The car ride was quiet. Too quiet.
No radio. No casual chit-chat from the driver. Just the low hum of the engine and the soft rustle of cherry blossoms fluttering past the tinted window. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching the trees blur by like watercolor dreams.
"Miss Y/n," our driver finally said, voice soft, hesitant. "We're almost there."
Almost there.
Almost at Aokigahara Academy.
Almost at the place my parents thought would "fix me."
Funny. They thought a new school would cure the urge to jump out of their penthouse window. That uniforms and stricter rules would erase the memories of a razor biting skin, or the laughter of my old classmates as they pushed me into bathroom stalls and whispered slurs behind fake smiles.
It wasn't that I wanted to die anymore.
It was that I didn't care if I lived.
I didn't respond. The driver seemed used to it by now.
My suitcase sat beside me, half-packed by our housekeeper and zipped with shaky hands. She looked at me with pity when she folded my school uniform white with navy trim, a little cherry blossom emblem stitched over the chest.
My new beginning.
How poetic.
The gates came into view like something out of a gothic fairytale. Tall, black iron twisted with red roses and thorned vines. Past them were Aokigahara Academy white stone buildings, polished windows, and cherry trees that stood in unnatural blooms despite the season.
"Here we are," the driver murmured as he pulled to a stop. He opened the door for me, but I didn't move at first.
Do it, I thought. Step out. Start over.
Pretend like this place is different.
I finally stepped out, the sun hitting my face too warmly, the breeze too sweet for how rotten I felt inside.
And that's when I felt it.
Eyes.
Like the trees themselves were watching. No more than that. People. Boys. Students in the same pristine uniform, scattered across the courtyard like actors on a stage. Their heads turned, conversations paused. I was the new script.
Great.
I ignored it. Picked up my suitcase, nodded politely at the driver. He gave a small bow, then drove off, leaving me standing in front of the gates alone.
You can do this, I told myself.
Just get through one day.
"Hey." A voice.
I turned.
The boy was tall, grinning, golden-brown eyes flicking up and down like he was reading me. "You the transfer?"
"...Yeah."
He whistled. "Damn. They weren't lying."
I frowned. "About what?"
"You're prettier than your file photo." He winked. "Name's Yuji. Yuji Terushima. But you can call me babe."
I stared at him. "I'll pass."
His grin widened. "Feisty. I like that."
"Yuji, stop harassing the new girl."
A deeper voice. Calmer. Colder.
Another boy walked up sharp features, glasses glinting in the light, a predatory sort of smile on his lips.
"Kuroo Tetsurō," he said, offering his hand. "Welcome to Aokigahara, Y/n."
I didn't remember telling him my name.
He noticed my hesitation. "We all read your file. Staff are careless with the computers. Guess some of us were curious."
Curious, huh?
"Leave her alone," a new voice snapped, rough and energetic. A third boy silver-haired, golden-eyed, with a resting expression that said touch her and I'll kill you.
"Bokuto Kōtarō," he said proudly. "If these creeps bother you, tell me. I'll bash their skulls in."
"Babe," Terushima whined, "I wasn't even being creepy yet."
"Yet?" I echoed.
"Don't let them scare you," said a smooth, velvety voice. "They're just idiots. Beautiful, dangerous idiots."
The fourth boy, tall, light brown hair, and a charming smile. "Oikawa Tōru. You're even more enchanting up close."
I stared at him.
Then back at the gates.
I should've stayed in the car.
But I didn't move. The heavy weight in my chest pinned me in place as those boys' eyes flicked over me like I was something fragile, something breakable. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was already broken beyond repair.
"Where's the admin office?" I asked, voice barely more than a whisper. My words felt useless, like I was asking the universe for something I didn't expect to get.
Kuroo stepped forward, his smile a little too smooth. "I'll take you there."
Bokuto bounced beside him, his energy loud, but it didn't reach his eyes. "If anyone bothers you, tell me. I'm good at smashing."
Terushima slid closer, arm brushing my shoulder. "Don't be shy, babe. We're here to help."
I flinched and jerked away. "Don't touch me."
Oikawa laughed softly, holding out a small bouquet of plum blossoms. "For your new beginning."
I stared at the flowers like they were poisonous. "I don't want them."
"They're pretty," he said, eyes sharp. "You're pretty. Too pretty to waste like this."
I swallowed hard, the words twisting in my throat. Pretty. Wasted. Like me.
The air felt thicker with every step we took through the halls. The walls closed in. The stares followed. Whispered judgments, promises I didn't want to hear.
Kuroo's voice was calm, but I heard the edge beneath. "They watch new blood closely. They think they own it."
I wanted to disappear. To fold into the shadows and never come out.
When we reached the admissions office, I barely noticed the secretary's smile that didn't reach her eyes. She slid a folder across the desk my new life, wrapped in sterile paper.
"Don't wander the halls after curfew," she warned quietly. "Not even if you hear someone calling your name."
