Four months.
Four long, dragging months had passed since Akihiko disappeared without a trace.
Ayaka didn't know how she managed to keep functioning all that time.
There were days she barely remembered.
Her apartment had become a shell—quiet and still, much like her.
Though she goes to work, she keeps to herself, polite and efficient.
Always present, but never really there.
Her heart hadn't healed, not really.
And her friends noticed.
Yuki and Keiko, who had tried so hard to be patient, had finally had enough.
One Saturday morning, they barged into Ayaka's apartment like a storm—arms full of shopping bags and manic energy, declaring war against her gloom.
"We're going out!" Yuki said, hands on her hips. "No arguments."
Keiko pulled open her closet. "You're wearing this. And then we're getting your hair done."
Ayaka blinked from the couch, still in her oversized hoodie and messy bun. "What?"
"Nope, no excuses!" Keiko grinned, tossing a cute dress onto her lap. "You've mourned enough. It's time we remind you what it feels like to be alive again."
"I'm fine, really…" Ayaka mumbled, though the faint color in her cheeks gave her away.
"Liar!" Yuki said flatly. "You haven't smiled in weeks."
Ayaka stared at the dress. It was soft, spring pink with delicate lace sleeves—something she wouldn't have chosen for herself in a million years.
But it looked… gentle. Kind. Like it belonged to someone who still believed in happy endings.
And for the first time in months, she wanted to try.
Maybe she couldn't stop missing him.
Maybe she still cried at night.
But… maybe she could take one small step forward.
Just one.
So, she stood.
And changed.
-------
By noon, Ayaka was standing in front of a salon mirror while a stylist fluffed her freshly cut hair.
Her long locks had been trimmed to a soft, shoulder-length wave.
Light caramel highlights brought warmth to her tired eyes, and her bangs were now parted gently to the side, framing her face with delicate softness.
"Oh my gosh!" Keiko breathed from behind her, hands over her mouth. "You look beautiful."
"Like an actress in a healing drama." Yuki agreed, her eyes sparkling.
Ayaka blinked at her reflection. She hardly recognized herself.
Not because she looked different—though she did—but because she didn't feel like the same girl who'd been crying herself to sleep for months.
She looked… lighter.
She allowed herself a small, hesitant smile.
------
The rest of the day was a blur of sunshine and laughter.
They walked through the park, sipping iced matcha lattes and pointing out cute dogs.
They took silly selfies in sticker booths and browsed a bookstore where Keiko tried to sneak Ayaka's novel into the front shelf display.
They even sang karaoke, laughing until their stomachs hurt when Yuki belted out a rock ballad completely off-key.
For a while, Ayaka forgot how heavy her chest usually felt.
She forgot how cold it had been without him.
And when they sat down at a little dessert cafe near the end of the day, sharing a towering plate of strawberry pancakes, Ayaka was… smiling. Genuinely smiling.
Until her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and saw the name:
"Mr. Takahashi."
Her editor.
"Hello?" she answered, curious.
"Ma. Yamamoto!" His voice boomed excitedly through the receiver.
"You won't believe this—your latest romance novel, 'Where we Left Off', is going viral. It's everywhere. Social media can't stop talking about it. Sales have skyrocketed in just the last twenty-four hours. You're trending!"
Ayaka froze. "W-what?"
Keiko and Yuki stared at her, wide-eyed.
"You heard me right!" Mr. Takahashi laughed. "It's not just doing well—it's blowing up!"
She covered her mouth in disbelief.
"You did it!" he said more gently now. "You really did it. And a romance novel is not even your forte! I'm so proud of you!"
When she ended the call, Keiko stood up and screamed. "AYAKA!!!"
Yuki clapped her hands and practically tackled her in a hug. "Congratulations!!! This is amazing! We have to celebrate!!"
Ayaka laughed—tears springing to her eyes, but this time from overwhelming joy.
The three of them stood in the middle of the cafe, jumping and squealing like teenagers.
Even other customers glanced over and smiled at the contagious energy.
Everything felt golden. Bright.
She had worked so hard on that novel.
Every page had been born out of heartbreak and longing and hope.
People felt that story.
They resonated with it.
And for a fleeting, shining moment, Ayaka felt like she could breathe again.
