Two Years Later
Two years passed—
yet they never truly did.
Because some absences are not measured by time,
but by the voice that is no longer heard,
and the laughter that remains suspended in the hallways.
In this chapter, the return begins—
but the hearts?
They are still walking carefully
along the edges of memory.
⸻
Two years.
Two years since that farewell Mimi tried to decorate
with a smile and a pink flower in her hair,
while her eyes whispered everything
words could not say.
Two years…
not numbers written on a page,
but a long song without lyrics,
without an ending—
only silence stretching
between one heartbeat and the next.
⸻
Two years since Mimi left for America.
Back then, her heart was beating
with everything she left behind:
friends, narrow streets,
a guitar she never touched again,
and blue eyes she did not yet understand.
During her first week in New York,
Yamato sent her a short message—
one that carried far more
than his fingers dared to say:
"How's the weather there?
The band doesn't know how to sing
without your noise in the background."
Mimi laughed when she read it,
then sent him a long reply—
laughter, shouting,
and voice clips of her singing
deliberately out of tune.
She messaged him every evening,
sent photos of a city that still scared her,
and added silly comments like:
"Do you think American pizza hates me?
It always lands on my face!"
⸻
But after a few months…
life began to teach her.
School was strict.
Classmates didn't know her name.
And loneliness offered no gentle excuses.
The messages grew shorter.
Her voice in recordings became quieter.
Even her photos—
no longer carried wholehearted smiles.
⸻
Mimi?
Mimi was trying to become a girl
who doesn't cry because of a song.
One night, she sent Kari a voice message:
"I study, I run, I sing,
and I laugh louder than I should—
as if I'm trying to convince myself
that I've forgotten.
But you know?
There's one thing that never leaves me…
the sound of his guitar.
The sound of that melody
he never finished playing."
⸻
And Yamato?
He swallowed his ache
and poured his voice into a new band.
He began writing songs that resembled darkness,
playing as if to forget—
not to heal.
He sang—a lot—
but his heart
made no sound at all.
⸻
Distance matured Mimi
and dimmed something inside her.
Time raised a thought inside Yamato:
"Maybe it wasn't love…
just a moment
when we believed everything was possible."
But the truth?
Neither of them truly forgot the other.
They simply…
chose silence.
⸻
The small park behind the school—
the place that once gathered them in childhood—
now looked tired of waiting.
Autumn air, fragile and thin,
carrying the scent of the past…
yet no one spoke of it.
They sat beneath the old tree,
slightly apart,
as if time had placed a distance between their hearts
that no juice box or old joke could erase.
⸻
Takeru was the first to break the silence:
"You know…
I don't think I miss school days.
But I miss that feeling—
when everything tasted stronger."
⸻
Joe was sipping a green drink
that resembled nothing known to mankind.
He lifted the cup and smiled:
"Do you think this is safe to drink?
I tried a new recipe…
don't ask how or why."
⸻
Kari laughed softly, then began:
"If Mimi were—"
She stopped.
As if a name had surfaced without permission.
Takeru turned to her and smiled:
"She'd be screaming,
'You're trying to poison us, Joe!'"
They laughed—
a short, hesitant laugh.
⸻
Then Sora spoke, fiddling with her sleeve:
"She filled the place…
even when she complained.
Sometimes I miss her noise
more than our quiet now."
⸻
At that exact moment,
Yamato walked in.
He heard only the last sentence.
But it was enough.
Years of buried feelings
trembled at a single phrase—
at a single name.
He sat beside them without speaking,
placed his guitar down,
and said quietly:
"My band has a show this weekend…
If you come,
I'd be… grateful."
His words sounded ordinary.
His voice did not.
⸻
Sora looked at him, met his eyes for a moment,
then smiled.
A faint smile—
one that carried a tremor
no one but her could recognize.
As if she knew
that the coming night
might be more than just a concert.
Before the Show
In her room, before the performance,
Sora sat in silence.
The evening was calm—
but her heart was not.
