chapter 26: untraveled threads

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The days passed in a blur of gray skies and muted conversations. Kaori's life, once filled with a sense of purpose and warmth, now seemed adrift in an endless sea of confusion. Every day was a struggle to keep herself together, to move forward, to keep going even when every step felt like it might be her last.

Her mother's visit had left an indelible mark on her soul. She had tried to push it out of her mind, to tell herself it didn't matter, that the past was behind her and there was no way to rewrite it. But the truth was, deep down, Kaori wasn't sure what to do with the sudden reappearance of the woman who had abandoned her. Could she forgive her? Could she ever trust her again? Or was the wound too deep, too old to ever heal?

And then, there was Shun. The kindness he offered her had been like a lifeline, pulling her from the darkest depths of her grief. He didn't ask for much. He didn't demand anything. But Kaori couldn't help but feel the weight of her own feelings—or the lack of them. As much as she appreciated him, as much as she cared for him, there was a truth she could no longer ignore: she wasn't sure if she could love him the way he deserved.

Kaori stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were hollow, her face pale, as if the weight of everything that had happened had stripped her of all vitality. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. A ghost of the person she used to be.

She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the kiss she had shared with Shun the other day. It had been gentle, tender, but it had felt… empty. A fleeting connection that left her yearning for something she couldn't even name. She hadn't kissed Ryo like that. With Ryo, it had always been intense, passionate, consuming. But now, even the memory of that love felt like a distant dream, one that she wasn't sure she could ever return to.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen, half-expecting to see a message from Shun, but it was something else entirely.

It was a notification from a social media platform.

Ryo's memorial video…

Kaori's heart skipped a beat. The words seemed to mock her, tearing open the barely healed wounds of her grief. She hadn't been able to bring herself to watch anything related to Ryo in so long. The pain was too fresh, too raw. But now, the temptation to see him, to hear his voice again, was almost unbearable.

She hesitated for a moment before pressing play.

The video began with a montage of Ryo's life, clips from their time together, their laughs, their shared moments of joy. Kaori's breath caught in her throat as she saw his smiling face on the screen. The voice that spoke his name—the familiar, gentle tone that had once comforted her in the darkest of times—made her chest tighten with longing.

But as the video continued, the mood shifted. It became somber, a tribute to a life cut short. Kaori could hear her own voice in the background, speaking about Ryo, about their love, about the emptiness that followed his death.

"I never imagined it would end like this," her voice echoed in the video. "I thought we had forever. But forever isn't real. It's just a lie we tell ourselves to get through the pain."

Kaori's eyes filled with tears as she listened to her own words. She had said those things, but hearing them again, it felt as if she were speaking them from someone else's life. Someone who wasn't her. Someone who had been left behind in the wake of Ryo's death.

The video ended, leaving Kaori alone with the memories. She stared at the screen, the weight of her grief nearly suffocating her. She wanted to scream, to shout out in anguish, to demand that Ryo come back, that he return to her. But she knew it wasn't possible. He was gone, and all that was left were the fragments of a love that had once burned so brightly.

The sound of the doorbell broke her from her reverie. Her hand trembled as she wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself before answering. Who could it be? It was late, and she wasn't expecting anyone.

When she opened the door, her heart stopped.

Shun stood there, his face drawn with concern. He didn't speak at first, but his eyes, soft and understanding, searched her face for answers.

"Kaori… I'm worried about you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know things haven't been easy lately, but you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you."

Kaori stood frozen, her chest tightening. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. He truly cared for her. But the part of her that was still tethered to Ryo—the part of her that would always belong to him—felt as if it were suffocating under the weight of Shun's concern.

"I… I don't know if I can do this," Kaori said, her voice trembling. She felt the tears welling up again, threatening to spill over. "I don't know if I can be the person you want me to be. I'm not the same. I don't know how to love anyone else."

Shun's expression softened, and he took a small step forward, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm. "You don't have to be perfect, Kaori. You don't have to have all the answers right now. I just want to be here for you. Even if it's just to listen. You're not alone."

His words were so gentle, so full of kindness. But Kaori felt the distance between them, a chasm too wide to cross. She could never be the person he needed, not when her heart still clung to the love she had lost.

"I can't," she whispered, the words choking her.

Shun didn't say anything else. He didn't try to convince her, didn't push her to open up. He simply stood there, silently offering her his presence. In that moment, Kaori realized something—Shun's love, while genuine, wasn't enough to erase the pain of her past. She would never be able to love him the way he deserved, not when her heart was still bound to someone else.

"I'm sorry," Kaori said, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry for everything. But I need to be alone."

Shun nodded, his face a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Take your time, Kaori. I'll be here when you're ready."

With that, he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the quiet of the night.

Kaori closed the door behind him, feeling the weight of her own isolation settle around her. She was alone again, just as she had always been. Alone with her grief, alone with her memories, alone with the love that had slipped through her fingers like sand.

She collapsed onto the couch, her tears falling freely now, as if the dam had finally broken. The pain, the emptiness, it was all too much to bear. She didn't know how to move forward. She didn't know if she could.

But one thing was clear: the love she had for Ryo was a part of her, a part that would never fade, no matter how much she tried to bury it.

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End of Chapter 26.