A Thread Unraveled, II

The next morning, the thread returned.

Only this time, I didn't wake up right away.

I held it again, let the golden strand curl through my fingers, impossibly light but carrying a weight I couldn't name. I wasn't falling through the void like before. I was still. As if I stood at the center of something. Something vast and unfinished.

The thread pulsed faintly.

And then it unraveled.

I woke up with my hand outstretched.

***

Outside, the scent carried the weight of early autumn—damp earth, fallen leaves, faint charcoal from the nearby blacksmith's forge. The shop felt colder than usual, like the warmth of the ticking clocks hadn't reached yet.

Shuji didn't greet me when I came downstairs.

He was hunched over a cluttered table, poring through old maintenance ledgers. His brow furrowed as his finger moved slowly across a line of names. When he noticed me, he closed the book without a word and nudged a half-disassembled clock toward me.

"Balance wheel's off. Fix it"

"Good morning to you too."

He didn't smile.

I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, but the air between us held something quieter than usual. Not cold. Just… still.

After a while, he spoke.

"You've been quiet."

"You're the one who hasn't said a word."

"Hmph."

I looked up from the clock. "Can I ask you something?"

He didn't look up. "That hasn't stopped you before."

"Have you ever—" I hesitated, "—seen something that wasn't there?"

He set down his tools with a soft clink. "Is this about your dream again?"

"Not just the dream…" I hesitated again. "something happened yesterday. On the way back."

His eyes narrowed, unreadable. "Go on."

"There was this cart—out of control. I should've been hit. I was hit. I felt the impact—sharp, sudden. And then… I wasn't. I was three steps back. As if it never happened, the world was quiet."

He said nothing.

"I didn't imagine it."

"I didn't say you did."

I leaned forward. "Have you ever heard of something like that?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "I've heard a lot of things, Ren. Most of them nonsense."

"This didn't feel like nonsense."

Shuji sighed and stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Some things can't be explained by logic. That doesn't mean they aren't real. But it also doesn't mean you should chase them without knowing what they are."

"I'm not chasing anything," I said quickly. "I just… want to understand."

He paused, then gave me a long look. "Understanding comes slowly. Like learning a new gear pattern—it won't turn until the rest is aligned."

That was as close to advice as he'd ever give.

***

That evening, I walked to the Tachibana estate again.

I wasn't delivering anything.

Just walking by. Just passing through. Just wondering if I'd see her again.

I didn't.

Instead, I stood by the old bridge, hands tucked in my sleeves, watching the current pass below the wooden stats. The air was cool. A few fireflies blinked into life between the reeds.

My thoughts wouldn't stay still. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fragments. A thread hanging in space. A voice I couldn't place. The way Rin looked at me—like she already knew who I was.

I didn't understand what was happening.

I just knew something had started.

***

The sky had dimmed by the time I returned to the shop.

I sat on the back step behind the shop, watching the sky darken.

A few stars had begun to appear, faint pinpricks behind the clouds.

You shouldn't say things like that to a stranger…

Then call me Rin.

I rubbed my eyes. That moment in the hallway—whatever it had been—was still tugging at the back of my mind like a loose thread.

Had I really seen her before?

Or was she just… familiar in the way dreams sometimes were?

The door creaked behind me. Shuji stepped out, a cup of barley tea in each hand. He handed me one wordlessly and sat down beside me.

We drank in silence.

After a while, I said, "I think something is wrong with me."

He took a slow sip. "Why?"

"I don't feel like myself anymore. The dreams. The thing with the cart." I shook my head. "It all feels like it's happening to me, not from me."

"You're young. That's how life feels until it starts repeating."

I smiled faintly. "That's bleak."

"But true."

I glanced at him. "Do you think the dreams mean something?"

He didn't answer right away.

"I think," he said slowly, "that if the same dream keeps pressing at your gate, it's worth a glance through the watcher's slit."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed, "but it's the truth."

I sat there in silence, contemplating what he said.

He sighed, then turned his gaze towards me. "You've got that look again," he paused, "same one I had when I saw the edge of the sky crack."

I stared at him.

"You're not the only one who dreams strange things, Ren." he said. "You're just the first in a long time who says them out loud."

He stood, walking back inside the shop, the sounds of rummaging came, then he walked back out.

He pulled out a slim journal bound in faded leather.

"Start writing it down," he said, handing it over. "Every dream. Every shift. Every time the world feels… off."

"Why?"

"Because if you're not crazy, you'll need it."

"And if I am?"

"Then you'll still need it."