"Frau Mei?"

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet office, making me shudder for just a moment before I regained my composure. I took a breath and walked to the door, opening it to find a nervous-looking teenager standing on the other side. "Dr. Mei?" she asked hesitantly, shifting on her feet. "Come in," I said warmly, offering her a reassuring smile.

She stepped inside cautiously, her eyes flickering around the room as if memorizing every detail. I gestured for her to take a seat, and she did so, sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair. Her name was Ellie. I had read through her file before this meeting— her parents described her as difficult, prone to outbursts and unpredictable meltdowns. They called it a phase, something she would grow out of. But from what I had gathered, it wasn't just teenage angst. There was something deeper there. She wasn't lashing out just for the sake of it. She was fighting to be heard.

I studied her carefully for a moment. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but her posture carried the weight of someone who had been disappointed one too many times. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes— the kind that came from years of feeling misunderstood. Clearing my throat gently, I spoke. "Hi, Ellie." She hesitated, then gave a barely perceptible nod.

That was how it began.

At first, she was guarded, her answers clipped, her posture tense. But I didn't press. I knew that trust was something that had to be earned, not demanded. So I let the silences linger when they needed to. I asked questions carefully, never pushing too far, never prying into things she wasn't ready to share. And slowly, little by little, she started to open up.

Her walls didn't come down all at once— it was more like cracks forming in the foundation, letting slivers of light shine through. Some days, she spoke more freely. Other days, she shut down completely, retreating into herself. But I remained patient. I listened. Because sometimes, that's all someone really needs— to be listened to. And as our sessions continued, I could only hope that, in this room at least, she would find the space to be herself.

Our session came to an abrupt halt as a sudden knock shattered the silence. The sound was sharp, almost urgent, and it sent a ripple of unease down my spine. I swallowed the flicker of irritation that rose within me and forced a steady breath, excusing myself as I pushed my chair back.

As I walked toward the door, something felt… off. My hand hovered just above the doorknob, hesitating. The air in the room had shifted—thicker, heavier. Maybe it was just my paranoia, but an unsettling feeling curled around my ribs, squeezing tight.

I exhaled, trying to shake the tension from my shoulders, and finally pressed my palm to the knob. The cold metal was like ice against my skin, sending a sharp shiver through me.

I twisted it slowly. The door creaked open, and for the briefest moment, my breath caught in my throat. Shadows from the dim hallway stretched unnaturally, and the figure standing there sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.

Then—

"Frau, Mei?"

The tension snapped as Erick, the guy from the front office, stood grinning at me. He held a weathered envelope in his hands, its edges yellowed with age. "I think the mailman mixed up our mail again," he said with a chuckle, holding the letter out to me. I stared at it for a second too long before finally reaching out and taking it. The paper felt strange— rough, almost brittle. Something about it made the unease in my stomach linger.

"Thanks," I muttered, barely hearing my own voice. Erick nodded and walked off, leaving me standing there. I shut the door with a quiet click and tossed the letter onto the island table without another glance. Shaking off the last remnants of my nerves, I turned back to Ellie, forcing a small smile.

"Sorry about... that—

But even as I spoke, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that still clung to the edges of my mind.

. . . 

The night stretched on, thick with an unnatural stillness. My office, once filled with the quiet murmur of conversation, now felt eerily empty. Ellie had left hours ago, yet a strange heaviness lingered in the air, pressing down on me like an unseen weight.

I sat at my desk, lost in thought, when my gaze drifted toward the island table. A faint flicker of memory surfaced— Erick. The letter.

I pushed myself up from my chair, I moved toward the table, my steps slow, deliberate. The letter lay exactly where I had left it, untouched yet demanding my attention. My fingers brushed against the paper's brittle surface as I picked it up, the rough texture strange beneath my fingertips.

It was old. Much older than I had realized at first. The edges were slightly frayed, the parchment tinged with the faintest shade of yellow. But what unsettled me most was the sea— a thick blot of red wax, unbroken. I frowned. Who even used wax seals anymore?

A creeping sense of unease settled in my chest. My mind raced with possibilities, but curiosity clawed at me, refusing to let go. With a slow, careful motion, I slid my nail beneath the wax and peeled it away.

The seal cracked. I unfolded the letter. The moment my eyes skimmed the first few words, my breath hitched. My grip on the paper tightened. My stomach twisted with excitement. And—

———

Two nights later, I left my office earlier than usual. The weight of the letter still lingered in my thoughts, an unsettling presence I couldn't shake.

The day after receiving it, another letter had arrived—this time, from Azzruelle. Unlike the first, this one was far more familiar, written in her unmistakable, elegant script. She was inviting me to a small reunion, a chance to catch up with her and Yukina. The timing felt strange, almost too perfect, but after everything that had happened, I couldn't ignore it.

Now, as I stepped into the dimly lit café, a wave of warmth and the scent of fresh coffee greeted me. The soft hum of conversation filled the air, but my focus remained sharp, scanning the room. A quiet tension curled in my stomach. It had been too long since I'd seen them— longer than I cared to admit.

Then, finally, I spotted them.

Azzruelle sat with her usual air of quiet confidence, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug, while Yukina leaned back in her chair, idly stirring her drink. They hadn't noticed me yet, lost in conversation, but something in their expressions told me that this wasn't just a casual get-together.

Taking a steady breath, I made my way over and pulled out a chair. We exchanged our hellos, brief and cautious, before settling into an uneasy silence. The air between us was thick, weighed down by something unspoken. The café's soft chatter and the clinking of cups felt distant, almost muffled, as if we were caught in our own isolated bubble.

Yukina stirred her drink absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid, while Azzruelle tapped her fingers lightly against the rim of her mug. For a moment, none of us spoke.

Then—

Azzruelle exhaled sharply, finally breaking the silence.

"I miss him," she said with a dramatic sigh, staring wistfully into the distance like we were in the middle of a tragic novel.

Yukina and I exchanged a look, both of us raising an eyebrow in perfect sync. There was a brief pause as we processed her words. Then, as if on cue, we both let out a long, exaggerated sigh of our own.

Another heavy silence settled over us.

Then—

We lost it.

Laughter erupted from the table, loud enough that a few café patrons turned to stare. Yukina nearly choked on her drink, while I slapped the table hard enough to make the silverware clatter. Azzruelle, for all her initial melodrama, was now giggling uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking.

"God, you made it sound so intense!" I wheezed, wiping a stray tear from my eye. "I was bracing myself for some life-or-death confession!" Yukina added, still catching her breath.

Azzruelle tried to regain her composure, but another chuckle escaped her. "I was going for emotional depth, okay?"

"Yeah, well, you nearly gave me a heart attack instead," I shot back, shaking my head. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by the kind of ridiculous, unfiltered laughter that only old friends could share.