In her hands,
a small cardboard box,
decorated with pale pink threads,
hiding inside a piece of chocolate
she had made herself.
She watched her hands
tie the ribbon carefully,
as if fixing the knot
might also fix something inside her.
She wasn't good at making gifts.
Nor at first steps.
But she wanted to do something—
no matter how small.
To say something—
without saying everything.
She lifted the box, stared at it,
then placed her hand over her chest,
as if calming its rhythm.
"Will he notice?
Will I regret it if I don't?
And… am I the only one who feels something?"
She answered none of those questions.
But inside her,
she felt that this night might be decisive—
not only in her relationship with Yamato,
but in her relationship with herself.
Was what she felt… love?
Or the shadow of another love
that was never hers to begin with?
Moments Before the Stage
Lights moved slowly above the crowd,
murmurs rising like a small sea
preparing for a musical tide.
Backstage, Yamato stood in the corner,
changing his guitar strings
with outward calm—
nothing like the storm inside him.
His eyes were empty,
as if his soul were waiting
for something it couldn't name.
Then…
Sora appeared.
She held the small box in her hands,
balancing on the edge of a confession,
her eyes avoiding his.
Before stepping toward him,
she glanced behind her.
Taichi.
She whispered:
"Come with me…
I don't want to look alone—
even if I am."
He nodded without a word.
But his heart?
It screamed.
"You're walking toward him…
and my heart walks with you."
"You're giving him something small…
and I give you everything
without you noticing."
⸻
Sora stopped in front of Yamato,
but didn't raise her head right away.
She spoke softly,
her voice like a frightened heartbeat:
"I know…
you don't like surprises.
Or chocolate.
Or these silly moments."
She laughed nervously, then extended the box:
"But I made it for you.
I burned four batches before this one…
I thought I was practicing cooking,
but it seems…
I was practicing endurance."
⸻
Yamato looked at her for a long moment.
Then he smiled—
not a promise,
not a refusal,
just a gray line with no end.
"Thank you, Sora…
I'm… glad you're here."
His words were ordinary.
But Taichi, standing behind her,
heard them like a blade.
He stayed silent.
Smiled—
the way someone smiles
who has learned how to lose everything quietly.
He turned away slowly, thinking:
"If words loved me the way I love her,
they would say now:
'I'm the one who deserves your hand…
but I won't reach for it.'"
On Stage — 8:00 PM
The lights went dark for a moment—
then burst alive.
Applause.
Cheers.
Phone lights dancing above teenage heads.
That night,
The Teen-Age Wolves took the stage,
as if wolves no longer howled to forests—
but to hearts
that had lost their way.
Yamato stood at the front,
guitar on his shoulder,
microphone waiting.
His voice…
on the verge of being born.
⸻
In the front row, Sora stood,
eyes fixed on his silhouette,
as if seeing something new—
something she had never noticed before.
Was it passion?
The way he closed his eyes
when he touched the third string?
Or was she…
falling in love?
She smiled,
feeling a small tremor in her chest.
"What's happening to me?
This is Yamato…
the one I've known since childhood.
And suddenly, he feels distant…
and dazzling."
⸻
On stage,
Yamato struck the first note.
The song was new—
written a month ago—
yet now felt
far too familiar.
He sang:
"I see you in every melody…
in every silence between two notes…
and every night,
I lose myself…
searching for you."
His voice was strong.
But his heart?
It stumbled.
⸻
Amid the applause, the lights,
he saw Sora smiling at him—
and felt something warm.
But at the same moment…
another image rose in his mind:
Honey-colored hair.
Quick eyes.
A laughing voice saying:
'This melody sounds like me, right?'
"Mimi…"
He swallowed,
his timing faltering for a single second—
unnoticed by the crowd,
but to him,
it felt like an inner string snapping.
"Why did I think of her now?"
"Sora is here… real, warm."
"But why, in every note,
do I hear her voice?"
He finished the song in a powerful voice, and the crowd's applause almost drowned the stage.
He bowed slightly and smiled.
But when he lifted his head—he didn't search for anyone…
except for a face that wasn't there.
