The first time Shin heard the voice, he was alone. Or at least, he thought he was. The classroom was empty, sunlight dripping lazily through the windows, dust floating in the air like forgotten secrets.
"Do you remember me?" the voice asked.
But no one was there. Only the echo of his own heartbeat, sharp and uneven, as if his body itself was reacting to something his mind could not understand.
The next day, he told no one. At least, that was the plan—until Ayumi noticed. She always noticed.
"Shin, are you okay? You look pale." Her voice was soft but firm, the kind that didn't let you lie easily.
Ayumi was his oldest friend, the type who stayed behind after class just to make sure he hadn't forgotten his bag again. She was bright, reliable… maybe too much for her own good. Shin often thought she cared for him more than he deserved.
"I'm fine," he said. The words felt heavy in his mouth.
But she narrowed her eyes, studying him the way only she could. Psychology books might call it empathy, but to Shin it felt like her gaze peeled back the layers he tried to hide.
That night, the voice returned. "Do you remember me?"
And this time, Ayumi was in the dream too—standing just behind him, her hand almost reaching for his, as if she had heard it as well.