The days after the kiss had passed in a blur, but not the kind of blur that allowed me to forget.

  It wasn’t the soft haze of time smoothing over wounds or dulling sharp memories.

  No, this blur was agonizingly slow, every second stretching out like an eternity, each moment filled with an unbearable weight.

  I couldn’t escape it.

  I couldn’t stop the memories that replayed in my mind, relentless, suffocating.

  Hana.

  She was all I could think about.

  Her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she laughed, the quiet strength she always seemed to carry.

  She was a light in all the darkness we had faced together, but it wasn’t just that.

  It was the kiss.

  That fleeting, tender moment we shared under the cold station lights, where time seemed to stop, and nothing else mattered but her lips on mine.

  I could still feel it, like a phantom sensation that never faded, like a wound that refused to heal.

  But it wasn’t just the kiss, was it?

  It was everything I hadn’t said, everything I had been too afraid to say.

  I loved her.

  God, I loved her so much that it hurt, and now that pain twisted inside me, gnawing at my insides with every breath I took.

  I needed to tell her.

  I needed her to know how much she meant to me before it was too late—before the storm of R.K., The Benefactor, and everything else looming on the horizon crashed down on us.

  I didn’t care about the risks anymore.

  I didn’t care about what might happen if I got too close, if I let my guard down.

  The fear that had kept me silent for so long was now nothing but an afterthought, a distant echo of a cowardice I no longer had time for.

  There was no more room for fear.

  Not now.

  Not when I could feel the urgency clawing at my chest, suffocating me with the weight of all that remained unsaid.

  It was a sickness, a desperate urgency that consumed every waking moment, a need that gnawed at me, hollowing me out from the inside.

  I had to see her.

  I had to tell her.

  If I didn’t, I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life, however long—or short—that might be.

  That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in bruised shades of orange and purple, I finally summoned the courage.

  My hands trembled as I dialed her number, my heart pounding in my chest so loudly I could barely hear the sound of the ringing.

  Each ring felt like a hammer, driving nails into my chest, tightening the grip of anxiety that had taken hold of me.

  “Hey, Keisuke”

  She answered on the third ring, her voice carrying that familiar warmth, that effortless ease.

  But there was something else, too—something distant, as if she was preoccupied, distracted by a thousand other things.

  Maybe it was work, or maybe it was the same chaos we were all caught up in.

  Either way, her voice still felt like a lifeline, like a tether to something real amidst the storm inside me.

  “Hey”

  I managed, trying to sound casual, trying to mask the storm of emotions that churned just beneath the surface.

  But even I could hear the tremor in my voice.

  “Can you come by later? I… I need to talk to you.”

  There was a pause, long enough for me to imagine her tilting her head in that way she always did when she was confused.

  I could almost see the slight furrow of her brow, the way her lips would purse in thought.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She asked, concern creeping into her tone.

  “You sound—”

  “I’m fine”

  I interrupted, too quickly, too sharply.

  I wasn’t fine, but I couldn’t tell her that.

  Not over the phone.

  “I just… I need to see you. Please.”

  Another pause, longer this time.

  I held my breath, my heart racing.

  Was she going to say no?

  Was she going to brush me off, tell me she didn’t have time?

  The thought of it—of her saying no—was like a punch to the gut.

  “Okay”

  She said finally, her voice softening.

  “I can stop by tonight. Maybe around nine? Does that work?”

  “Yeah”

  I breathed, relief flooding through me, though the edge of anxiety remained sharp and jagged.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “Nine is perfect. I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

  We hung up, and I sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in my hand, feeling the weight of what I had just done pressing down on me.

  Nine o’clock.

  It felt like an eternity away, like a lifetime of waiting compressed into a few hours.

  And yet, even with the promise of seeing her, my chest still felt tight, the knot of fear and uncertainty pulling tighter with every passing second.

  What was I going to say?

  How could I put it into words—the feelings that had been building inside me for so long, the fear, the love, the desperation that had been tearing me apart?

  How could I tell her without sounding like a fool?

  What if it was too much?

  What if she didn’t feel the same way?

  No.

  I couldn’t think like that.

  I couldn’t let those doubts creep in, not now.

  I had to be honest with her.

  I had to tell her everything, even if it terrified me.

  Even if it shattered everything between us.

  I stood up, pacing my apartment, my mind racing, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each minute stretching out into an agonizing eternity.

  I made coffee, though I barely tasted it.

  I stared out the window, watching as the sky darkened, the city below bathed in the soft glow of streetlights.

  I couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop the restless energy that coursed through me, driving me to pace, to think, to overthink.

  The clock ticked on, each second a hammer driving deeper into my chest.

  I checked the time obsessively, counting down the minutes, the seconds.

  And then finally, as the sky outside turned dark and the streetlights flickered to life, I saw it: her car.

  She had arrived.

  My heart leaped into my throat, and suddenly, I couldn’t wait any longer.

  I couldn’t sit there, waiting for her to come up.

  I needed to see her now.

  I grabbed my jacket, threw it on, and practically flew out the door, racing down the stairs of my building, my footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

  The moment I burst out onto the street, I saw her.

  She had just stepped out of her car, her long coat catching in the evening breeze as she shut the door behind her.

  The sight of her standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, took my breath away.

  For a second, I just stood there, watching her, feeling the weight of everything I wanted to say pressing down on me.

  “Hana!”

  I called out, my voice louder than I intended, the urgency in it unmistakable.

  She looked up, startled at first, but then her expression softened, and she smiled when she saw me approaching.

  That smile—it was like a punch to the gut, a reminder of everything I was afraid to lose.

  “Keisuke?”

  She teased lightly as I hurried toward her, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

  “You ran down here like you were in a hurry.”

