The world was white.
Not blinding, but soft like a blank page waiting for something to begin.
Yuto stood there, barefoot, a sketchbook in his hands. There was no sound no wind, no people, just the faint echo of his own breath.
He looked down. The pages were empty. He lifted his pencil and began to draw lines flowing naturally, gently. At first, everything came out in gray, as always. But then, just for a moment, the edge of the sky in his sketch shifted.
A flicker.
A faint hint of color pale blue, like the sky he used to know.
He blinked.
The blue disappeared.
When he looked up again, he wasn't alone anymore.
Far ahead stood a girl, her back turned to him. The breeze moved her hair, long and dark, the kind that caught faint light even in shadow. He didn't know her face, but something in her outline felt familiar comforting and distant all at once.
He tried to speak.
"Hey.."
The sound barely left his lips before the world rippled, like ink bleeding through paper.
Then everything went white again.
Yuto's eyes opened slowly. The ceiling above him was gray, the morning light leaking through the curtains in thin stripes.
For a few seconds, he just lay there, trying to hold on to the fragments of the dream before they slipped away.
A field… colors… a girl.
But when he tried to remember her face, it was already gone.
He sighed, sitting up and stretching his arms. His phone buzzed faintly on the desk just a morning alarm. No new messages. He turned it off and sat there in silence, his gaze drifting to the window.
The sky outside looked washed out again.
Same as always.
And yet, somehow, it felt softer like the light had remembered how to breathe.
Breakfast was quiet. The clinking of his spoon against the bowl filled the small apartment. His mother was already at work; she'd left a note on the fridge like usual "Breakfast's ready. Don't forget your lunch."
He smiled faintly and folded it neatly before leaving.
On the way to school, he replayed the dream again in his head. He wasn't the kind of person who thought deeply about dreams, but something about this one clung to him.
Not because of what he saw but because of what he felt.
That strange ache again. The one that began when Mika stopped coming.
He exhaled and pushed the thought away. "It's just a dream," he muttered.
Class began the same way as every other day.
The chatter of students, the shuffling of books, Cid trying to balance a pencil on his upper lip.
"Yo, Manabe," Aizen called from behind. "You hear anything from that transfer girl? Takamine?"
Yuto blinked. "Huh?"
"She hasn't come for, what, a week? Two?" Cid said, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe she transferred again. She had that 'mysterious new kid' vibe, y'know?"
"Or maybe she's sick," Aizen added. "You should check up on her, Yuto. You sit beside her, right?"
Yuto opened his notebook slowly. "I don't… really know her that well."
Cid grinned. "Oh yeah? You looked like you were deep in thought last time she was here. Didn't think we'd notice?"
Yuto rolled his eyes and looked toward the window, trying to tune them out. But his hand tightened slightly around his pencil.
He glanced sideways.
The seat beside him was still empty. The light from the window fell across it, soft and untouched. The faint scent of her shampoo or maybe just his imagination drifted through his mind for a second.
He tried to focus on the board, but his pencil started moving on its own. Lines, shadows, a faint outline. When he looked down, he realized he had drawn a figure a girl facing away, her hair swaying slightly in an invisible breeze.
Just like in his dream.
He closed the notebook quickly.
After school, the streets were calm.
Yuto walked slower than usual, his bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the pavement.
As he passed by the convenience store near the bridge, he slowed down. He remembered that day the first time he saw Mika there, standing by the shelf, picking up sketch paper.
He wondered if she'd gone back since.
The thought made him stop in front of the store for a moment, eyes lingering on the door. Inside, the same clerk stood behind the counter, half-bored, half-tired. No Mika. Of course not.
He walked on.
By the time he got home, the light outside had dimmed into grayish blue. The apartment was quiet again.
He dropped his bag by the door, changed, and sat on his bed. For a while, he stared at the floor, lost in thought, until his eyes drifted toward his phone again.
Her name was still there in his messages.
That same unread text.
He opened the chat. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
"Just checking if you're okay."
He read it over. Simple. Plain. Nothing special.
But still, his finger hesitated above the send button.
He stared at the message for a long time. The silence in his room felt too heavy, the ticking of the wall clock too loud.
Finally, he sighed and locked his phone.
The glow vanished, leaving the room dim again. He leaned back, head resting against the wall.
"I wonder…" he whispered. "Why can't I just forget her?"
Outside, the sky deepened into night. Somewhere in the distance, a train passed, its faint echo fading into the quiet city air.
And in that stillness, Yuto felt it again that invisible thread between himself and the girl who hadn't returned yet.
A connection he didn't understand.
But one that refused to fade.
Outside, the sky deepened into night. Somewhere in the distance, a train passed, its faint echo fading into the quiet city air.
And in that stillness, Yuto felt it again that invisible thread between himself and the girl who hadn't returned yet.
A connection he didn't understand.
But one that refused to fade.
He lay back, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, the dim streetlight spilling through the curtains.
It was strange how someone's absence could make the world feel louder, heavier, and yet, emptier all at once.
The city continued its quiet pulse beyond the window lights flickering, lives moving, everything still breathing in soft rhythm.
Yuto closed his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he saw it again that flicker of color from his dream.
Faint. Fragile.
But real enough to make his heart pause.
And as the darkness settled over him, that small, fleeting shade of blue lingered somewhere deep inside, quietly waiting to return.