And in a sudden, fleeting moment—
a sharp scream cut through the air like a lightning wound.
A side Digimon gate exploded with a sound that terrified hearts,
and from it burst a huge, raging creature—
sparks flying from its eyes,
its roars shaking the ground,
its feet smashing the tiles of the courtyard
as if it were hunting for any random target to destroy.
The audience froze.
Then it erupted into chaos—running, screaming, panic everywhere.
Children cried.
Adults ran without direction.
And everything turned—
in a single heartbeat—
from music… into madness.
In the center of that storm…
Sora.
Standing like a statue in the path of terror.
Her eyes widened.
Her feet refused to move.
The beast charged straight toward her.
But before she could think,
before she could scream—
Yamato launched from his place like a hurricane.
"SORAAA!!"
He leapt without hesitation,
his body cutting through the distance
as if the air itself didn't exist.
He shoved her aside—hard—
and when she fell, she fell into his arms…
His chest rising and falling violently,
as if he had held the entire world in order to save her.
He pulled her close—
a madness that was somehow controlled,
a fear that never passed through words.
The scent of sweat,
the trembling of his shoulders,
and the sound of his heartbeat—
louder than the screams around them.
He whispered against her ear,
his voice breaking between tenderness and terror:
"I'm here…
I'm with you…
and nothing will hurt you while I'm alive."
After the Concert
In her quiet room, Sora sat before her phone.
The lights were dim,
and her hand trembled slightly above the screen.
She typed a message… then erased it.
Typed another… then hesitated.
Finally, she closed her eyes,
and let her finger press send:
"Thank you… for catching me.
I don't know why, but for a moment…
I felt like I wanted to stay in your arms… forever."
Minutes later…
the reply arrived.
Short.
Simple.
And painful.
"I'm just… glad you're okay."
She smiled at the words,
but something inside her cracked—
as if she reached for his heart
and it returned to her… only half of it.
⸻
As for him—
he turned his phone off after sending the message.
He sat on his bed, guitar beside him.
Closed his eyes…
but instead of hearing her voice,
he heard a different melody.
An older one.
A melody called:
"You."
Yamato shut off his phone screen.
Sat in the darkness of his room,
streetlight slipping in faintly, drawing a pale shadow on the wall.
He read Sora's message twice.
And made his reply as simple—
as cold—
as her honesty did not deserve.
"I'm just… glad you're okay."
But he wasn't okay.
Not really.
Yes—he felt something new for Sora:
a warm kind of care,
a calmness,
glances that weren't meaningless.
But every time he tried to take a step toward her…
a shadow stood in the middle.
Mimi's shadow.
He closed his eyes
and saw Mimi's old laughter in a voice recording:
"Michael invited me to a Digimon festival next week—
he says he needs me as his lucky charm!"
Then she laughed—
that laugh like an endless song—
"And can you believe it? I have an official fan now…
No, no, no—don't worry. No one can be like your band.
Almost."
Between the lines, he heard words she never wrote.
He saw her slowly pulling away,
as if she left her window open…
but never returned to look through it.
He thought:
"Maybe… she found her other half over there."
"Maybe… I was the one who waited too long."
And still—
he couldn't stop the guilt.
As if smiling at Sora
was a betrayal
of a name that still hadn't cooled in his memory.
Somewhere Else… In the Same City
In a small room where the walls were covered with band posters
and shoes worn no more than twice,
Mimi sat on her bed, twirling her pink hair around her finger,
talking to Kari on the phone—
chewing candy like guilt had never existed.
"Sora? Chocolate? For Mr. Yamato?"
Mimi raised an eyebrow like a dramatic heroine:
"Did we turn into a Korean drama now?!"
She laughed loudly, so loudly the candy fell from her mouth,
then added with exaggerated cheer:
"I swear the next step?
Sora will stand under the rain, play him a flute,
and scream: I love you, handsome band boy!"
Kari laughed too…
but she fell silent for a moment, then whispered with familiar mischief:
"Is jealousy wearing pink lipstick tonight?"
