I sat still in my room, the silence around me deafening.
Alone.
Cold.
Empty.
It wasn't just the chill of the night air seeping through the window. It was something deeper—a coldness that nestled in the pit of my soul and refused to leave.
…
"I can't…"
The words barely escaped my lips when—
BANG!
The door burst open—not swung, not gently nudged—but kicked open with a ferocity that rattled the walls.
…
I slowly turned my head toward the door, my body heavy as if gravity itself had doubled. And standing there, framed by the soft hallway light, was my older sister.
Her expression was stern, unwavering.
"Get up," she said.
…
I didn't respond. I lowered my gaze again, letting it fall to the floor, refusing to acknowledge her command.
But she wouldn't allow that.
Without hesitation, she grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me upward, forcing me to meet her eyes.
"Shin Himeya. Just who do you think you are?"
"…What do you mean by that?"
"You're a writer, aren't you?"
"…Yeah…"
That's right.
This is the continuation of a story that began five months ago… the story of my life with Uguisu-san.
…
"You became a writer because of who?"
"…Because…" A face flashed in my mind. The person dearest to me. The person I could no longer see. I clenched my fists.
"…Because of Uguisu-san…"
That's right. The one who believed in me, the one who pushed me to pick up the pen—was her.
"Exactly. You became a writer thanks to Uguisu-san. So why aren't you writing now?"
"…Because…" Again, I looked down, this time pressing my lips together tightly, trying to hold back the storm building inside me.
Because she's gone.
Because the person who most wanted to read my stories no longer exists in this world.
"Uguisu-san is still here."
…
I looked up, eyes wide in disbelief.
"She's inside you, isn't she?" Haruka loosened her grip on my collar and took a step back.
Her words echoed in my mind.
Inside me… Uguisu-san?
"Ever since she passed away, hasn't her presence inside you grown stronger? The way you think, the way you see the world… it's changed because of her, hasn't it?"
"…Inside me…"
"If that's true, then write. Write for the Uguisu-san who still lives in your heart."
"…Write… for Uguisu-san…"
Haruka sat down beside me on the bed, her voice calmer now.
"For a writer, writing is life. So live."
"…Haru-nee…"
Her words pierced through me, bypassing every wall I had built over the past months. They struck my heart with painful accuracy.
That's what she wanted to say all along.
"Writing is… life…"
"A writer who doesn't write is just throwing their life away. And if you're doing that, then how do you intend to face the people who want to live but can't?"
Those who want to live but can't…
To me, that meant only one person.
Uguisu-san.
Without realizing it, I had been living in a way that would disappoint her.
I thought I could carry on with what I knew—using my knowledge of this world, thinking I could shape fate.
But I was wrong.
This is destiny—and I had tried to run from it.
"Besides," Haruka continued, "didn't you say you wanted to write about Uguisu-san?"
"…Yes."
"Then write."
"Even if you cough up blood. Even if you have to drink muddy water to survive. Just keep writing."
…
"If you don't write about her… then who will?"
Her words struck like lightning.
It felt like I had finally awoken from a long, suffocating slumber.
No, I hadn't let go of everything just yet. The grief was still there. But something inside me stirred—an urge, faint yet clear.
I have to do this.
There are people who care deeply for me.
Not just Haruka.
My parents, Michigami, Kousuke, Hiro… so many others.
Why had I been so blind?
Why had I refused to see them?
Now, finally, I could think clearly. I couldn't afford to keep hurting them anymore.
"…Do you think I can write again?"
I wanted to write. But doubt clung to me like a second skin.
Could I really do it?
"It's not about whether you can or can't," Haruka replied gently. "It's about writing. That's all."
She reached out and softly patted my head, like she used to when I was a child and crying over broken dreams.
"You don't have to write like you used to. Even if your words are messy, even if your pages are garbage, just write."
"That's… kind of harsh, don't you think, Haru-nee?"
She let out a small laugh. "If your pride shatters because what you write is miserable, let it. That's part of being alive too."
"…Keep writing, huh…"
"It's the only path back to yourself."
Her tone was blunt, but not cruel. For me, it was the truth I needed.
"…Alright. I'll write. I'll try again."
Finally, I said the words I had been too afraid to say.
And as I said them, it felt like a massive weight lifted from my chest, as if the chains wrapped around my heart had begun to break.
"Hmph. You look a little better already," she said with a smirk as she stood up.
I rose to my feet as well.
"Sorry for troubling you, sis." I gave a slight bow, honest and sincere.
It wasn't a performance. My body moved naturally, the way it was supposed to.
"Geez, what a hassle you are. It's been a while since I got that worked up," she muttered, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve.
"That's my sister for you—amazing as always."
"Fufu. I'll take that as a compliment. But still, this has been an unforgettable experience for me too."
I took a deep breath and faced her squarely.
"Sis, I'll write. About Uguisu-san."
I will write.
As long as I'm alive, I'll continue writing about her.
"Don't hesitate anymore. Make up your mind, Himeya."
"I will," I said, placing my hand gently on my chest.
Right there—right over my heart.
I felt it.
A warmth. A presence.
Uguisu-san… was smiling.
Watching over me, still.
I'll write.A story that I would read to her, if she were here.Words I want her to hear, more than anyone else.
Because even if she's gone…My voice still remains.My hands still move.And my heart still remembers.
This is my vow.
For Uguisu-san.
For everyone who still believes in me.
And for the writer I once promised I'd become.