I was looking at my reflection in the mirror when my eyes fell on my gray skirt, perfectly matched with my jacket.
My uniform was slightly different from last year's, quietly reminding me—moment by moment—that I had finally reached seventh grade.
But I wasn't alone in the mirror.
A woman stood behind me, her smile gentle, her skin wrinkled with time, her silver hair glowing softly.
She wore the same familiar clothes, the same comforting style she always did—a knitted red cardigan and a floral skirt. Her hands moved slowly as she tried to comb my hair.
I stared at her reflection without realizing it, until a small flower of curiosity bloomed inside me.
"Grandma… what does it feel like to grow old?"
I asked softly.
In the mirror, I saw her smile widen. She placed her hands on my shoulders and rested her head against mine. I felt the chair beneath her grow heavier as she sighed—a deep sigh, perhaps filled with regret, perhaps with sorrow.
"Sora…" she said quietly.
"Growing old feels like still being that same fifteen-year-old girl—just with silver hair. And no matter how many years pass, that feeling never really changes."
At the time, I didn't understand what she meant.
My grandmother was over sixty; her face was lined with wrinkles. How could she possibly believe she was still fifteen?
"Grandma… when I grow up, will I think the same way?"
I asked.
"Time feels like it passes too fast."
She gently tugged at my ear, listening carefully, then replied:
"Ah… Sora. Time doesn't pass quickly. It's the mind that can't hold onto moments anymore."
My grandmother had always played a deep role in my emotional world and mental growth. Ever since she became my guardian six years ago, she had pushed me to think about life itself. Whenever I spoke to her, the noise inside my head faded, little by little.
I talked to her before making any decision.
A moment later, while I was drowning in my thoughts, the doorbell rang, pulling me back to reality.
Grandma walked toward the door.
Soon, her voice echoed through the house.
"Sora… the neighbor's grandson Mike is here. He's waiting to walk you to school."
Her words reminded me of what she had said after dinner the night before—that she had spoken to the greengrocer's son's grandfather so I could go to school with him.
I didn't like the idea.
I hated new things.
But to show my grandmother that I had changed, I agreed—reluctantly.
I grabbed my red bag from the closet near the front door, put on my mask in front of the mirror, took a deep breath, and stepped out of my small room, only ten steps away from the exit.
Grandma noticed the anxiety on my face and smiled gently.
The boy—Mr. Tamaki's grandson Mike—looked irritated, as if my presence bothered him.
After saying goodbye to my grandmother and stepping a few paces away from the house, a voice suddenly spoke inside my head.
"How ridiculous. How dare he ignore me?
If I shoved him into the street, I'd feel less angry."
I clenched my teeth and whispered,
"Stop it. Stop it."
I shut my eyes tightly.
A second later, my face collided with something—soft and warm, not metal. I opened my eyes slowly and realized I had bumped into his backpack. I lifted my gaze to his face.
The frown on his forehead had disappeared, replaced by a mocking smile.
"Yoo~ I see you're talking to yourself. What, are you crazy or something?or maybe you are not normal ha? "
he smirked
Anger rose in me.
I couldn't hold it back—but I chose to let it go.
I narrowed my eyes, tightened my grip on my bag strap.
"You're crazy. You're not normal. You should die. Go die. Everyone wants you dead. No one loves you."
The voice grew louder, more violent.
My breathing became shallow.
The world inside my chest darkened.
I wanted it to end.
Then I noticed the dark shadow falling across his face—I couldn't see him clearly anymore.
I closed my eyes.
I kicked his leg.
He looked super angry .
I didn't know why I did it.
Maybe I was afraid he would think I really was insane.
My hands began to tremble. Sweat covered my face. I looked down, took a few steps back—then ran forward as fast as I could.
When I reached the road near the hill where the school stood, I took a deep breath and sprinted.
Suddenly, the blaring sound of a car horn froze my body.
My eyes turned toward the light without my control.
The glare of the headlights erased every thought from my mind.
Suddenly, I felt a hard impact on my head—
as if someone had wrapped their arms around me and shoved us both aside with all their strength.
I twisted my neck quickly and looked back.
"Did he fall behind me on the road...?
That single question echoed in my mind
" You... "
I heard a voice from behind then i realized
He had fallen on the slope of the hill, just like me, gasping for air, trying to say something.
"Y-you… stupid girl… I'll kill you…"
The words came out broken.
My hands began to tremble, and my heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest.
I could feel the warmth of my tears as they dripped onto my hands.
"I-I didn't mean to… I'm sorry…"
After hearing my words, he suddenly started laughing.
I lifted my gaze from the ground and looked at his face.
For a brief moment, sunlight reflected off it—
a wide smile, and eyes that were shining.
That light ignited something inside my heart.
The tears I had shed just minutes ago to empty my sorrow turned into loud laughter—
laughter he had created for me.
(POLICE)...
"So…
he was the boy that you loved?
The one you killed?"