Mimi stopped.
For a second—without meaning to.
She blinked…
then laughed quickly, like someone running away from herself:
"Me? Jealous? Impossible!
I'm a civilized, balanced woman
who eats chocolate at dawn
and writes philosophical essays about lonely girls in foreign lands."
But her voice trembled… just a little.
Then she went quiet.
Kari caught the signal—
but didn't press.
She simply said softly:
"I just… wanted to make sure you're okay. That's all."
Mimi smiled,
even as her eyes began to shine.
"I'm fine.
It's just… today,
someone played a note…
and it sounded like our unfinished note."
After the call,
she set the phone aside
and threw herself onto the bed.
She buried her face in the pillow,
pressed down hard—trying to suffocate the tears.
But they burst out.
She cried…
Then she laughed.
Then she cried again.
And in the middle of that emotional madness,
she pulled out her pink notebook and wrote:
"They say your first love is unforgettable.
And I say:
it simply gets recycled into every sad song
you hear after midnight.
Tomorrow, I won't love.
I'll go to math class…
and pretend my heart only speaks equations."
At the same moment, in Tokyo…
in a room wrapped in silence
and a faint glow from the guitar hanging near the bed,
Yamato replayed an old recording.
Mimi's voice—
childish, sharp, slightly off-key.
But it was a beautiful off-key,
the kind that felt real.
He smiled.
Then whispered without realizing:
"Why do her songs sound like my heart?
Light… then scattered…
then they leave me alone."
New York: The City That Sleeps on the Moan of Hearts
Nights drifted over New York with a bitter slowness,
as if they walked on tiptoe
so they wouldn't wake what was sleeping in Mimi's heart.
For months now,
his calls had stopped.
His messages had shrunk.
And the small music files he used to send by email disappeared—
as if something decided to turn off their music in silence.
At first, Mimi laughed.
She laughed for a long time… too long…
until she feared laughter would turn into sobbing.
"He's just busy… maybe."
she whispered to herself,
applying a pink face mask—
as if layering a new skin over her heart.
But truth—
as it always does—
knocked on her door
at the worst possible time.
Midnight Call
Her phone rang in the stillness of the room.
Mimi answered with tired sleepiness:
"Taichi? At this hour?
If it's the end of the world, please…
tell me after I finish my pink mask."
He laughed softly—
a pale laugh that sounded like him—
then said slowly:
"Mimi… I needed to tell you something."
She fell silent, sat up, pulled her pillow to her chest,
as if preparing for something heavy.
Taichi spoke in a voice she had never heard before—
a voice like someone who found the truth after a long illusion:
"I always thought Yamato loved you, Mimi."
She stared at the wall,
as if her heartbeat paused
just to listen.
"I saw the way he looked at you—
the way he never looked at anyone else.
Every time you laughed, every time you came closer…
I saw his nervousness.
His eyes… I thought it was obvious."
He sighed, as if the words were tearing him apart:
"So I kept my feelings for Sora to myself…
waiting for the right time.
I love her—yes, I do.
But I thought things would end between you and Yamato.
I saw you in his eyes… I wasn't imagining it."
He went quiet, then added bitterly:
"But when Sora confessed to him…
he didn't hesitate.
And for the first time,
his heart didn't stumble near you anymore—
it settled with her."
Mimi stared into nothingness,
Taichi's voice reaching her like a thin thread
pulling at something breaking slowly inside.
He said quietly:
"Do you know what hurts?
Realizing your heart was never truly seen.
I was only the emergency exit—
no one looks at it…
until every door is closed."
Instead of answering with comforting words,
Mimi suddenly said:
"You know… I thought you loved spicy noodles?!"
Taichi fell silent.
And her heart fell silent with him.
Then she let out a small laugh—
nervous, shaky, half-tear, half-air:
"Oh no… Taichi, I'm sorry.
That's the worst response in the history of responses.
My brain is running on backup battery…
and it's very, very low!"
Her voice trembled,
yet she forced brightness:
"I… I thought Yamato… he—"
But the sentence didn't finish.
