Chapter 12: The Girl Who Vanished

Mika's morning began like any other.

Her mother placed a plate of tamagoyaki, rice, and miso soup in front of her while her younger brother played with his chopsticks, yawning dramatically at the table.

"Eat before it gets cold," her mother warned, flipping the television to the morning news.

Mika offered a quiet nod, brushing her hair back into a neat ponytail before taking her first bite. Her school blazer hung on the back of her chair, and her bag sat ready by the door. The morning sun poured gently through the windows, casting a golden light over their cozy kitchen.

She ate calmly, exchanging light banter with her brother and listening to her father mutter about work over a newspaper. It was normal. Perfectly normal. Her grades were steady, her friends were waiting, and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—to suggest that today would be different.

She finished her breakfast, thanked her mom, grabbed her bag, and waved to her family. "I'm off!"

Outside, the sky was clear, and the air held the faint chill of early spring. She met her friends—Ayaka and Riku—at the corner of the street, just like always.

"Morning!" Ayaka beamed.

"You're actually early for once," Riku teased, adjusting his bag.

"I know, right? I feel proud of myself," Mika joked, falling in step with them as they began walking to school.

They chatted about upcoming exams, plans for the weekend, and what rumors were circulating the class. Mika laughed easily, her mood light.

Then Ayaka turned to make a comment—

And stopped.

Mika was gone.

No sound. No trace. Just the space she had occupied, empty.

Ayaka blinked, looking around. "...Mika?"

Riku frowned. "She was literally just here. Did she sprint off or something?"

But Mika had vanished.

As if plucked from the world mid-step.

—

When I came to, I was in the forest.

I don't remember how it happened. One moment I was laughing with Ayaka and Riku, and the next—I was standing alone beneath towering trees, the sky choked by thick canopies, the air wet with dew and humming with energy.

My heart jumped. "H-Hello?"

No answer. Just birdsong, distant and strange.

I looked around. Every direction was trees. Moss-covered roots, twisting branches, and golden shafts of sunlight spearing through the leaves.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. My phone had no signal. The map wouldn't load. I walked. I walked in a straight line. I marked trees with scratches from my hair clip. I called out. Screamed. Nothing.

That first night… I didn't sleep. I cried until my throat hurt. I huddled against the base of a tree, my school uniform crumpled and dirty, arms wrapped tight around my legs. Every sound felt like something approaching.

The cold was unbearable. I wrapped my arms tighter. The wind howled like whispers.

Days passed. Or maybe weeks. I kept track at first. Scratches on bark. Notes in my head. But hunger gnawed away at my sense of time. I drank from streams. Ate wild berries. My shoes gave in first. Then my socks. My hair tangled with leaves.

I don't know how long I wandered before I saw him.

Oliver.

He looked exactly as I remembered—sharp blue eyes, fair skin, and that tousled blond hair that never behaved. He had always stood out in Hoshizuki, one of the few foreigners in town. Even after years of living there, he never quite blended in.

And now, he was standing right in front of me. Confused. Just as lost as I had once been. When our eyes met—I didn't think. I ran.

I threw myself at him, sobbing. Every part of me trembled. He was warm. Solid. Familiar.

"You're real. You're really real. I thought I was going insane..."

He held me, unsure at first. But his arms wrapped around me. And in that moment, I felt human again.

We stayed together. Days passed. Then weeks. We searched for a way out—always trying, always circling. But the forest… it shifted. Paths curved where they hadn't. Landmarks vanished.

And then—it happened.

I looked away. Just for a second.

And he was gone.

I screamed his name. For hours. For days. I didn't sleep and barely ate. I just wandered. Terrified. Alone.

When I found him again, I clung to him like he was the last thing in the world.

It kept happening.

Every time we were separated, even for a moment, he disappeared again. Sometimes for days. Sometimes for half a month.

I stopped letting him leave my sight.

Even when we slept, I stayed curled up against him, needing the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. He'd lend me his shirt on cold nights, wrapping it around me while we huddled together under the roots of a great tree.

Somewhere along the way, I started to fall in love with him.

He always turned me down gently. Said the forest was getting to me. That it wasn't real. That we'd escape one day and I'd go back to normal.

But every time I saw him smile or felt his hand squeeze mine when I panicked—I only fell harder.

One night, as the wind blew sharp and cold, we sat pressed together under a crumbling rock overhang. His shirt was around my shoulders. His scent clung to the fabric.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. "Maybe it's the forest," I whispered. "Maybe I've gone crazy. But I don't care. I don't want to be alone anymore."

I tilted my face toward him.

And kissed him.

Oliver didn't pull away.

He had waited—pushed her back gently all those nights, built up that distance, and fished her in when she was at her lowest.

Technically he could have freed her; hell, he'd been back to his wardrobe multiple times to make sure the distortion formation only affected the forest and not his room.

He found out that time didn't seem to move on the other side of the wardrobe as he threw up a coin, and it froze midair as he stepped back into the formation. But the same wasn't true when he stared in from the outside—as time flowed linearly with each other.

It seemed the formation saved energy by not altering time, simply creating an illusion for one mortal trapped within it—until he stepped back in, but that was just one of his theories.

I'm really a bastard, aren't I~? Oliver thought, as Mika's breath mingled with his and her lips brushed against his once more. Yet he didn't regret it—in this place, whether for better or worse, he no longer stepped away from the slightly skewed thoughts in his head.

He welcomed it.

He kissed her back—slowly, deliberately—not with hunger, but with the warmth of someone who had held back too long. His hand, resting at her waist, pressed in with subtle confidence, guiding her to close the final distance between them.

Mika's body melted into his, her arms wrapping around his neck as if she feared letting go would break the fragile thread tying her to reality. The kiss deepened—not messy, not frantic, but filled with months of silence, shared nights under starless skies, and whispered promises to keep each other safe.

Oliver's hand slid down her back, fingers trailing the worn fabric of her blouse before settling firmly at her lower waist, steady and grounding. He pulled her closer—until she was flush against him, until the weight of her warmth settled over his chest and it became impossible to tell where her breath ended and his began.

She gasped softly against his lips as he held her tighter. Her heart fluttered, too fast and too loud, and she kissed him again—this time needier and more certain.

He responded without hesitation.

No words were spoken. No justifications made. The forest around them—the endless maze, the twisting paths, the unnatural silence—it all faded. For the first time since they'd entered this place, they weren't just surviving.

They were living.

Minutes passed as they held one another in the mossy hollow beneath the crooked trees. Their kiss slowed and softened. Mika rested her forehead against his, her fingers still tangled in his shirt.

"I don't know if I love you," she whispered, her voice raw with fear and honesty. "Maybe it is the forest, like you said. Maybe I'm just scared."

He ran his thumb along the curve of her jaw, eyes steady on hers. "Maybe I'm scared too," he said quietly. "But I've thought about this. About you. A lot."

"Maybe there isn't a way out of this place, or maybe we haven't looked hard enough. But maybe, just maybe," he paused—guilt barely veiled in his voice, "...we could forget about it all for just this night."

Oliver's right hand moved off her waist, drifting down onto her rear.

"Just for a tonight, can you be my girlfriend?" he asked almost pleadingly, as his warmth began to pulse between her thighs—growing against the front of her skirt.