The girl was falling. Again.
Not from a cliff this time, but into herself — into the cold, sharp memory of her.That smile. That
voice. That name.
"Sara," she whispered. "Why are you still running?"
Sara jolted awake.
The room was dark. Cold. Her body drenched in sweat.She grabbed the glass by her bed, drank,
hands trembling ——and dropped it.
Crash.Shards scattered like starlight on the floor.
Sara dropped to her knees. Clutched her chest.She couldn't breathe.
Pain spiked behind her ribs like broken glass pushing inward.Her vision blurred.The world spun.
"W-why... why does she have to be you?"
The words barely left her mouth. Her voice was cracked, useless.
She crawled to the edge of the bed.Blood from her bare feet stained the floor as she walked
through the glass.She didn't flinch. She didn't feel it.Not yet.
She lay back down.Stared at the ceiling.Let it all come.
Tears. Silence. Memory.
Hours passed.The alarm shattered the quiet.Morning light spilled in.
Sara stared at the blood drying around her toes.She got up, bandaged her feet without a word.
Today was no different.She didn't want to leave. But she had to.
Sara was 23. A Master's student at the University of Tokyo. Economics major.Invisible. Quiet.
Watchful.
She stepped into the crowd of her day like a ghost wrapped in skin.Just one face stood out in that
blur — the one she both feared and longed to see:
Alexa.Sara muttered under her breath, a bitter smile forming:
"Here trouble comes."
She walked toward her.