I didn't ask why.
Because I already knew. The voices followed me everywhere.
My hands shook as I clutched the folder.
Dorm 3B. East Wing.
A place to live. A place to die.
The boys waited outside, their presence both a shield and a cage.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But I just sat there, feeling the cold rot inside me bloom like the cursed cherry blossoms outside.
I walked.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I cared.
Because that's what you're supposed to do, right? Keep moving. Keep pretending. Keep breathing, even when every inhale feels like swallowing glass.
The boys surrounded me like satellites orbiting a dying star. Too close. Too warm. Too much.
"Dorm 3B's down this hall," Kuroo said, like he was guiding me into something sacred. Or a trap.
My fingers curled tighter around the folder. My nails dug into the paper, trying to anchor me to something real. But I couldn't feel a damn thing.
The corridor stretched like a tunnel, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, flickering like they knew too much. Doors lined the hallway each one holding secrets, obsessions, ghosts. I wondered how many other girls had walked this same path and never made it out.
Oikawa brushed a stray hair behind my ear. I didn't move. Didn't flinch. I was too tired.
"You'll like it here," he murmured. "People will finally see you."
My voice came out dry. "I don't want to be seen."
"But that's the best part," Terushima grinned. "Here, no one gets ignored. We make sure of that."
His words felt like chains.
Bokuto held open the dorm room door with a boyish smile, but his eyes were strangely wide and unblinking, like he was memorizing every part of me. "Welcome home."
Home.
What a joke.
The room was sterile, untouched, and too clean. A single bed. A desk. A window with bars. Not for keeping things out, but for keeping things in.
I stepped inside and dropped the folder on the bed. My bag followed. Then me.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, hands in my lap, still and small and silent.
"Thanks," I muttered.
They lingered in the doorway, shadows painted with smiles.
Kuroo was the last to leave. He looked at me like he knew. Like he saw the hole inside me and wanted to crawl into it.
"Don't open the window at night," he said softly. "Even if you feel like flying."
I didn't answer.
Because I already had.
A thousand times in my head.
I waited until their footsteps faded down the hall.
Then I laid back, stared at the ceiling, and wondered which would come first
Sleep.
Or the end.
The ceiling blurred as tears welled, but none of them fell. I was too hollow to cry.
Sleep never came.
The night pressed in like a weight on my chest, thick and suffocating. Silence wasn't silent in this place it pulsed with phantom voices, the creak of old floors, the scratch of something just beyond the walls. Like the building itself was alive and watching.
I turned my head toward the window.
Moonlight spilled through the bars in thin slashes across the floor, cold and pale. It looked like something out of a painting haunting, almost beautiful. I sat up, slow and quiet, my body was heavy like it was filled with lead.
The window was stiff. I pushed, and it groaned open an inch. Then another.
The air outside was sharp. It kissed my skin like ice.
I climbed onto the desk, knees pressed to wood, eyes fixed on the gap. Not wide enough to fit through, not really. But wide enough to dream.
Wide enough to imagine falling.
Would it hurt?
Would it be fast?
Would they care?
I wanted to scream into the dark, but my throat locked shut.
My fingers hovered over the window frame.
Then-
A whisper.
Not real.
It couldn't be real.
"Y/n."
Soft. Sweet. Desperate.
I froze.
It came again, this time closer. More urgent.
"Y/n. Don't leave me."
The voice was outside the window.
My stomach turned to ice. I snapped the window shut and stumbled back off the desk, heart slamming against my ribs.
"No," I whispered to no one. "No, no, no..."
But something scratched at the glass.
I backed into the corner of the room and slid down the wall, hands over my ears. My body shook.
I didn't want to die like this.
But I didn't want to live like this either.
Somewhere in between, I broke.
And the worst part?
I didn't even make a sound.
I stayed there. Curled like a dead thing. Not moving. Not breathing. Just… rotting.
That's what I wanted, wasn't it?
To rot.
To fall apart in the quiet, where no one would see. Where no one would touch. I wanted my sadness to grow vines, to strangle me slowly, sweetly. Like blossoms blooming from a corpse. Beautiful. Pointless. Forgotten.
The floor beneath me felt colder than anything. My bones ached from the stillness, but I didn't care. Let it take me. Let the decay start from the inside where it already had.
I thought if I stayed quiet long enough, I'd disappear.
Not in some magical way. Not like fairy tales.
Just… fade.
Like petals crushed underfoot.
I imagined the morning sun creeping through those bars, landing on an empty bed. Maybe someone would call my name. Maybe they'd open the door and see the room untouched. Maybe they'd smile, thinking I finally settled in.
They wouldn't see the rot.
They never did.
Because no one looks close enough until it's too late.
And even then, they never ask why.
They just bury the flowers. And move on.
And I… I would become soiled. Something to feed the next bloom. Something no one remembers, but everyone steps on.
And maybe that's what I was always meant to be.