POV: Kaito
The path in front of Haruka's residence grew to be well-known.
Kaito waited in the awning of an old bookstore that had been shuttered for years, its windows filled with dust and concert posters from years past that had worn away like a worn photograph. This was his third afternoon here. He searched every shadow, every suggestion of movement beyond the house curtains across the way.
Nothing.
Again.
He leaned back, his hands in the pockets of his coat, half-freezing from the autumn breeze, half-scared.
He knew this was irresponsible. He wasn't a stalker, wasn't here to scare anyone. But what else could he do? Haruka had disappeared into thin air, and now that he knew she was here, doing nothing felt worse.
On the second day, he saw her mother leave with a driver. On the third, a housekeeper watered plants by the gate. Once, he thought he saw movement by an upstairs window—a silhouette behind white curtains.
He didn't know if it was her.
But he stayed anyway.
That afternoon, he was almost caught.
A black car turned into the driveway just as he was approaching the end of the block. In it sat a tall, suited man—Haruka's father.
It wasn't difficult for Kaito to identify him. Steely eyes. Stiff posture. The kind of man who measured things out—people, value, silence.
Kaito's heart leaped. He took cover behind a wooden signboard advertising a ramen shop two doors down. The shop owner came out, gave him a suspicious glance, and went back inside.
From where he was hiding, Kaito watched Haruka's father alight from the car, look around, and go into the house without hesitation. The gate clicked shut firmly behind him.
Kaito let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.
He was an idiot.
What was he doing? Standing in front of a person's home like some kind of thug? This wasn't him.
And yet, the thought of going back to that inn, to the lake, to the path where Haruka used to go—it all seemed empty now that she wasn't around.
So he waited a bit longer. Just watching.
Hoping.
Later that evening, he returned to the apartment above the café where he was crashing—a rickety old place with a whiff of the scent of roasted coffee in the walls. His childhood friend Yuto was already there, cooking instant curry and listening to smooth rock on thin speakers.
"You look like crap," Yuto said as Kaito took off his shoes.
"Thanks," Kaito grumbled, slumping down onto the floor with a groan.
"Still nothing?"
"Still nothing."
Yuto placed a plate in his hand. "You know, I'm impressed by the commitment, but you've actually thought this through about what you're going to say if you do see her?"
Kaito took the plate, digging the spoon into the curry. "No. Not really."
He paused, then met Kaito's gaze. "I just… I want her to realize I didn't forget. That I'm still here. That she's not alone."
Yuto sighed. "You're not a drama hero, man. Her family's got lawyers. Security, probably."
"I'm not going to break in," Kaito shot back. "I just want to talk to her. Even if it's just for a second. Even if it's just one word."
Yuto sat across from him. "You know, there's probably a million better ways to do this."
Kaito looked at the steam rising from the curry. "Yeah. But all I have is this one."
Later that night, with the city burning on the outside and the hum of the refrigerator being the only noise, Kaito pulled out a small notebook from his bag. He shuffled through the pages until he reached a blank one.
He began sketching something—a plan, half-conceived, half-whim.
A plan of the block. Possible blind spots. Local stores. Bin collection schedules. The alley behind the side fence. He made timing notes, times he'd noticed the housekeeper arrive and leave, the rhythm of the house when it seemed empty.
He didn't want to intrude. Didn't want to scare her.
He required one moment. One fissure in the wall.
He began scribbling a letter—a little, sincere, crumpled one that could fit through the crevices. If she couldn't speak, maybe she could read.
Haruka.
I don't know if you got my last message.
But I'm still here.
Not because I'm waiting for something in return.
But because I believe in who you are even if they have raised a wall around you.
If you want to see me, even for a moment, I'll find a way.
If not… I'll keep writing. Even if no one reads it.
—Kaito.
He reread it twice. No metaphors. No pressure. Just truth.
The kind they used to share when words were simpler.
The kind they never had the chance to say out loud.
As the clock ticked toward midnight, Kaito stood by the window of Yuto's apartment, looking out at the glowing city.
He could barely see the stars here.
Still, in the intermittent lights, in the breeze touching the glass, he was attracted.
The same attraction that had led him to that small town.
To her.
He wasn't done. Not yet.
Not until she was.