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The lobby of the mental hospital was filled with activity, a huge difference to the quiet monotony Sakura had grown accustomed to over the past twelve years.
Nurses hurried past with clipboards in hand, patients shuffled by with distant gazes, and the low sound of conversations filled the air.
Sakura stood frozen near the exit, her breath catching in her throat as the reality of her release set in.
Dressed in comfortable yet stylish clothes—a beige cardigan over a simple white shirt and black pants—she tugged nervously at the hem of her sleeves.
It was the first time in over a decade that she wasn’t wearing the hospital’s uniform.
Her once long and natural hair was now dyed in streaks of pink and blue, a result of countless afternoons spent convincing one of the younger doctors to let her experiment with colors.
The vibrancy of her hair stood out against the dull tones of the hospital walls, but it suited her. It was a reminder that even in solitude, she had tried to find small joys to hold onto.
She adjusted the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, carrying all the belongings she had accumulated during her stay.
This place had been her entire world since she was just 15—a fragile girl lost in her own mind, sent here after high school finished, when the weight of everything became too much to bear.
And now, at 25 and nearly thirty, she was stepping into the world again, but everything felt so… overwhelming.
The faces around her were unfamiliar, bustling and bright, compared to the few steady presences she’d interacted with for years. The air felt better, freer, but it pressed on her chest in a way she didn’t expect.
“Miss Miyawaki,” A nurse called from behind the counter, snapping Sakura out of her daze.
She turned to see the woman holding out a stack of papers—her release documents.
Sakura gave a small, nervous smile as she stepped forward. “Thank you,” She said softly, her voice trembling.
The nurse’s expression was warm, but there was a tinge of concern in her eyes. “You’ll be fine out there,” She said, almost as if trying to reassure herself as much as Sakura. “Take it one step at a time. The apartment isn't that far, the address is right on the paper. Be safe, okay?”
Sakura nodded, clutching the papers to her chest. One step at a time. That was all she could do.
The hospital was loud—too loud. Sakura shuffled through the crowd near the exit, keeping her head down.
Nurses brushed past her, patients mumbled to themselves, and the phone at the front desk wouldn’t stop ringing.
“Just keep walking,” She muttered under her breath, tightening her grip on her bag. Her feet felt heavy, like they didn’t want to move. “You’ve waited twelve years for this. Don’t stop now.”
The door loomed ahead, sunlight streaming through the glass. With a deep breath, she pushed it open.
Outside.
It was colder than she expected, and the air smelled different—cleaner, freshee. She took a shaky step forward, glancing around.
Cars zipped by on the street.
People walked past in every direction, talking, laughing, staring at their phones.
It was too much.
Too fast.
She took a step back.
Her hand instinctively tugged at her cardigan, a flimsy shield against the world. She adjusted her bag, the weight of it grounding her.
“The apartment,” She reminded herself. “Just get to the apartment.”
The nurses had told her it was hers—her old place. The one her parents had bought her when she turned 18. They hadn’t mentioned that was also when they’d signed her away to the hospital.
That thought made her stomach twist.
Twelve years. Someone had been taking care of the place all this time. She didn’t know who, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.
But the thought of going straight there felt suffocating. Her throat was dry, her legs weak. She needed a break. Something familiar.
Her eyes landed on a small convenience store across the street. The thought of food—a snack, anything—gave her an excuse to pause.
She crossed the street carefully, her steps hesitant. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, and the warm smell of instant noodles and packaged bread hit her nose.
She hovered near the entrance, scanning the aisles. A handful of people moved around, picking up snacks and drinks, chatting with the cashier. It felt… normal.
Too normal.
Sakura shuffled toward the refrigerated section, grabbing a bottle of water and a sandwich without really looking. She clutched them in her hands like they were lifelines.
The cashier gave her a polite smile as she approached the counter. “Is that all for you today?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her voice felt stuck, her throat tight. She nodded quickly instead, handing over a crumpled bill from her bag. Thank goodness for her parents and the staff at the hospital.
“Change is 200 yen. Have a nice day.”
She took the coins with a shaky hand, mumbling, “Thanks,” before hurrying out of the store.
The air hit her again, fresh and cold, as she stood on the sidewalk with her bag and snacks. Her heart was racing.
“Okay,” She whispered, taking a sip of water to steady herself. “I can do this.”
