The week ended with rain. Not heavy, not light — just persistent. Like it didn't want to be forgotten.
The rooftop was off-limits now.
Aro sat in the library instead, headphones in but nothing playing. His eyes scanned pages, but nothing stuck. It wasn't silence he sought — it was delay. A moment before the memory returns.
Rin sat across from him.
She hadn't planned to. But when she saw him alone through the window, it felt wrong not to.
"Still not sleeping?" she asked, voice hushed.
Aro looked up. "You too?"
They didn't smile. That wasn't part of this.
In class, the essay assignment had begun to ripple.
Jun passed his notebook to Yuki, snickering.
"You think I'm joking, but losing a charger is traumatic."
Yuki rolled her eyes. "You spelled 'grief' wrong."
Jun grinned. "That's a metaphor."
Mei sat behind them, scribbling with intensity.
Her page was covered in symbols — not words.
Her eyes flicked to Rin.
Then Aro.
Then back to her page.
Rin caught it. She always did.
But she didn't interrupt.
That night, Rin sat at her desk, rewriting her essay for the third time.
Each version was the same in shape, but the ink changed colors. Red. Then black. Then faint blue.
The memories were coming back less blurry now.
Not clear — never clear — but edges sharpened. Faces forming.
She didn't know if she wanted to remember, or just needed to know why she remembered.
At the corner of her desk, a new thread had appeared.
Gold this time.
Tied in a loose knot.
No one had left it there.
Except maybe... herself.
She added one more sentence to the essay:
"Some places are not haunted. They just remember louder than others."
The next morning, Mei stopped her by the lockers.
"You're changing the story again, aren't you?"
Rin blinked. "The essay?"
Mei shook her head, slow.
"No. The story. The whole thing."
Rin didn't answer.
She just pulled her sleeves down and walked away, a faint blush rising — not of guilt, but of being seen too clearly.
Somewhere far off, in a version of the school that didn't exist on any map,
a silent figure turned a page in a book that hadn't been written yet.
Its title flickered between two names.
And in the margins, notes in invisible ink began to appear again.
Let me know when you're ready to move forward — or if we add threads here.