I asked softly, thinking that for people like her, reasons to kill could be countless—
even if the reason was too fragile to be worth thinking about.
After hearing the question, she fell silent for several minutes.
As if something inside her refused to be spoken.
The more I heard the truth from her lips, the harder it became to believe.
A girl who could barely speak loudly had taken people's lives.
Yet hearing about her dissociative identity disorder made it easier—
just a little.
I didn't know if her words were true or lies.
I didn't know if they would help close the case.
I just listened.
I wanted the truth to rush toward me from the edge of the cliff as soon as possible.
I wanted to hear what she had hidden in her heart for years.
Suddenly, I noticed a tear slipping down her cheek and falling onto the cold floor.
She was smiling faintly as she stared downward.
I tilted my head slightly, trying to see what had captured her attention.
That's when I saw the red shoes, her feet pressing tightly against each other.
It took less than a second for her to notice my gaze.
She looked up and met my eyes with a smile.
"No…
he was just a dear friend.
A very, very dear friend…"
Her words left her lips slowly,
as if she didn't want anyone else to hear them.
"Then who was the one who loved Camellia?"
She smiled gently, intertwined her fingers, and made a request.
"Cake…
I want chocolate cake.
When I eat it, I'll tell you."
I was surprised.
I picked up the radio, stared at the monitor, and asked my colleague to bring it.
A few minutes later, a slice of cake sat on the table.
When she saw it, her smile widened—like a child's.
It was as if a sweet memory had carried her away.
But after the first bite, her smile faded.
Her expression changed again—sadder, more tangled.
As if the very thought she didn't want to face had finally caught her.
"It was a wish…
one I had dreamed of reaching.
Even though I knew the difference between dreams and wishes.
Even though I knew my hands were too short to reach the stars…"
She said this while staring at the cake.
Her face lost its color, like an emotionless doll.
She rested her elbow on the table, covered part of her face with one hand, and gripped her head tightly.
For a moment, her eyes looked like those of a killer who knew there was no way back.
The light in them had gone out.
Her orange hair looked darker in the dimness.
For a brief second, I felt that nothing but death could calm her.
And once again, she began to tell her story…
( Sora sight )...
The lamp hanging from the ceiling cast most of its light onto his face.
He wore a serious expression, trying not to reveal his emotions—
but I could feel them.
Eyes full of questions stared straight at me.
I'd bet he didn't even realize how worried he looked.
Maybe he was new.
Maybe he felt sorry for me.
My gaze lingered briefly on his clothes.
Unlike yesterday, he was dressed casually—
a leather jacket left unbuttoned, revealing a white T-shirt beneath.
His black hair, unlike yesterday, was styled with gel.
Maybe he wanted to look professional.
Or maybe he had just come from seeing someone.
What pointless thoughts…
The strange feeling of catching myself thinking like this after so long unsettled me.
I wanted to shut them down—
thoughts that were once ordinary,
fantasies that had once felt like home.
Suddenly, memories lifted my mind into flight.
They carried me back to that classroom—
the one the sunlight never stopped surrounding.
The one with open window that you could clearly see through it
Leaves and blossoms danced with the wind.
Birds cried and moved through the chaos,
like actors performing on a stage prepared only for them.
The same old desk of mine.
Third row.
The last one.
Beside the large white window
that always pulled my gaze outside—
and more than anything,
back to myself.
That familiar look
returned to my eyes.
A face I could barely believe
was mine.
An expression without emotion.
A calmness
too quiet to be safe.
Yellow hair
streaked with orange.
A black skirt.
A thick black coat
lined with thin red edges—
as if someone had deliberately
drawn a warning line around me.
Then I realized the sounds around me
The classroom
had been loud for a while.
I rested my head
on my hands upon the desk
and hid my face.
The conversations scattered—
love,
lunch,
the suffocating limits of families.
I didn't want to hear them.
But my ears
no longer obeyed me.
Suddenly,
a rubber object
struck my head
with force.
Pain surged,
a dark wave
devouring my thoughts.
As I was still
thinking about the pain,
I realized
I had fallen to the floor.
My vision
turned red.
Just before
the blood swallowed my sight,
my eyes caught
the blackboard.
Crooked white letters
had written something:
"And then he answered:
Yes—
this is the path of salvation,
the escape
from a body soaked in sin."
A few seconds later,
everything ended.
The last sound I heard
was a ringing phone,
vibrating endlessly,
and the footsteps of my classmates
forming a circle around me.
Shoes.
Sneakers.
White socks.
I couldn't hear their whispers clearly,
but I could feel
the concern
inside their eyes.
I don't know why—
but those looks
felt strangely calming.
I thought to myself:
"If I die right now…
is there anyone
who would cry for me?"
And with that thought,
blood flooded my vision.
I only felt
someone's hands on my shoulders,
lifting me up—
and then
I fell into a sleep
that, at that moment,
I didn't know
I would ever wake from.