The world didn't just stop. It evaporated. All that existed was the space between us and the echo of her impossible words.
"I know you do."
It wasn't a guess. It wasn't déjá vu. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a quiet, bone-deep certainty that defied all logic, all medicine, all eighty days that had come before.
I forgot how to breathe. Beside me, I heard Sora let out a tiny, sharp gasp. The experiment hadn't just worked; it had produced a result so far beyond our predictions that it broke the entire paradigm.
Sina herself seemed just as shocked by the words that had come out of her own mouth. Her hand flew up to her lips, her amber eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and fear. "I... I don't know how I know that," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It just... feels true. Like your name. And your face. None of it feels... new."
The "static" had a voice. The ghost had a face. And she was recognizing it.
This was it. The culmination of everything. The echo I had chased, the flicker I had gambled on—it wasn't a fluke. It was real. A subterranean river of memory, flowing far beneath the surface of her conscious mind.
But my elation was instantly tempered by the terrified look on her face. To her, this was madness. A fundamental break from the rules that governed her broken mind. To feel this certainty about a stranger... it was like looking at the sky and knowing it was green. It was a symptom. A terrifying glitch.
Sora, recovering faster than I did, sprang into action. Her role as guardian superseded her role as scientist.
"It's okay, Sina," she said, her voice a calm, steady anchor in the swirling chaos. She put a gentle hand on Sina's arm. "See? Just like my note said. You're feeling some strange connections today. It's okay. It's just a weird brain-day."
She was reframing it. Normalizing the impossible. It was a masterful, split-second piece of damage control, and I loved her for it.
Sina looked from Sora to me, still struggling to process it. "But it feels so... real."
"I get that," I said, finally finding my voice. It was vital that I follow Sora's lead. I had to be the calm, reassuring center of her storm. I couldn't show her how earth-shattering this was for me. "I have one of those faces, I guess. Easy to remember. Hard to forget." I offered a small, self-deprecating smile, praying it looked genuine.
My casual acceptance seemed to soothe her more than anything. If this stranger wasn't freaked out by her bizarre statement, maybe it wasn't so crazy after all.
The morning bell rang, a merciful interruption that saved us from the deepening rabbit hole.
"We should get to class," Sora said, gently guiding Sina towards the school entrance. She looked back at me over Sina's shoulder, her eyes wide, communicating a thousand things at once: This is working. Be careful. Don't push it. I'll find you later.
I just nodded, my mind still reeling.
I watched them walk away. Today, Sina didn't have to search. The missing piece had found her. But the reality of it was infinitely more complicated and terrifying than the absence had been.
For the rest of the morning, a new tension crackled in the air. We were acutely aware of each other in a way that was completely different from before. In history class, when she dropped a pen, I picked it up for her. When our fingers brushed as I handed it back, it wasn't just the touch of a stranger. It was a moment charged with unspoken history, with the ghost of eighty other days. She pulled her hand back quickly, a blush rising on her cheeks.
Later, I passed her in the hall between classes. She was walking with Sora, but she saw me coming. Instead of looking away shyly, her gaze locked with mine. For a few brief seconds, we were the only two people in the crowded hallway. There was a question in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding. I gave her a small, steady nod, trying to convey a reassurance I didn't feel: It's okay. You're not crazy. I'm right here.
She didn't smile, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease just a little before Sora guided her on.
Lunchtime arrived, and I knew what was coming. I went straight to the roof. Zeke was already there, pacing like a caged, pineapple-sunglass-wearing tiger.
"I SAW YOU!" he whisper-yelled, rushing towards me. "I SAW THE LOOK! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT DID SHE SAY?!"
"She knew me," I said, the words still tasting of disbelief and miracles. "Zeke, she knew me."
Before he could explode with questions, the rooftop door creaked open again. It was Sora.
She strode over, her usual composure frayed at the edges. She looked like a chess master who had just discovered the pawns were making up their own moves.
"Okay," she said, wasting no time on pleasantries and completely ignoring Zeke's presence. "New rules. The 'be normal' plan is officially obsolete. This is accelerating faster than I anticipated."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart starting to race again.
"She hasn't stopped talking about it," Sora said, her voice a mixture of awe and alarm. "She keeps asking me about you. 'How long has he been in our class? Have I ever talked to him before? Why does the name Kelin feel so familiar?' She's trying to solve the puzzle. And her notebook has nothing. That's scaring her."
Sora locked her gaze on me, her expression grim. "The vacuum is gone. But now we have a paradox. The more she recognizes you, the more her 'official' reality—her notes—contradicts her feelings. That conflict is a new kind of danger. We can't just let her spin out."
She took a deep breath. "Which leads me to my new, insane, probably terrible idea." She looked from me to Zeke and then back to me. "We're going to give her a memory. Today. A big one. Something so clear and tangible that it explains the 'echo.' We're going to create the memory that the static is coming from."
Zeke's jaw dropped. "You mean... we lie?"
"I mean we create a controlled narrative," Sora corrected, her eyes flashing. "We're going to give her a missing piece to find. One that we build for her." She looked directly at me.
"How do you feel about saving a cat from a tree, Ishida?"