Echoes of the Past

The world seemed a little less heavy these days.

It had been a week since Ethan first shared the rooftop with Mira. Since then, they'd fallen into an unspoken routine. They'd sit together in class, sometimes sharing glances when the teacher said something ridiculous. At lunch, they found their way to the roof more often than not—Mira bringing random snacks, Ethan quietly scribbling ideas in his notebook.

It wasn't loud or overwhelming. It was... gentle.

And for Ethan, that was enough. For now.

One Evening

The rain came down in a fine mist, blurring the streetlights into soft halos. Ethan pulled his hoodie tighter as he walked home. His mind drifted, not toward his writing for once, but toward Mira. How easily she smiled. How she seemed to take up space without ever making him feel small.

How does she do that?

He was so lost in thought he almost missed it. The figure, standing across the street in the glow of a flickering lamp.

A boy. About his age. Black school uniform. Hands shoved deep into his pockets. But it wasn't the figure that made Ethan stop—it was the way the boy was staring at him. Like he knew him.

No—recognized him.

Ethan's breath caught in his throat. He didn't move. Couldn't.

The boy tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, melting into the dark like he'd never been there.

Ethan stood frozen, his heart pounding so loudly it hurt.

Who... was that?

The Next Day

Ethan sat at his desk, chewing absently on the end of his pen. He hadn't slept much. That boy from last night still haunted his mind. There was something about him—his stare. Familiar, but distant. Like a memory Ethan couldn't quite reach.

"You're really out of it today," Mira said, leaning closer.

He gave a weak shrug. "Just tired."

She watched him for a second longer, but didn't push. That was something about her Ethan appreciated—she knew when to give space.

At lunch, they went to the roof again. Ethan sat with his back against the fence, knees drawn up. Mira sang softly under her breath as she unpacked her food. The song was slow, almost sad, and Ethan found himself watching her instead of the sky.

"Who taught you that?" he asked.

She smiled faintly. "My mom. She used to sing it when I couldn't sleep."

There was something in her voice. A softness. A crack in the brightness she usually wore like armor.

Before Ethan could ask more, the door to the rooftop creaked open.

Both of them turned.

The boy from last night stood there.

Up close, Ethan could see the sharpness of his features. Pale skin. Black hair falling messily over his forehead. Eyes like dark glass, impossible to read.

Mira blinked in surprise. "Oh. Hey. Are you lost?"

The boy didn't answer. His gaze flicked from Mira to Ethan.

"I'm not here for you," he said quietly. His voice was smooth but cold.

Ethan's chest tightened. "Then who are you here for?"

The boy stepped closer. "You."

Mira stood up, the playful light gone from her eyes now. "Do you know him, Ethan?"

Ethan shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

The boy gave a small, humorless smile. "We used to know each other."

Ethan's breath caught. Used to?

The boy glanced at Ethan's notebook lying nearby, the edges worn from years of handling. "You still writing stories?"

That simple question hit Ethan like a punch to the ribs. It was too familiar. Too specific. He felt the air drain from his lungs.

"Who are you?" Mira demanded, stepping in front of Ethan a little, protective in a way that made his chest ache.

The boy looked at her for a long second before answering.

"My name's Kaito," he said. "I'm not here to hurt him."

"Could've fooled me," Mira muttered.

Kaito's gaze softened—just barely. "I'm here because he left something behind. Something he forgot."

Ethan shook his head. "I don't understand."

"You will," Kaito said quietly. "I'm not here to take anything from you. I'm here to remind you."

And then, like he'd never been there at all, Kaito turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him.

Mira stared after him. "What the hell was that about?"

Ethan didn't answer. His hands were shaking. He grabbed his notebook and opened it, flipping through pages he'd read a hundred times. Until he found it.

A name. Scribbled on the back cover. Barely legible anymore, faded with time.

Kaito.

Ethan's breath hitched.

He had written that name years ago.

But he couldn't remember why.

Later That Night

Ethan lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his tiny room. The glow of his laptop screen was the only light. He pulled up an old file—a story he'd started years ago and never finished.

It was about a boy who forgot who he was.

And another boy who helped him remember.

The second boy's name was Kaito.

Ethan sat there, numb. Fingers hovering over the keys.

What had he forgotten? Why did it feel like something heavy was pressing against his chest, like something inside him wanted to be remembered but was afraid of what it might be?

His phone buzzed on the table. A message from Mira.

You okay?

He stared at the screen for a moment before typing back.

Not really.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Want me to come over?

He hesitated. His first instinct was to say no. To tell her he was fine. But he wasn't fine. And he didn't want to be alone tonight.

Yeah. He hit send. I'd like that.