just waiting. I’m calling him home.