She stood up suddenly,
as if her heart shouted: run.
"I need to do something crazy…
something unacademic, illogical…
like singing!"
She rushed to her closet, grabbed a blue jacket with golden stars,
threw it over her pink pajamas,
and put on sneakers that didn't match any season.
"Taichi? If I don't come back, tell everyone
I went to scream on Broadway…
or sing a sad song to the Statue of Liberty!"
Taichi laughed—
but it was a sad laugh—
then he said softly:
"Mimi… don't leave everything behind.
Even your heart… take it with you. Please."
She replied as she closed the door:
"My heart?
I left it in Japan, Taichi…
under the school tree…
with a withered flower and a name that was never spoken."
And she left.
New York — 2:00 AM
The air was cold.
The street almost empty.
Mimi stood in the middle of the sidewalk,
opened her arms, and screamed:
"YAMATOOO!!
If you can hear me…
know that I'm singing off-key right now—
and I'm not sorry!"
Then she sang.
A Japanese romantic song,
voice trembling, breath broken.
A cat passed by, and she shouted at it:
"Even you have someone, right?!
Someone you meow for?!"
She sat down on the sidewalk, pulled out her phone,
and recorded in a hoarse voice:
"To the day I forget I loved you.
To my heart…
that betrayed me the moment it believed you were mine."
She sent the recording… to herself.
And whispered:
"Tomorrow… I'll be fine.
But tonight?
Let me cry in music."
Golden Week Holiday: A Return to the Roots
The invitation arrived
like a breeze in a summer evening that refused to end:
"Your cousin's wedding. Come back to Tokyo."
She didn't think.
Didn't check her schedule. Didn't ask about tickets.
She packed everything that belonged to her:
her colors, her laughter, her strange sunglasses,
and a pink ribbon she hadn't used in two years.
As if something inside her said:
"It's time to return to your first heart."
When her feet touched Tokyo again,
she felt the city look at her and say:
"Welcome back, the girl who made us laugh out loud… then vanished."
She breathed in the old Japanese air
as if it were the perfume of her childhood.
She tasted the sunlight like the first candy of her life.
And she didn't head to the hall or the hotel—
she went to the first place that taught her how to be her:
Her old school.
Tokyo was sleeping inside Golden Week,
but the trees were awake,
whistling their leaves like whispers:
"You're back, our runaway flower… we missed you."
And there—under the great tree
that witnessed their first war over the last piece of cake—
she saw them.
Kari… and Takeru.
Laughing softly,
sharing time as if nothing had changed.
Mimi gasped.
Then she ran.
Her pink dress fluttered like it wanted to fly on its own,
and her new hair—pink with shameless courage—
shone in the light as if announcing to the world:
"I'm back… with an identity crisis and more colors than necessary!"
Kari screamed, eyes wide as the universe:
"MIMIIIII!!"
She jumped toward her as if gravity didn't exist
and hugged her like comets hug planets—
fast, fierce, strong enough to melt absence.
"You dyed your hair?! That color?! Again?!"
Mimi laughed, spinning:
"I wanted to look like bubblegum!
But the luxury kind—
not the one sold in front of the station!"
Takeru ran a hand through his blond hair, stunned:
"You look like a star from an anime that hasn't aired yet!"
Mimi raised her brows proudly and whispered, hands on her waist:
"I'm always an indie anime—
no budget, no logic…
but my audience is loyal!"
Kari looked at her, then said honestly:
"You didn't change."
But the truth?
Mimi had changed a lot.
Only today,
she decided to tuck that change into her pocket…
and dance in the garden of memory
the way she always used to.
And between the old school tree
and a pink dress freed from absence—
Mimi was returning…
not only to Tokyo,
but to a version of her heart
that tried to sing in her place…
and failed.
Reader Questions
🧡 Do you think Yamato still loves Mimi… after everything?
🎸 If you were Sora, would you have confessed to Yamato before the concert?
🌸 What moment affected you most in this chapter—and why?