The apartment was just a few blocks away now. She could picture it in her mind—dark, quiet, familiar. It didn’t feel like hers anymore, but it was a place to start.
Sakura walked with slow, measured steps, the sandwich unopened in her hand.
The streets were bustling, but she stuck to the edges of the sidewalks, avoiding the crowds as much as she could.
Every now and then, she caught snippets of conversations or the sound of laughter, and it made her chest tighten.
“Almost there,” She mumbled, keeping her eyes on the path ahead.
The directions from the nurses were etched into her mind, and soon enough, the towering apartment complex came into view. Her steps came to a stop as she looked up.
It was nothing like she thought.
The buildings were sleek, modern, with glass balconies that reflected the late afternoon sunlight. The entrance was gated, and two security guards stood on either side, their uniforms neat, their expressions stoic.
A keypad gleamed next to the gate, with a small speaker for visitors.
“Why does it look so… expensive?” She whispered, clutching her bag tighter.
Her gaze shifted to the large, bold numbers on the side of each building. They were clean and prominent, meant to make navigation easier, but to Sakura, they felt imposing.
“Building 5,” She muttered, repeating what the nurse had told her. Her legs felt heavier with each step as she moved past the guards.
They didn’t stop her, only giving her a brief glance before returning to their stance.
Once inside the gate, she kept her head down, walking past the rows of buildings. Everything looked strange—too strange.
The kind of place where neighbors didn’t know each other but kept their lawns perfect and their doors locked.
She found Building 5, the bold number staring down at her like a challenge. Her fingers brushed against the strap of her bag as she stopped near the entrance.
But she didn’t go in. Not yet.
Instead, she turned and kept walking. Her sneakers scuffed lightly against the pavement as she moved toward the edge of the complex, away from the noise of the city. The further she walked, the quieter it became.
She found a bench tucked beneath a tree and sat down, dropping her bag at her feet. Her fingers fumbled with the sandwich wrapper, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. After a one sided debate in her mind, she opened it, taking small bites.
The quiet was nice. A little too nice, maybe, but it was better than all the stares and noise.
For the first time since stepping outside the hospital, she let herself breathe.
“I’m really out,” She whispered, staring at her hands. “It doesn’t feel real.”
She leaned back, her head resting against the tree trunk. Her eyes closed for a moment, blocking out everything around her.
But the thought of the apartment stayed. It wasn’t just a place to sleep—it was supposed to be her past selves' future, a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.
“Just go inside,” She told herself, opening her eyes. But her body didn’t move.
Not yet.
Sakura finally finished her snack, wiping the crumbs off her fingers with a quiet sigh. She could feel the weight of the world on her shoulders, the heaviness of everything waiting for her in that apartment, but she pushed it down.
Standing up, she picked up her bag, adjusted her cardigan, and made her way back toward the building. The stairs were just as clean and silent as everything else in this place. The soft clack of her sneakers on the steps echoed in the empty hallway.
She reached the second floor, her feet dragging as she walked toward her apartment number, 204.
Sakura finally made her way up the stairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.
As she reached the second floor, the heavy feeling in her chest seemed to grow, but she took a deep breath, trying to push it away. Her mind kept circling back to the apartment.
The nurses had told her everything was ready for her, that the apartment was “hers,” but all she could focus on now was getting inside, being alone, and figuring out what came next.
When she reached the door labeled 204, she stopped, her hand hovering over the doorknob. But something stopped her—someone was sitting by the door.
It was a girl, and she was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall near the entrance. Her legs were crossed, and she seemed so peaceful, so comfortable in the space. Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders, framed by bangs that barely brushed her eyebrows.
Her face was gentle, with soft features, but her eyes were the most striking.
They were a dove-like gray, and when she looked up at Sakura, it felt as if the whole world paused.
For a second, Sakura thought she saw stars in the girl’s eyes.
It was almost as if she was looking at her like she hung the stars herself, there was so much love and admiration in her gaze that Sakura couldn’t look away.
Sakura stood frozen, unsure of what to do, unsure of why the girl seemed so familiar, even though she couldn’t place her face.
Kazuha’s eyes softened, and she slowly got to her feet, brushing off her jeans with a casual gesture before taking a few steps toward Sakura.
“Hi,” Kazuha greeted softly, her voice warm, but with a certain edge of hope that caught Sakura off guard. “You’re Miyawaki Sakura, right?”
Sakura blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I am.” She was about to ask how Kazuha knew her name, but before she could get the words out, the girl’s smile widened, and she took a small step closer, her gaze not leaving Sakura’s face for a moment.
But the moment stretched longer than Sakura was comfortable with. She shifted slightly, her heart racing for reasons she didn’t fully understand. “Uh… do I know you?” she asked, frowning slightly as she searched the girl’s face.
The smile on Kazuha’s face faltered, just for a moment.
Her eyes, once full of light, seemed to fade ever so slightly, as if a small part of her had been crushed by the question.
There was a shift in the air between them—something fragile, something painful.
Her voice was still soft, but now there was a hint of hurt. “I—I’m your girlfriend, Sakura,” She said, her words tentative, as if she was trying to hold onto something that was slipping through her fingers. “I’ve been your girlfriend since high school. It's me, Kazuha. Nakamura Kazuha.”
Sakura’s chest tightened. She blinked a few times, trying to process the words, but they didn’t make sense to her.
The name felt familiar, but there was no recognition when she looked at Kazuha. She shook her head slowly.
“I don’t—I don’t remember you,” Sakura whispered, her voice wavering as she spoke the words that caused the last trace of a smile to vanish from Kazuha’s face.
The love in Kazuha’s eyes was replaced by something deeper—something almost impossible to describe. It was hurt, pure and raw, but there was also a sense of disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand why Sakura didn’t remember her, why everything she felt, everything they had shared, seemed to be forgotten.
But Kazuha didn’t let go.
Instead, she took another step closer, her eyes holding onto Sakura as if she could reach her through the pain.
“It’s okay,” She said, her voice still gentle. “You might not remember now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll remind you, Sakura. I’ll remind you of everything we had. I promise.”
Sakura opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She wanted to say something—anything—but there was nothing that made sense, no words that could ease the ache in her chest or explain the confusion swirling in her mind.
Kazuha’s smile twitched, but she quickly steadied herself, as if she refused to let the moment slip away. She stepped a little closer, the warmth still in her eyes despite the sting of disappointment.
“It’s okay,” Kazuha said softly, her voice steady but laced with quiet conviction. “You might not remember now, but I’ll remind you, Sakura. I’ll remind you of everything we had. I promise.”
Sakura felt a strange warmth flood her chest at her words, but it was mixed with confusion. She wanted to say something, to ask more, but the weight of it all was so heavy.
Still, she nodded slowly, unsure of how to react, unsure of what was real or what was being pulled from the depths of her foggy memory.
Kazuha’s expression softened, and she reached out gently, placing a hand on the door handle. “Come inside,” She said, her voice like a quiet invitation. “I know it’s a lot, but you don’t have to be alone. I want to be here for you.”
But Sakura hesitated. There was something comforting about Kazuha’s presence, something she couldn’t quite place but wanted to feel more of.
Maybe it was the kindness in her eyes, the way she spoke with such certainty, or the way she seemed to already know Sakura in a way no one else had.
Without thinking, Sakura found herself nodding. “Okay,” She murmured, stepping forward as Kazuha swung the door open, revealing the warmth of the apartment inside.
The apartment was quiet and simple, yet there was a softness to it—a sense of familiarity that made Sakura feel, in some strange way, like she belonged. The walls were lined with photos, most of them with two smiling girls in the frame—her and Kazuha.
There were also others, some people she didn't recognize.
Sakura stepped inside without a second thought, her eyes scanning the room, almost trying to piece together some missing part of herself.
She didn’t question how Kazuha had keys to the apartment, how she knew where to find her, or why she seemed so familiar.
The thoughts felt distant—drowned out by the comfort of being in a place that felt, in some strange way, like home.
Kazuha closed the door behind them, her eyes never leaving Sakura’s face. “It’s been a while since we’ve been here together,” She said, like the words themselves were a memory slipping through her fingers.
Sakura didn’t answer, still caught up in the strangeness of the moment, but she followed Kazuha’s movements as she led her further into the apartment. It felt strange, almost like a dream she didn’t understand.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Kazuha said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get you something to drink. It’s been too long, hasn’t it? I’m sure you’re thirsty after everything.”
Sakura sat on the couch, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric of the cushions as she absorbed in the quiet state of the apartment.
Everything about this place seemed so normal, so… domestic, and yet nothing made sense.
Kazuha returned with a glass of water, handing it to Sakura with a soft smile. “You don’t have to remember everything right now,” She said gently, sitting beside her. “But I’ll remind you, bit by bit. I’ll show you all the memories we’ve shared, everything we’ve been through. I’ll remind you that you’re not alone, okay?”
Sakura looked at the glass in her hand, the cool water calming her nerves.
She didn’t remember anything Kazuha was saying, but the way Kazuha looked at her—like she meant it, like she knew Sakura better than she knew herself—was enough to keep her grounded for now.
“Okay,” Sakura whispered, her voice soft, uncertain. “Okay, Kazuha.”
And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the world was closing in on her. It didn’t feel so overwhelming, just… calm. It felt nice.
Kazuha smiled again, her hand brushing against Sakura’s. “I’ll be here,” She promised, her voice steady with the weight of years gone by. “And I’ll remind you of everything we had.”
Sakura looked at Kazuha, a quiet warmth blooming in her chest. She still didn’t understand, but for the first time since she stepped outside that hospital, she wasn’t alone anymore.
The next few days were a mix of cautious steps and quiet moments.
Sakura spent most of her time adjusting to the world outside the hospital, they still contacted her from time to time, otherwise, letting her live.
While wanting to navigate the strange reality of freedom, she didn’t venture far from the apartment, and when she did, it was usually with Kazuha by her side.
Kazuha, for her part, was endlessly patient. She didn’t push, didn’t overwhelm Sakura with questions or stories. Instead, she seemed to observe, carefully attuning herself to Sakura’s needs.
One afternoon, they decided to go to a small café nearby. It wasn’t too crowded, just a handful of people scattered across tables, but Sakura felt her chest tighten as they walked in. The noise—the faint sound of conversation, the clinking of cups—felt louder than it should.
Sakura paused near the door, her eyes scanning the room. Her hands gripped the strap of her bag tightly, her breathing growing shallow.
“Sakura?” Kazuha’s voice was soft, steady, cutting through the noise like a lifeline. She stood close but not too close, her hands visibly at her sides, making no sudden moves. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
Sakura shook her head quickly, her throat dry. “No, I just—I need a minute.”
Kazuha nodded, her gaze never leaving Sakura’s face. “Okay. Take your time.” She stepped back slightly, giving Sakura space, but stayed close enough to offer reassurance.
Sakura took a deep breath, trying to ground herself. The way Kazuha waited, her body language calm and open, made something in Sakura’s chest loosen. She nodded after a moment, and Kazuha smiled softly.
“Let’s sit by the window,” Kazuha suggested, leading the way to a quiet corner of the café. She didn’t touch Sakura, didn’t reach for her hand, but she glanced back to make sure Sakura was following.
When they sat down, Kazuha asked gently, “Do you want me to order for you, or would you rather go up together?”
Sakura hesitated. “Can you order for me?”
“Of course.” Kazuha smiled before heading to the counter, leaving Sakura to sit by the window, watching the world outside.
Moments like these happened often. Kazuha seemed to sense when Sakura was overwhelmed, stepping in just enough to help without overstepping. She always asked first, always made sure Sakura was comfortable before doing anything.
It wasn’t long before Sakura started to notice the little things—how Kazuha would make sure to sit beside her, not across, when they ate together.
How she would keep her voice soft when Sakura seemed tense.
How she would never touch her without asking, even if it was just a hand on her shoulder.
One evening, as they sat in the living room, Sakura found herself staring at Kazuha. The other girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone.
Her face was relaxed, her lips curved in a faint smile as she absentmindedly hummed a tune.
“Kazuha,” Sakura said suddenly, her voice quieter than she intended.
Kazuha looked up immediately, her eyes lighting up at the sound of her name. “Yeah?”
Sakura hesitated, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words. “You’re really careful with me. I mean, the way you are around me. Why?”
Kazuha tilted her head slightly, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I care about you,” She said simply. “I know it’s a lot for you right now, and I don’t want to do anything that makes it harder.”
Sakura’s chest tightened at her words. There was no hesitation in Kazuha’s tone, no doubt. Just quiet, unwavering care.
“But what if…” Sakura looked down, her hands curling into fists on her lap. “What if I never remember? What if I never become the person you loved again?”
Kazuha’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, careful not to invade Sakura’s space. “You’re still the person I love,” She said gently. “You’re still my Sakura. Whether you remember or not, that doesn’t change how I feel.”
The guilt Sakura had been trying to ignore rose to the surface, hot and overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” She whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”
Kazuha reached out, stopping just short of touching Sakura’s hand. “Don’t apologize,” She said. “None of this is your fault. We’ll figure it out together, okay? You’re not alone in this.”
Sakura looked at her, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Kazuha’s words, her patience, the way she looked at Sakura as if she were the most important person in the world—it was enough to make Sakura believe, even if only for a moment, that maybe Kazuha really was her girlfriend.
And that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to lose her.
The silence between them stretched for a moment, heavy with unsaid words. Sakura’s hands fidgeted in her lap, her mind a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t quite place. She took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she broke the quiet.
“Kazuha,” she started softly, not daring to meet her eyes. “I want to try again. I want to try loving you again.”
Kazuha’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing as her lips parted slightly in surprise. She stared at Sakura for a long moment before shaking her head slowly, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotions.
“Sakura,” Kazuha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I’m not doing it just for you,” Sakura replied quickly, her voice shaky but earnest. “I mean… maybe I am. But I also feel like I’m missing something. Like there’s this part of me that’s been ripped away, and every time I look at you, I feel like it’s right there, just out of reach.”
Kazuha’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her hands clenching slightly on her knees. “I can’t let you do that, Sakura. Not if it’s because you feel like you owe me something. Not if it’s because I told you we were together.” She turned her gaze back to Sakura, her eyes filled with both love and pain.
“Loving someone... it has to come from you,” Kazuha continued, her voice thick with emotion. “Completely. Against your own will, even, because your heart doesn’t give you a choice. That’s the kind of love we had, and it’s the kind of love I want for you. Not something forced or out of guilt.”
Sakura swallowed hard, her throat tightening as Kazuha’s words sank in.
“But...” She started, her voice faltering. “What if I never get there? What if I can’t love you the way you deserve?”
Kazuha smiled softly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then I’ll accept that,” She said quietly. “I won’t force you, Sakura. I won’t pressure you to feel something you don’t. But if you want to try, I won’t stop you. I just—I don’t know if I can handle it, knowing you’re trying to love me because of what I said, not because it’s what you truly feel.”
Her words were like a knife to Sakura’s chest, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She hated the way Kazuha’s voice shook, the way her hands trembled slightly as she tried to keep her composure.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sakura whispered.
“I know,” Kazuha said softly. “And that’s why I’ll be here, no matter what. But, Sakura, promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself first,” Kazuha said, her eyes locking with Sakura’s. “Heal your heart. Find your place in the world again. And if, after all that, you find yourself wanting to love me—not because of what I said, but because it’s what you feel—then I’ll be waiting. Always.”
Sakura blinked rapidly, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her attempts to hold them back. She nodded slowly, unable to find the words to respond.
Kazuha reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before resting gently on Sakura’s. “It’s okay,” She said softly. “We’ll figure this out together. No rush, no pressure. Just… take it one step at a time.”
Sakura felt hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“Okay,” She muttered, her voice barely audible. “One step at a time.”
Kazuha smiled again, this time with a hint of warmth, and Sakura felt like maybe—just maybe—they could make this work.
The days that followed were unlike anything Sakura had ever experienced.
Kazuha seemed to have shifted into a higher gear, her every action flowing with purpose and care. It wasn’t overbearing—it was thoughtful. It was deliberate. And Sakura noticed.
On a particularly clear night, Kazuha led Sakura up a quiet hill, a cozy blanket tucked under her arm and a thermos of warm tea in her hand.
When they reached the top, the sky stretched endlessly above them, the stars scattered like glitter on dark velvet.
They sat there for hours, sipping tea and pointing out constellations. Kazuha’s enthusiasm was contagious, her voice rising with excitement every time she spotted something new.
Another time, Kazuha took her to a small, tucked-away restaurant that served the most delicious food Sakura had ever tasted.
She noticed how Kazuha carefully scanned the menu beforehand, avoiding anything that might overwhelm her.
Sakura smiled to herself, realizing that Kazuha had remembered her comment about feeling uneasy in crowded places.
Then there was the car. It wasn’t flashy—just a simple, comfortable car that fit them both perfectly.
Kazuha had surprised her with it after Sakura offhandedly mentioned her dislike for long walks.
At first, Sakura protested, feeling guilty that Kazuha had gone out of her way to make such a big purchase. But Kazuha had just laughed it off, saying, “It’s just a car, Sakura. You’re the big deal.”
Sakura found herself smiling more than she had in years, especially when Kazuha let her goofy side shine.
She would crack ridiculous jokes—ones that didn’t even make sense—but somehow, they were hilarious because of the way Kazuha delivered them.
Sometimes, she’d mimic Shin Chan, slipping into an exaggerated voice that left Sakura clutching her sides from laughing too hard.
But what struck Sakura the most was how Kazuha started to share stories from their past, her voice always filled with warmth and nostalgia.
“Do you remember how we met?” Kazuha asked one evening as they sat in the living room, sharing a tub of ice cream.
Sakura shook her head, the now-familiar pang of guilt settling in her chest. “Not really,” She admitted softly.
Kazuha grinned, her eyes lighting up. “We met in high school. You were a first-year, and I’d just skipped a bunch of grades to join as a freshman. I was on the soccer team, and you hated me from the moment we bumped into each other in the hallway.”
Sakura’s brows furrowed. “I hated you?”
“Completely,” Kazuha said with a laugh. “You glared at me like I’d stolen your lunch money or something. Every time you saw me, you’d throw some insult my way. I think you called me a ‘beautiful yet obnoxious jock’ at one point.”
Sakura’s lips twitched despite herself. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Oh, it was you,” Kazuha teased, leaning back with a smirk. “But I didn’t mind. I thought you were cute. And then one day, under the bleachers, you confessed your feelings to me.”
Sakura’s eyes widened. “I did what?”
“You were so nervous,” Kazuha said, her tone softening. “You tried to play it off like it was some kind of joke, but I knew you meant it. And when you said it… I felt like the luckiest person in the world.”
Sakura stared at her, her heart twisting. She didn’t remember any of it, but hearing Kazuha recount the story made her chest ache with a strange feeling.
“You’ve been trying so hard,” Sakura murmured after a long pause. “To make me happy.”
Kazuha looked at her, her expression unreadable for a moment before she smiled gently. “I just want you to feel safe,” She said. “And if I can make you laugh or feel even a little bit of the happiness you deserve, then it’s worth it.”
Sakura blinked back the sting of tears, her throat tightening. She hadn’t realized just how much effort Kazuha had been putting in, how deeply she cared. Sakura felt something stir in her chest—something warm and hopeful.
The first tear slipped down Sakura’s cheek before she could stop it. She quickly tried to wipe it away, but the floodgates had already opened.
Her chest tightened, and the soft sobs she’d been holding back came spilling out.
Kazuha’s smile faded when she noticed, her eyes widening in alarm. “Sakura, hey—” She started, her voice soft and panicked. She leaned forward slightly, her hands hovering uncertainly in the air.
She wanted to do something—wipe away the tears, hold her, say something comforting—but she froze, unsure if she could.
Her gaze darted between Sakura’s tear-streaked face and her own trembling hands. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask if she could comfort her, but no words came out.
Her hesitation stretched into silence, her shoulders tensing as the seconds passed.
Then, to her surprise, Sakura moved.
Without saying a word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Kazuha, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Kazuha stiffened, shocked by the sudden contact. But when Sakura buried her face in her shoulder, her sobs muffled against her, Kazuha’s instincts took over.
She carefully brought her arms around Sakura, holding her close as though she were something fragile and precious. “It’s okay,” Kazuha murmured, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Sakura’s grip tightened as if she were afraid Kazuha might slip away. The warmth of her touch, the way her body shook in Kazuha’s arms, all of it made Kazuha’s heart ache. She pressed her cheek against Sakura’s head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to hold it in, okay? Let it out. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words seemed to unlock something in Sakura. Her sobs grew louder, her tears soaking into Kazuha’s shirt. Kazuha didn’t care.
She just held her, one hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back while the other rested lightly against her hair.
Minutes passed, the room filled only with the sound of Sakura’s cries and Kazuha’s soft reassurances.
Slowly, Sakura’s sobs quieted, her breathing evening out. But she didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” Sakura whispered, her voice hoarse.
Kazuha shook her head, tightening her hold just slightly. “Don’t be. You don’t have to apologize for feeling this way.”
Sakura stayed quiet for a moment before murmuring, “You’re too good to me.”
Kazuha pulled back just enough to look at her, her hands still resting gently on Sakura’s shoulders.
Her eyes searched Sakura’s face, and when she spoke, her voice was firm. “You deserve someone to be good to you. And I’ll keep being here, for as long as you’ll let me. For as long as you'll have me.”
Sakura’s lips trembled, but she nodded, her tears starting to dry. For the first time, she felt a sliver of peace, knowing Kazuha was there to catch her whenever she fell.
Kazuha held her for as long as Sakura needed, her hand still gently rubbing her back.
She rested her chin on top of Sakura’s head, letting the silence between them settle into something comforting rather than heavy.
When she felt Sakura’s breathing even out, Kazuha glanced at the clock on the wall.
It was getting late, and Sakura must’ve been exhausted. Clearing her throat softly, she leaned back a little, her voice low and careful.
“Hey,” She murmured. “It’s pretty late. Do you want to get some sleep?”
Sakura hesitated for a moment before nodding, her face still half-hidden against Kazuha’s shoulder.
Kazuha smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Sakura’s face. “Okay,” She said, but instead of letting her go, she shifted her arms, one sliding under Sakura’s thighs and the other steadying her back.
Before Sakura could process what was happening, Kazuha stood, lifting her effortlessly into her arms. Sakura’s eyes widened slightly, but the weight of exhaustion kept her from protesting.
“You good?” Kazuha asked, glancing down at her.
“Yeah,” Sakura mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kazuha adjusted her hold slightly, careful to keep Sakura steady, and made her way toward the bedroom. When she reached the door, she stopped, looking down at the girl in her arms. “Can I go in?”
Sakura blinked up at her, surprised by the question. But she nodded, the corners of her lips lifting faintly in something close to a smile. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
Kazuha pushed the door open with her foot, stepping inside and carefully navigating the space. The room was simple but cozy, a reflection of Sakura’s taste, even if she hadn’t been the one maintaining it all these years.
She walked over to the bed and gently set Sakura down, making sure she was comfortable before straightening up. “There,” Kazuha said with slight pride, brushing her hands off like she’d completed some grand task. “All settled in.”
Sakura looked up at her, something warm and grateful shining in her eyes. “Thank you, you didn't have to.” She mumbled.
Kazuha shrugged, her tone light. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?” She grinned, then leaned down, pulling the blanket up over Sakura. “You get some rest, okay? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
But before she could step away, Sakura reached out, grabbing her wrist. “Stay,” She said, her voice quiet, somewhat scared.
Kazuha froze for a moment, then nodded, her expression softening. “Okay,” She murmured, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “I’ll stay.”
And as Sakura’s eyes fluttered closed, her breathing slowing, Kazuha sat by her side, watching over her like she’d done so many times before.
Sakura stirred awake, the faint morning light from the curtains making her start to wake. For a moment, she laid still, letting the warmth of the blanket and the softness of the pillow lull her back into comfort. But something felt different.
She blinked her eyes open fully, glancing around her room. Her breath hitched when she noticed it.
In the corner of her room, where there had once been nothing but an empty desk, now stood a fully equipped gaming setup.
A sleek monitor, a mechanical keyboard with colorful lights, a high-quality gaming chair, and even a pair of headphones hanging on the side. It was almost overwhelming in its perfection.
Sakura sat up slowly, her eyes drawn to the small note placed neatly on her bedside table. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked it up.
The small note made her heart flutter.
“You used to love playing games, and you were so good at it! For you, Kkura. I hope it's still something you enjoy <3.”
Sakura stared at the note for a long moment, her chest tightening. The heart at the end, the affectionate nickname… It was all so Kazuha.
Her gaze flicked back to the gaming setup. Memories she couldn’t quite piece together flickered in her mind.
Did she really love gaming? Was she good at it? It felt like such a distant part of herself, but the care Kazuha had put into setting this up was undeniable.
She slipped out of bed, the cool floor beneath her feet grounding her as she walked over to the desk. Her fingers grazed the edge of the keyboard, the faint wiring of the computer a gentle reminder of how alive the space felt now.
Sakura smiled softly, clutching the note to her chest. “Kazuha...” She looked up.
She turned, looking around the room, but Kazuha was nowhere to be found. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant noise of the city outside.
“Where did you go…?” She murmured, her chest aching with a mix of gratitude and longing.
She sat down in the gaming chair, the memory of Kazuha’s smile flashing in her mind. “You always know how to make me feel cared for,” She said softly, her voice filled with emotion.
Sakura didn’t know how long she sat there, just taking in the setup and the note. But one thing was clear—Kazuha was trying, in every little way, to bring her pieces back together. And for that, Sakura felt more than hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could find herself again.
The sound of the door opening broke Sakura's thoughts. She turned to see Kazuha stepping into the room, her hair tied up in a loose bun, dressed in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants.
She was carrying a tray with a simple yet thoughtful breakfast. Toast, scrambled eggs, and a small cup of yogurt on the side.
Kazuha smiled softly when their eyes met, her tone light and cheerful. “Good morning, gorgeous. Thought you might want something to eat.”
Sakura blinked in surprise, touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to, Zuha. Thank you.”
Kazuha placed the tray on the desk beside the gaming setup and took a step back, her hands slipping into her hoodie pockets. “It’s nothing. You need your energy.”
Sakura glanced at the tray and then back at Kazuha. “But… where’s yours?” She asked, noticing there was only one plate.
Kazuha froze for a moment, the question seemingly catching her off guard. Her body tensed, and she shifted awkwardly, avoiding Sakura’s gaze. “Don’t worry about me,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I, uh… I already ate earlier. Just focus on your breakfast while it’s still hot.”
Sakura frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. Something about Kazuha’s response didn’t sit right with her. “Kazuha…” She began.
But before she could press further, Kazuha quickly turned to leave the room. “I’ll be right back,” She said over her shoulder, her voice steady but clipped.
Sakura stared after her, the door clicking shut softly behind her. Her appetite started to go away as she replayed the exchange in her mind. Kazuha’s usual personality had been replaced by something… guarded. And that look in her eyes—the way she avoided answering directly—left an uneasy feeling in Sakura’s chest.
She glanced down at the tray of food, her stomach twisting. Whatever Kazuha was holding back, Sakura could feel it was significant.
And the thought of her carrying something alone, just to take care of her, only made the guilt she’d been suppressing bubble up even more.
Sakura picked up the fork, deciding to eat despite the knot in her stomach. If Kazuha was going through something, then Sakura would find a way to help her, just like Kazuha was.
A little while later, Kazuha reappeared, her usual smile back in place as she held a small box wrapped neatly in pastel-colored paper. She entered the room quietly, careful not to disturb Sakura as she finished the last bite of her breakfast.
“I brought you something earlier,” Kazuha said softly, walking over and placing the box beside the empty tray. Her eyes were warm but tinged with a hint of nervousness. “It’s a gift. Something small, but… I thought you’d like it.”
Sakura tilted her head, eyeing the box curiously. “You didn’t have to do that, Zuha,” She said, though a tiny smile crept onto her lips.
Kazuha shrugged, her cheeks slightly pink. “I wanted to. But open it after you’re done. No rush.”
Sakura gave her an amused look. “You’re really spoiling me, you know that?”
Kazuha chuckled, scratching the back of her neck. “I guess I am.” She gestured to the gaming setup in the corner. “When you’re done, I’d love to see you try it out. There’s a bunch of games already downloaded for you—Roblox, Minecraft, Fortnite, Call of Duty, and some others.”
Sakura raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming. “You went all out, didn’t you? Roblox? Fortnite? You’re really trying to tempt me.”
Kazuha smirked, leaning casually against the desk. “Of course. I remember how competitive you used to get when we played together. Thought it might bring back some good memories.”
Sakura’s smile softened, her heart warming at Kazuha’s efforts. She carefully picked up the small box and started unwrapping it. Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star-shaped pendant.
“It’s beautiful,” Sakura murmured, her fingers brushing over the pendant. She looked up at Kazuha, her gratitude evident in her eyes. “Thank you, really.”
Kazuha’s smile widened, a flash of relief crossing her face. “I’m glad you like it. