Chapter V. Hidden Emotions

The rain drummed against the pavement, a relentless percussion that filled the night air. Outside the library, Aito and Sorako stood huddled beneath the automatic doors, glancing up at the dark clouds swirling ominously above them. They both felt the weight of unspoken questions hanging between them.

"I wonder how that woman knew so much." Aito murmured, breaking the silence that had settled around them.

Sorako, ever the curious observer, reached out her hand. The rain splattered against her fingertips and trickled down into her palm. Aito, watching her, raised an eyebrow at her silence. He shook his head slightly, dismissing the thought, before turning his gaze back to the torrential downpour.

"There wasn't any warning of a storm in the news…" he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and glancing at the screen. The time read 8:40 PM. He stole a look at Sorako, who was now gazing skyward, lost in the dance of raindrops that illuminated the dark night.

"We should probably find shelter." He suggested, his voice barely rising above the roar of the storm.

Sorako turned her attention back to him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of mischief and wonder. "Where to, Mr. Tour Guide?" She teased, her tone light despite the weather.

Aito looked away, focusing on the rain as it splashed against the sidewalk. "Home." he replied, though he wasn't sure if that was a comfort or more of a shelter from the storm.

Inside Aito's home, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. He and Sorako stood before the blue wooden door, their clothes soaked, the water dripping from their hair and skin. Aito pushed his damp bangs out of his eyes.

Aito lifted the pot that rested in the alcove next to the door. to reveal a set of keys tucked away beneath it. Sorako watched with keen interest, intrigued by the little details that made up Aito's world.

Stepping inside, she felt the warmth of dry air wrap around her.

The interior was modern yet welcoming, with a living room that flowed seamlessly into the kitchen. Aito flicked on the lights, and Sorako stepped inside, her eyes wide with fascination.

Grey wallpaper draped the walls, giving a cozy elegance to the space. A chest of drawers sat a few feet away, adorned with photographs—frozen moments of Aito's childhood captured in still frames.

As Sorako approached the hallway, Aito closed the door behind them, easing the sounds of the storm out into the night. He kicked off his shoes, lining them neatly beside his sneakers. Sorako glanced down at her own feet clad in sandals, then moved to sit on the small step by the door, slipping off her footwear.

"Do all places look like this inside?" She asked, a hint of wonder lacing her words as she scanned the room.

"Not really." Aito replied, his voice floating in from the kitchen, which was just out of sight.

Sorako placed her sandals beside Aito's shoes and rose, searching for him in the adjacent room. "Before you ask, I'm not gonna answer your questions." He called out, a playful tone betraying his feigned annoyance.

With a puff of her cheeks, Sorako ventured toward the living area but stopped mid-step, tilting her head curiously at a photograph resting on the drawer.

It captured a younger Aito with his parents, radiating youthful joy, while his grandmother beamed at the camera, pinching Aito's cheeks with a proud smile.

"Let's just say every place is different." Aito's voice echoed again from the kitchen, drawing her attention back to him. She spotted him crouched by the cupboards, his face intent with concentration as he rummaged through kitchenware.

"Go sit; I'm gonna make some food." He instructed, poking his head up briefly before diving back into his culinary quest.

Sorako made her way to the small wooden table in the centre of the living room-kitchen. Sorako settled into the plush, cream-colored three-seater couch, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she surveyed her surroundings. The modest living room was cozy, with a 30-inch TV nestled in the corner and a large window draped with silver cotton curtains that allowed gentle beams of moonlight to spill into the space.

As her gaze wandered, it caught on the small wooden table in front of her, littered with candy wrappers.

Her eyes narrowed in disdain, and she muttered under her breath."Leaving rubbish all over the place, are you?"

With that, Sorako stood and made her way to the table, gathering the discarded wrappers and tossing them into the nearby bin. As she stood there, she took a moment to glance down at her clothes, now stained with mud and blood, with a few tears marring the fabric.

Turning her attention to Aito, who was busy pouring rice into a rice cooker, she felt a pang of embarrassment.

"Is there somewhere I can clean my clothes?" She asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aito paused, giving her a quick once-over. "Oh, uh, I'll grab you some clothes from my room." He replied, slightly flustered. "You can take a bath or a shower—whichever you want—and I'll put your clothes in the washer."

