[𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧]
The next few days settled into a strange rhythm. Takumi still sat by the window, still stared outside like the world beyond the glass was more interesting than anything happening inside the classroom—but now, he kept glancing at Yuri.
She hadn't brought up their conversation again. Her usual calm, graceful self had returned like nothing ever happened. She smiled, joked, helped him with his homework like always. If anything, she was even more composed than usual.
But Takumi could tell it was a mask. Her voice didn't linger the way it used to. Her glances were shorter, more controlled. And that faint teasing edge she always had? Gone.
And that bothered him more than he expected.
After school, instead of heading straight home, Takumi found himself wandering aimlessly. He wasn't sure where he was going until he looked up and realized where he'd stopped: a small park just a few blocks away from his middle school.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet you only got in places wrapped in old memories.
There was a small bench near the swings. Faded, slightly rusted, but still standing. Takumi stared at it for a long moment.
Why did it feel... familiar?
He sat down, resting his arms on his knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something stirred—an image, fuzzy and out of focus. A girl, standing in the rain. Light brown hair clinging to her face. A pink umbrella. A scraped knee.
A voice—soft, small, and scared—asking for help.
Takumi blinked. The memory was fleeting, like a dream you can't fully catch after waking up. But it was there.
Was that... Yuri?
He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "Why can't I remember?"
He stayed there until the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the playground. The image wouldn't leave his mind now—it clung to him, haunting in its vagueness.
Back at school the next day, he was quieter than usual. Not out of laziness, but distraction. He kept stealing glances at Yuri when she wasn't looking. And when she finally noticed, she tilted her head slightly.
"Something wrong, Tachibana-kun?" she asked.
Takumi opened his mouth, hesitated... then shook his head. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
He paused again, debating whether to push it.
But she looked at him with those calm, careful eyes—the ones that always stayed just out of reach. She wouldn't answer. Not yet.
"Nothing important," he replied, echoing her own words from before.
Her lips curved just a little, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Then don't overthink it."
And just like that, the conversation ended.
But Takumi knew he wasn't imagining it now.
There was a memory they shared.
And slowly—bit by bit—he was starting to remember it.