A pale, fragile beam of light slipped through the narrow window and slowly began to dance across the room, until it finally reached the far corner and brushed against my eyes.
My eyelids fluttered open.
My hand moved instinctively toward my face.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed outside the cell—
not too heavy, not too light,
measured steps.
From the tension in his face, I could tell what he was here for.
It was time.
I pushed the blanket aside and stood up from the bed.
The sound of the prison door opening filled the space.
I walked toward him and extended my hands without a word.
He fastened the handcuffs.
They led me down the corridor, into the interrogation room—
silent, blind,
watched by cameras,
or perhaps I should say by eyes that stared without blinking.
I sat down on the cold chair.
The same police officer from yesterday stepped forward.
"Miss Sora," he said,
"let's start with the person you loved the most."
Maybe he thought understanding that would give him answers.
Or maybe it was nothing more than a flicker of curiosity.
But I believed that if I spoke,
the weight inside my chest might lessen.
So I began.
,
a sweet memory resurfaced.
It was after the murder.
After my grandmother took me in.
Years after the massacre.
I was twelve.
Back then…
Our hands would intertwine tighter with every passing second,
our gazes sinking deeper into one another.
The sun painted everything in bright colors
as we ran barefoot across the schoolyard toward his classroom.
I couldn't take my eyes off him.
That familiar eager look—
mixed with the anxiety of being late.
Those black eyes, perfectly matched with his uniform jacket.
His medium-length, silky dark-brown hair
made the scene even more beautiful.
Where did it all begin?
That moment
From the very first instant,
something began to shimmer inside my eyes.
The moment—
The sound of applause shattered the hall.
All eyes turned toward you,
standing beneath reflected light.
The teachers watched,
but you only thought about going higher.
It was written clearly in your gaze.
Maybe that was the day I decided to follow you.
And that same day,
I chose to be invisible for you—
to let my eyes see only you,
from within the dark.
Or no…
maybe it was the very first time I ever saw you.
My voice began to tremble,
rising little by little,
as I spoke of the one
I had once loved—
to a stranger,
to a police officer
who was trying to capture me
The dirt road beneath my feet was soft,
as if the earth itself wanted to swallow my footsteps.
A gentle breeze passed through the grass,
carrying the scent of damp soil and fresh herbs.
The village was far too quiet—
the kind of silence that either calms you
or drives you insane.
I fixed my gaze on the small white house my grandmother had mentioned.
Simple.
White.
With windows always open,
as if it had nothing to hide.
I took a deep breath and knocked.
A few seconds passed.
Then footsteps—quick and light.
When the door opened, the first thing I saw was light.
The sun stood directly behind him,
half of his face illuminated, half in shadow.
A boy—my age, maybe a year or two older.
Tall, shoulders straight.
Messy brown hair.
Large amber eyes.
He wore a white sports outfit and a blue cap.
Tamaki's grandson—
the one who had come from the city.
And that smile—
simple, unguarded, neither forced nor cautious.
"Yes?"
My voice got stuck in my throat.
For a moment, I just stared.
Then I remembered why I was there.
"My grandmother… she asked if we could have some herbs…"
Before I could finish, he nodded.
"Sure. Wait here."
He went back inside.
I stayed where I was,
pressing my hands together,
while the voice inside my head whispered softly:
"Why that old woman… doesn't she have legs of her own?"
I tried to silence it.
I knew it was useless.
My face reflected everything—
a little anger,
a little sadness.
to that voice
He returned with a bundle of fresh herbs
and handed them to me
as if he had done this a thousand times before.
"You're Mrs. Amane's granddaughter, right?
You came here about six years ago?"
I nodded
You're staying with your grandmother?"
I nodded again.
He smiled—
but this time it was different.
Not curious.
Not pitying.
Just normal.
And that normality
tightened something around my heart.
"I go running every evening," he said.
"If you ever get lost or need something,
I'm usually around."
I don't know why,
but that sentence—
that careless tone—
cracked the wall I had built around myself.
I knew my grandmother had asked him to watch over me.
She thought I was too withdrawn.
I took the herbs.
"Thank you."
I turned to leave.
Then his voice stopped me again.
"Sora, right?"
I froze.
I turned back.
"How did you—?"
"I heard your grandmother calling your name this morning."
He smiled.
"It's a beautiful name."
At that moment,
something settled quietly in my chest.
Not love.
Not hope.
Just an unfamiliar warmth.
And the voice inside me whispered again,
slower this time—
more dangerous:
"Be careful…
these are the ones
who can take everything from you."
I tightened my grip on the herbs
and walked back home.
Not knowing
whether this had been a simple meeting—
or the beginning of something
that years later
they would call
madness