Sorako raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Shower? Washer?"

With a slight nod, Aito stepped out of the room, and she followed him through the hall. There were three doors—two on the left and one on the right. Aito led her to the end of the hall and opened the far door.

"Wait here a minute." He said, peering inside. Sorako caught a glimpse of the room before the door closed behind him, the sounds of a wardrobe and drawers creaking open echoing softly in the hallway.

When Aito finally emerged, he carried a bundle of clothes and a towel. He handed them to Sorako.

"The bathroom is right there." He instructed, pointing to the door on the right. "Towels and toiletries are in the cupboard by the toilet."

"Thanks." Sorako replied, feeling a mix of gratitude and nervousness. She stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Aito stands behind the island table. He taps his fingers on the island table.

"Should I have shown her what to do?" He wonders to himself. A small sigh leaves his lips as he shakes his head.

"Nah, he'll figure it out..."

Aito heads to the fridge and opens the door to grab food. He closes the door, heading over to the kitchen counter when he hears a noise.

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?!" Sorako's voice echoes quietly in the hallway, but loud enough for Aito to hear.

Time passed and soon enough, Sorako looked far more at ease. She settled beside Aito, who sat on the left side of the couch, leaving a comfortable gap between them. With a happy puff, she patted her belly.

Wearing an oversized grey shirt and grey shorts, Sorako had let her hair down, its length cascading over her shoulders and back.

Aito glanced at her, trying to keep his gaze neutral, but his eyes betrayed him as they wandered over her appearance. He quickly turned away, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch, his chin propped on his hand.

"That was a lovely meal." She said, smiling up at him.

"Good, because if you didn't like it, you'd just starve." Aito shot back with all seriousness.

Sorako pouted, her fingers gently brushing through the flowing strands of hair. Aito threw her a sidelong glance, a lightheartedness settling in.

"Your hair is longer than I thought." he commented, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Sorako closed her eyes and smiled wider. "Do not underestimate the power of changing hairstyles."

Aito hummed in acknowledgment, staring blankly at the black screen of the TV. In its reflection, he could see Sorako's smile, and for a brief moment, he felt something warm inside him bubble.

"Will your parents be back soon?" Sorako asked, breaking the companionable silence.

Aito's gaze turned distant as he looked out the window, the vibrant city lights twinkling in the night. "They don't live here." he said, his tone laced with a hint of bitterness.

"What do you mean?" Sorako shifted, intrigued.

"My mom couldn't handle my 'condition.'" He replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The statement hung heavily in the air, and Sorako felt a stab of sadness for him. She studied his profile as Aito resumed his contemplative stance, his left elbow resting on the arm of the couch, chin propped in his hand.

After a moment, Sorako spoke softly. "I am positive they will come back."

"I doubt it. Good riddance too. Only my grandma understood me." Aito murmured, a hint of resignation lacing his words.

Sorako stole a sideways glance at Aito. He watched raindrops race down the windowpane, the rhythmic pitter-patter soothing in its own right.

"My mother was the only person who truly understood me." Sorako spoke softly, her voice a tender balm to Aito's aching heart. "I can relate to how you feel."

Turning to face her, Aito opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, words escaping him. Instead, he shook his head, the confusion swirling within him too profound to articulate.

"She would tell me stories about the world she imagined of down here." Sorako continued, her eyes shimmering with distant memories.

"Was she right?" Aito asked, curiosity piqued.

Sorako let out a laugh, light and airy. She shook her head, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the armrest of the chair. "Not in the least. She believed the people down here would be as bare as a baby."

Aito's expression turned to one of mortification as Sorako gestured to his clothes. "What I think she meant," she said, waving her hands in an exaggerated circular motion, "was that people down here would have a difficult time finding clothes. But alas, it seems as though the Wasureta have surpassed our intellect in almost every way."

Aito hummed and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both gazing out of the window. The island loomed in the distance, small yet enchanting, like a dream just out of reach.

"The island seems so small from down here." Sorako observed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"So close yet so far away." Aito replied, extending an arm toward the island, his fingers curling around its image.

