After taking a leave from school, Di lived like a shadow.
He still woke up each morning, but his days drifted by like reflections on water—quiet, weightless, untethered from time. He silenced his phone, let the calendar gather dust, and left the alarm unset. As long as he stayed still, untouched, maybe his thoughts would stay quiet too.
He couldn't say what exactly he was waiting for. Maybe a text. Maybe a knock. Maybe nothing at all.
Then, one afternoon, he kicked over an old storage box under his desk.
Dust burst into the air. He knelt down, coughing, and started rummaging through it: exam papers, faded notes, an old pencil pouch. The zipper was half-broken, and when he pulled it open, a small plastic card slid out, landing face down on the floor.
The sun slipped in through the blinds. The card caught the light and shimmered faintly.
A Pikachu holo card.
He froze.
Its corners were worn, the surface a little dull from age—but Pikachu's bright smile was still visible, staring up at him like a whisper from the past.
How did he still have this?
Memory came rushing back.
It was cram school. Back then, Jie always showed off that card between lessons. It was his prized possession, and he loved flashing it in front of classmates.
Then one day, the card went missing.
"Who took my card?" Jie shouted, panic and anger rising in his voice. The classroom buzzed.
No one answered. But as if on cue, the entire class turned to look at Di.
He hadn't done anything. Hadn't said a word. But the silence, the way he always sat at the edge of the room, quiet and separate, made him the perfect target.
Jie stormed toward him. "Was it you? I walked past your desk just now!"
"I didn't take it," Di said quietly.
"Then why didn't you say so earlier?"
"…Because no one asked."
Their voices rose. Words became shoves. A scuffle broke out just as the teacher returned, and both of them were ordered to stand outside the classroom as punishment.
That afternoon, the hallway was stained orange by the sunset. Jie leaned against the wall, shoulders tense and rising with each breath. He clutched his backpack like a shield. Di stood across from him, staring blankly out the window.
After a long pause, Jie asked, "You really didn't take it?"
"No."
His voice was flat, almost cold. But to Jie, it felt like a splash of freezing water.
"…Then I accused you," he murmured.
Silence fell again.
Then both boys heard a soft voice echo from the other end of the hallway.
"Is this yours?"
They turned.
A girl was walking toward them, backlit by the setting sun. Her ponytail swayed as she held out a card that shimmered in the light.
"I found this near the water cooler. I think someone from your class dropped it." She glanced at Jie. "Is this yours?"
Jie flushed and nodded. "Yeah… it's mine. Thanks."
She smiled. "Be more careful next time."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the classroom, her silhouette trailing light.
Jie stood there frozen, clutching the card. He hadn't expected to be that wrong. And even more so—he hadn't expected her to be the one who returned it. He didn't even know her name.
"…I'm sorry," he whispered.
Di turned slightly, his voice low but steady. "You believe me now, don't you?"
—
The memory ended.
Back in the present, Di sat beside the box, still holding the card.
His fingers trembled. Something cracked open inside him. Before he realized it, tears began to fall.
Not from sadness—but from everything else.
From the humiliation he swallowed in silence, from the apology that came too late, from that brief, glimmering figure in the light who didn't try to comfort him, but simply gave him back his truth.
That wasn't just a card.
It was a misunderstanding, a scuffle, a moment of stillness, a girl's voice, a boy's guilt. It was the first real link that connected the three of them—him, Jie, and Lan.
He remembered what happened a few days later.
Jie caught up to him after school. "Hey," he said awkwardly, digging in his pocket. "Here."
He handed over the Pikachu card.
Di frowned. "Why?"
"…I owe you."
Jie didn't wait for a reply. He turned and walked away.
Di didn't refuse. He didn't thank him either. He simply put the card away and never looked at it again—until now.
Now it felt like everything he had buried was resurfacing.
His hand trembled as he stared at the card, and for a moment, he was no longer in his room, no longer alone. He was back in that corridor, with the sun on his back and the wrongs still unspoken.
Then—his phone rang.
He wiped his face and looked at the caller ID.
Lan.
He picked up.
Before he could say anything, her voice came through, quick and trembling: "I'm sorry."
Di blinked. Then—without thinking—he replied, "I'm sorry too."
There was a long pause.
A soft, breathing silence.
Then she spoke again. "I've decided… I'm going to find my birth parents. I don't know what's going to happen, or what I'll find, but…"
Her voice caught.
"I still want it to be the three of us. Just like we said we would."
Di looked down at the card in his hand. The edges were worn now, but the light still glinted across its surface.
He understood.
This wasn't about guilt, or closure, or nostalgia.
It was fate.
"I'll go," he said.
—
The bullet train station was alive with movement.
Announcements echoed overhead. People rushed past with luggage in hand. The lights were too bright, the floor too clean. But Di stood still in the middle of it all, backpack on his shoulder, face calm.
One month ago, on a rainy night, the three of them had last seen each other.
And now—
The current of time, which had once pulled them apart, was drawing them back together.
This wasn't a reunion.
This wasn't healing.
This was a calling—something that had always been written between them, waiting.
This was the beginning of a journey—
A journey beyond light, shared by three.