But as the laughter settled and the cake arrived, she sat down and stared at the soft pink frosting with glistening eyes.
She was happy.
She was.
But one part of her heart stayed quiet.
One part whispered, 'I wish he could see this.'
'I wish Akihiko were here to witness this moment.'
To smile with that quiet pride in his eyes.
To tease her gently and call her 'Ms. Midnight.' again.
To hold her hand in that calm, grounding way that said. 'You did great.'
She blinked quickly, wiping away a tear before the girls could see.
Because even when you rise again, even when you laugh and shine and rediscover your joy… there are still empty chairs at the table in your heart.
And his was still there.
------
The sun had already set by the time Ayaka returned home.
The hallway was dim, washed in the amber glow of the street lamps outside her window.
She stood still in the doorway for a long moment, her keys dangling silently from her fingers, the weight of the tiny novelty bag Keiko had insisted she carry still tucked against her side like a fragile secret.
The giddy high from earlier—bright laughter, pink frosting, warm hands wrapped around iced matcha—had dulled into something quieter.
Softer.
Like the last note of a lullaby trailing off into silence.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
Her apartment greeted her the way it always had: neat, muted, and frozen in time.
The kind of stillness that makes you forget to breathe.
Everything was exactly where she had left it that morning—pillows fluffed just so, the faint scent of green tea lingering in the air, the sunlight from earlier long gone, replaced by shadows stretching across the floor.
But something felt different.
No—she felt different.
Ayaka slipped off her shoes and walked slowly into the center of the room.
Her gaze moved over the walls, the furniture, the quiet corners that once echoed with someone else's presence.
That lingering, invisible mark of Akihiko.
Her eyes landed on the couch.
She could still remember how he looked sitting there that rainy evening—legs stretched out, sleeves rolled up, that unreadable expression in his eyes as he handed her a bowl of rice he'd made himself.
His voice, calm and low, had filled the room more than the storm ever could.
She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.
"I'm moving out..." Ayaka whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. "I can't stay here anymore."
It wasn't impulsive. It wasn't dramatic. It was quiet and steady—like a leaf finally letting go of a branch after clinging through winter.
Maybe if she moved, she could leave the memories behind.
Maybe if she found a new space untouched by his presence, she could learn how to breathe again without the ache that came with every reminder.
And yet—
Her hand instinctively reached up, fingers closing around the delicate silver chain that hung around her neck.
The necklace.
The one he'd given her on her birthday, just before everything unraveled.
A quiet gift, slipped into her hand without ceremony, but heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
She never took it off.
She couldn't.
"Akihiko…" The name slipped from her lips, fragile as a prayer.
She sank to her knees, the strength suddenly draining from her limbs.
"If everything I shared with you was just a dream…" she whispered through trembling breaths, "…then I wish I never had to wake up."
Her voice broke.
And then the tears came—faster than she could stop them, hotter than she expected.
They streamed down her cheeks, soaking into the fabric of her dress as she hunched over, clutching the necklace like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.
"I miss you..." she sobbed. "I hate you for leaving, and I miss you so much I can't breathe…"
Her fingers curled into the hem of her skirt, trembling.
The silence pressed in around her like a tide, but there was no comfort in it—only the echo of a name that no longer answered, and a heart that hadn't stopped waiting.
She didn't know how long she stayed like that, curled up on the floor of her living room, the shadows stretching long around her.
Minutes?
An hour?
Time no longer moved the way it used to. Not since he left.
She was so tired.
Tired of being strong. Tired of pretending she was okay.
Tired of smiling during the day and breaking all over again at night.
She had made it four months—four long, aching months—without him.
But sometimes, survival feels less like living and more like drifting.
And tonight, the weight of all those unshed tears finally pulled her under.
Yet somewhere beneath the grief and the ache, another voice stirred.
Soft.
Gentle.
The version of herself still believed in beginnings.
Maybe moving out wouldn't erase him.
Maybe nothing ever would.
But maybe… it could be the first step toward something else.
Something new.
Something that didn't have to hurt so much.
Still, she clung to the necklace.
Because no matter how many steps forward she tried to take—
A part of her heart would always be walking beside his ghost.