"Why do you want to go to the island so badly?" Sorako asked, an anxious expression crossing her face.

Aito turned to her. Sorako's eyes searched his, filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Isn't it obvious?" he exclaimed, the urgency in his voice rising. "I can see it when no one else down here can. It makes sense that I should go there." He pointed at Sorako for emphasis. "Besides, you said it yourself: the answer to what I am lies up there on that island."

Turning away, Aito's expression soured, the weight of his uncertainty pressing heavily on his chest. "I need to know why I'm different." The boy muttered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Sorako smiled sadly to herself, the corners of her mouth turning down as she glanced out the window, her focus landing on the distant island suspended in the sky.

Aito stood up abruptly, breaking the moment. Sorako looked up at him, her heart aching for his unfulfilled longing.

"I'm going to take a shower before I catch a cold." Aito said, moving toward the hallway. Sorako returned her gaze to the window, resting her chin in her hands, her thoughts swirling with the rain.

"How amusing," she murmured quietly to herself, "that the worlds so far from us are the ones we long to be closest to." The words hung in the air.

The soft sound of water running through the faucet faded as Aito turned off the tap and stepped out of the bathroom. The hallway stretched before him, dimly lit and still.

As he walked down its length, an unfamiliar scene caught his attention. Sorako was resting on the left side of the couch, her head tilted slightly and her body leaning against the armrest.

Her eyes were closed, the serene expression on her face making Aito pause for a moment captivated by the sight.

moonlight streamed in through the window, casting a gentle glow around her. In that moment, the outside world seemed to melt away.

Aito turned slightly, catching her reflection in the glass—a fleeting snapshot of peace. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, a flicker of warmth coursing through him, before it pulled back down into his usual frown. He stepped away to return to his room.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, the living room was once again engulfed in silence. He entered his room, the door creaking softly behind him.

The shuffling of his movement intensified the quiet as he rummaged through his belongings, searching for something to wrap Sorako with.

A moment later, he emerged, a blanket and pillow in hand. He returned to the living room, the blanket draped over one arm and the pillow cradled in the other.

Aito approached Sorako, his movements infused with care and tenderness. Gently, he shifted her body sideways, mindful not to disturb her peaceful slumber.

With his spare hand, he slid the pillow beneath her head, ensuring she was comfortable. Once satisfied, he picked up the blanket, draping it over her with the grace of a feather falling to rest.

With a sense of fulfillment, Aito stepped back, his gaze lingering on her. He took a deep breath before he turned off the light switch, bathing the room in a soft twilight before retreating to his bedroom, feeling the air thicken with unspoken emotions.

Standing in the doorway of his room, the light flickered softly. The familiar space felt both comforting and confining.

Aito made his way to the bed, sitting at the edge, the cool fabric of the sheets brushing against his fingertips. He let out a weary sigh, then fell back, arms stretched wide above his head, as though reaching for answers written in the stars on the ceiling.

"I wonder if I'll wake up and find this was all a dream after all." He murmured, his voice barely breaking the silence.

Aito closed his eyes, seeking solace in the darkness, but his mind was restless. He placed his arms over his eyes, a futile barrier against the world beyond.

A tremor coursed through him, tears streaming down his cheeks, blurring the edges of his reality.

In that moment of vulnerability, he dropped his hands, reaching toward the ceiling, as if grasping for something just out of reach. "I can accept being different, knowing that what I see is real. That's all I need." Aito spoke, his voice hoarse yet resolute.

A wave of determination washed over him as he clenched his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, grounding himself in the present.

He could feel the weight of the world pressing against him, yet hidden within that heaviness was a flicker of resolve. Aito turned to his side, curling up under the blankets of vulnerability, embracing the shadows that danced at the edges of his mind.

He knew the path ahead was fraught with challenges, but deep down, he held onto a belief that all this was real.

***

Inside Sorako's dream, her house perched on the island felt like both a sanctuary and a prison. She stood in front of a mirror, her reflection revealing a young woman of nineteen in a traditional Shrine Maiden outfit.

The room enveloped her in a warm embrace, its wooden walls and tatami flooring evoking a sense of history. Wooden sliding doors framed the space, while a futon lay neatly beneath the lone window, inviting both rest and contemplation.

