The next morning, Yumiko tried to convince herself that last night had been a trick of the rain, a fleeting shadow that her mind had conjured. But the memory of Jash's eyes, calm yet piercing, refused to leave her thoughts.
She walked through the bustling streets, her hood pulled low, keeping her gaze fixed on the pavement. Her apartment was small, quiet, safe—or so she thought. Every passerby blurred into gray shapes, but in the corner of her mind, she kept expecting to see him again.
And then she did.
He was standing by the café she frequented, leaning casually against the doorframe, umbrella folded at his side. He wasn't supposed to know her habits. He wasn't supposed to exist in her carefully constructed routine. Yet there he was, perfectly placed, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
Yumiko's heart hammered, and she almost turned away—but curiosity, stronger than fear, rooted her in place.
"Good morning," he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that same calm certainty that had unnerved her the night before.
Yumiko froze. Her instincts screamed to walk away, to disappear into the crowd. But something in the way he looked at her—like he knew her better than she knew herself—made her pause.
"I—good morning," she managed, voice barely above a whisper.
Jash smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "I see you've found your routine."
Yumiko's brow furrowed. "I… I don't know what you mean."
"You walk the same streets at the same time. You drink the same coffee at the same table. You try not to be seen. But you're seen anyway." His gaze softened, almost gentle, but still held that unnerving certainty.
She looked down, cheeks warming. "I… I don't know who you are."
"That doesn't matter," he said simply. "I've known you for longer than you think."
Yumiko's stomach twisted. She wanted to question him, to tell him to leave her alone, to retreat into her invisible life—but every instinct that had kept her hidden since she arrived faltered under his gaze.
"You shouldn't know me," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Jash stepped slightly closer, but still careful to respect the invisible line she drew. "Maybe. Or maybe I was meant to."
The words hung between them, weighty and impossible. Yumiko wanted to run, to vanish, to melt into the shadows—but a part of her, the part she hadn't acknowledged in years, couldn't.
Because somewhere deep down, she already knew.
This was just the beginning.
And no matter how hard she tried, Yumiko realized she could not escape Jash. Not now. Not ever.