Chapter 11

The sky over campus was the dull grey of a world caught in between - neither storm nor calm, just suspended in some endless pause. It felt like that in me too, a weightless numbness that made the usual rhythms of my morning fall apart. I walked to class without my usual care. My shirt was wrinkled, my bag slung loosely over one shoulder. Normally, I'd notice these things immediately, adjusting every crease, every strap, but today... I didn't care.

The pavement beneath my feet felt heavier, like I was dragging more than just my own body through the day.

I heard footsteps beside me just before we reached the literature building. Sae caught up easily, falling into step like she always did - without asking, just quietly present.

"You didn't answer my text," she said, voice light but firm.

I kept my eyes fixed on the cracked concrete ahead, murmuring, "I didn't think it needed a reply."

She shrugged, that easy, practiced motion that somehow carried more warmth than it should. "You disappeared after class yesterday. You okay?"

I hesitated, swallowing down the impulse to lie. Instead, I nodded. "Yeah. Just… needed air."

The lie stuck like a stone in my throat, heavy and unwelcome. But she didn't push. She didn't have to. She knew the silence better than anyone.

Inside the classroom, the lecture buzzed on around me, but my mind was elsewhere. Tanaka slid into the seat next to mine, silent at first. I noticed how my hand gripped the pen too tightly - my notes were messy, rushed.

"You've been somewhere else all week," he said quietly after a while, voice low. "Not just tired. Something's eating at you."

I glanced sideways, the urge to deflect burning on my tongue. But I stopped myself, looking down at the table instead. "There's some… family stuff. Nothing worth getting into."

He didn't push, but he didn't disappear either. "I get it," Tanaka said. "But you don't have to carry it alone, y'know."

Those words hit me harder than I expected. Simple, but unfamiliar - like a weight I didn't know I'd been lugging around because I thought I had to.

Class ended, and Sae was waiting by the hallway window, pretending to scroll through her phone as I walked past. Then she called out softly, "Come with me."

I stopped, feeling every instinct scream 'no.' But something in her voice made me follow.

We walked a few blocks to a quiet café - empty except for the low murmur of a barista and the scent of roasted coffee beans. No other students, no chatter, no distraction.

Sae ordered a hot chocolate, looking over the rim of her cup as she turned her gaze to me. "You ever talk to someone about it? Your parents?"

I watched the steam curl from my black coffee, my fingers tracing the rim absently. "No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged, though she couldn't see. "Because it doesn't change anything. Talking doesn't rewrite who people are."

Her face softened, but she didn't pity me. "Maybe not. But it changes how you carry it."

I stayed silent for a long moment, watching people walk by outside - lives so far removed from mine it almost hurt. Then I said quietly, "I've always carried it by erasing myself. Guess I got good at it."

Without thinking, she reached across the table, tapping her fingers lightly against mine. "You're not invisible, Nakamura. Not anymore."

Her words settled inside me like a fragile seed planted in dry soil. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something different.

The message came late that afternoon. No name. No explanation. Just:

"Your father's in the hospital. If you still care, room 314, Kosei General."

I stared at my phone for what felt like hours, the world narrowing to the cold blue screen and the heavy silence around me. I hadn't seen my father since I left for Tokyo - not really. He was a man whose sharp tongue cut deeper than any blade, whose presence filled the house with a quiet dread I learned not to question.

I could have ignored the message, just like I did when my brother visited to tell me the same thing.

But something pulled me anyway. Something heavier than resentment or fear. I found myself at the station, then the hospital, and finally standing outside that cold corridor by room 314.

I took a breath and stepped inside.

The room was dim, blinds drawn tight against the sunset. The steady beep of a heart monitor filled the space, like a metronome keeping time with my own heartbeat.

There he was - my father - pale, thinner than I remembered, oxygen tubes under his nose. He didn't look like the man I grew up with - the man who stood over me with crossed arms, judging silently - but like someone time had finally worn down.

And then there was her, sitting in the corner.

My mother.

She turned slowly when I entered, expression neutral as always. But for a moment, something flickered in her eyes - surprise? Regret? -before it vanished like smoke.

"You came," she said quietly.

"I got a message," I said, voice rough.

She nodded, smoothing her coat with care that seemed out of place. "He had a heart episode. The doctor said it's manageable, but…" Her voice trailed off, eyes shifting away.

Silence stretched between us like a thin wire ready to snap.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt.

She stood and faced me, a shadow of something unreadable in her gaze. "He asked for you. Once. After the doctor left."

I blinked, stunned. "He asked for me?"

She gave a small, bitter smile. "Don't get any ideas. Could've been the medication."

I stepped closer to the bed, staring at the man who never praised me, never showed the slightest hint of pride, even after all the perfect scores, all the medals I hid away. There was no comfort in his face, no sadness either - just a strange, hollow ache where my old resentment used to live.

Before she left, my mother said something that stayed with me.

"You always said we never looked back at you. But you never looked back at us either."

The door clicked softly behind her, leaving me alone with the slow pulse of the heart monitor and a lifetime of silence.

The next morning, I sat on a bench just off the main path, hood pulled low, trying to smooth out the ragged edge in my breathing. I hadn't slept. The night had swallowed me whole, and I'd walked aimlessly for hours - down empty streets, past quiet houses - until my legs gave out and I found myself near the train tracks.

Sae found me during the break before literature.

"You look like hell," she said bluntly.

I didn't argue. What was the point?

She sat beside me, close but careful not to crowd.

"What happened?" she asked gently.

I hesitated. The words felt heavy and raw. "My father's in the hospital. Heart trouble."

She looked at me, really looked, then nodded slowly.

"My mother was there too," I added, voice cracking just a little.

Her lips parted, but she said nothing at first.

"I hadn't seen them since I left," I told her quietly. "I thought it wouldn't matter. But seeing him like that… it didn't hurt the way I thought it would. It just made me tired."

She didn't say "I'm sorry." She didn't offer empty comfort. Instead, she placed her hand over mine -quiet, steady.

"You can breathe here, Nakamura," she said softly. "Even when it feels like you can't."

I looked down at our hands - her fingers warm against the cold that always clung to my skin. It was a small gesture, but it steadied something inside me. A fragile glimmer of hope I hadn't realized I was missing.

I used to think that distance made things easier. But maybe it just leaves more space for the echoes to follow.