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  I said, and it was the truth.

  Every fiber of my being felt like it was about to burst, like I would come apart at the seams if I didn’t say something—anything—soon.

  She raised an eyebrow, amused but curious.

  “Couldn’t wait for what?”

  I stopped in front of her, suddenly breathless.

  The words were right there, tangled up with the fear and the love and the guilt that had been consuming me for days.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the words got caught in my throat, choking me.

  “I… I…”

  My voice broke, and I cursed under my breath, frustrated with myself, with my own inability to just say it.

  Why was this so hard? Why did the words feel so impossible?

  Hana’s smile faded slightly, her expression growing more serious as she took a step closer.

  Her eyes searched mine, concern flickering in their depths.

  “Keisuke, what’s wrong? You’re acting—”

  The crack of a gunshot split the air.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  One second, she was standing there, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out toward me.

  The next, her head jerked violently to the side, and blood—so much blood—sprayed from her temple.

  It painted the side of her car in a gruesome arc, and her body crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

  I stared at her for a few moments and then I woke up.

  “Hana!”

  The scream tore from my throat, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

  My legs moved on instinct, propelling me toward her, but my mind lagged behind, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  I was on the ground beside her before I even realized I had moved, my hands shaking as I cradled her head in my lap.

  Blood—so much blood—poured from the wound in her head, warm and thick, staining my hands, my clothes, the pavement beneath us.

  “Hana… Hana, no, please… no…”

  My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper as I pressed my hand to the side of her head, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to make it all stop.

  But it wouldn’t stop.

  The blood kept coming, pooling around us, seeping into the cracks in the pavement.

  Her eyes stared up at me, wide and unseeing, her face slack, her mouth slightly open.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “No…”

  The word broke from me in a sob, raw and desperate.

  My chest felt like it was caving in, like the world was collapsing around me.

  Tears blurred my vision, and I screamed—a sound ripped from the deepest part of me, from a place I didn’t even know existed.

  “HANA!”

  I screamed her name again and again, but she didn’t respond.

  She didn’t move.

  She was gone.

  She was gone, and nothing I did—nothing I said—could bring her back.

  I held her close, my body shaking with sobs, rocking back and forth as I clung to her lifeless body.

  Her blood soaked through my clothes, through my skin, marking me, staining me.

  This wasn’t real.

  It couldn’t be real.

  This had to be a nightmare, a sick, twisted nightmare that I would wake up from any second.

  But I didn’t wake up.

  She was dead.

  Hana was dead, and I hadn’t even told her how much I loved her.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, cradling her body, lost in the endless torrent of grief and despair that tore through me.

  Time had lost all meaning.

  The world around me had ceased to exist, reduced to nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing and the weight of her body in my arms.

  But then something snapped inside me.

  A sudden, violent need to do something—to call for help, to fix this, to make it stop.

  I stumbled to my feet, my body trembling, my vision blurred with tears.

  I needed my phone.

  I needed to call someone—anyone.

  In the hurry I left it in the apartment.

  I barely made it to the staircase of my building when the explosion hit.

  The blast was deafening, a wall of sound and heat that knocked me off my feet, sent me flying backward.

  I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my body, my ears ringing, my vision swimming.

  Dazed, I tried to push myself up, my hands slipping on the blood-slick pavement.

  When I finally managed to lift my head, what I saw made my blood run cold.

  My apartment building—the place I had called home for so long—was engulfed in flames.

  Windows had been blown out, debris scattered across the street.

  Thick, black smoke billowed from the upper floors, illuminated by the orange glow of fire.

  Kozumaru-san.

  His wife.

  They were in there.

  Their apartment was just below mine.

  They were dead.

  They were dead because of me.

  This was all my fault.

  Kento was dead.

  Hana was dead.

  Kozumaru-san and his wife were dead.

  And it was because of me.

  My arrogance, I wanted to play the hero, I wanted to stop the crime—it had all been a game for me! People lost their lives because of ME!

  I had failed them.

  I had failed her.

  I don’t know how I found the strength to stand, but somehow, I did.

  My legs were weak, my body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, but I forced myself to move.

  I started walking, my mind numb, my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

  I walked for what felt like hours, maybe days.

  The world around me blurred into nothing, the flames, the destruction, the blood on my hands fading into the background as I moved through the city, a ghost among the living.

  Eventually, I found myself at the police station, the place that had once been my refuge, my sanctuary.

  But it didn’t feel like home anymore.

  Nothing did.

  The station was quiet, almost deserted.

  A few officers worked late shifts at their desks, but they didn’t notice me as I passed by.

  No one stopped me.

  No one asked me what I was doing there.

  I was invisible.

  A shadow.

  I headed for the stairs, the ones that led to the roof.

  I don’t know why.

  Maybe because it was the only place left.

  Maybe because there, at least, I could find some kind of peace.

  The stairwell was cold and dimly lit, the concrete walls pressing in on me from all sides.

  Each step felt heavier than the last, my body growing weaker, my mind blank except for one thought.

  I reached the door to the roof, my hand trembling as I gripped the handle.

  This was it.

  One step, and it would all be over.

  No more pain.

  No more guilt.

  No more loss.

  I pushed the door open, and the cool night air hit my face like a slap, sharp and cold.

  That's where I saw him.

  A tall man, quite robust, covered in an old cloak with a hood.

  Yet his presence was familiar.

  He turned around, and I immediately saw his grey beard and some signs of age on his face.

  I had already seen him.

  The light of the neighbouring buildings now illuminated him completely.

  It was there that I recognized him.

  The man who helped me in the hospital.

  The ghost who gave me his wisdom.

  I had not looked for him at the time but I was sure it was him.

  Koizumi Shinohara.