A sudden knock broke the stillness of her thoughts.

"The Elders have accepted your appeal for a meeting. Let us go." The voice of her father called from beyond the door.

She let out a deep sigh, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Koi floated down to nuzzle her cheek, an instinctual gesture of comfort.

"I can do this," Sorako murmured, her resolve hardening. "They have to listen to me."

With a determined breath, she exited the room, stepping into the unknown.

Hours later, Sorako returned, her heart heavy with disappointment. She walked straight to the futon and flopped down, burying her face in the pillow as a scream escaped her lips. Koi drifted softly beside her, sensing the turmoil within. Slowly, she lifted her head, her frustration spilling out.

"Why do the elders believe everything is fine?!" She cried, rolling onto her back, her voice rising with each word. "They are unable to even see these colorless spirits that are appearing!"

A sense of helplessness washed over her as she sat up and gazed out the window, her mind racing. "There must be some way to show them that something is happening to the spirits."

She lay back, staring at the ceiling while reaching out a hand as if grasping for answers. "Mom…" she whispered, the word hanging heavily in the air.

Koi floated above her outstretched palm, drawing Sorako's attention. As Koi shifted slightly to the right, Sorako's gaze followed. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows that danced across the ceiling. The transparency of Koi transformed the room, making it seem as if waves were moving overhead.

Suddenly, inspiration surged within Sorako, and she shot up into a sitting position. "I know what I must do." she declared, the fire of determination igniting in her chest.

Without hesitation, she strode to the mirror and tore one side of her skirt, creating an asymmetrical look that spoke of her intent to break free from tradition.

Turning back to Koi, she spoke with newfound conviction, "If the elders will not listen, then I shall go and investigate this matter myself."

With her heart set, Sorako gazed out the window toward the horizon, the world beyond her island beckoning her.

"To the world down below." She whispered

***

Sorako jolted awake, a sudden awareness flooding her senses. She sat up, feeling the blanket slip from her lap to the couch. Blinking against the remnants of sleep, she glanced down at the blanket before taking in her surroundings—a room softly illuminated by the glow of evening light creeping through half-drawn curtains.

"I must have dozed off." she murmured to herself, shaking off the lingering tendrils of sleep. With a stretch she moved the blanket aside and stood up, her feet touching the cool wooden floor.

"Did Aito head to sleep?" she wondered aloud, the question hanging in the quiet air as she made her way into the hallway.

The hallway led her toward the bathroom, but a faint sound—a voice—stopped her mid-step.

Intrigued, she turned her gaze toward Aito's bedroom door, hesitating for a moment before she approached it.

Inside the bedroom, Aito stirred. He sniffled softly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his arms. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of his cluttered desk.

With a weary sigh, he rolled off the bed and padded over to the desk.

"When was the last time I cried?" He pondered, grappling with the emotions that swirled within him. "After grandma passed a few years ago?"

Aito settled into the chair.

He turned on the desk lamp, its warm light illuminating the scattered sketches that filled his A4 book—spirits of all shapes and forms, dancing across the pages.

As he flipped through them, his heart ached at the vivid reminders of the past.

Upon reaching a blank page, Aito's resolve solidified. He pulled open the desk drawer, extracting a pencil, a sharpener, and an eraser, his movements deliberate. After closing the drawer, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Remember the first time you saw her, how she shined." He whispered to himself, letting the memories wash over him.

Images of Sorako flooded his mind—her laughter mingling with the gentle music of the spirits that surrounded her, glowing and humming as she sang.

The memory ignited a flicker of determination within him.

His eyes snapped open, now brimming with focus. He looked at the blank page before him, his heart racing with purpose.

"This'll be proof you're real." He declared softly, the words infusing him with energy.

Outside the bedroom door, Sorako lingered, her heart heavy yet filled with a bittersweet warmth. She gazed at the closed door, a sad smile gracing her lips as she touched its surface with her right hand.

Her palm pressed against the cool wood, she felt a connection. For a moment, Sorako lowered her gaze to the floor, lost in thought.

Then, with a gentle slide of her hand down the door, she turned away, beginning to walk down the hall, leaving behind the young man who began to sketch throughtout the night.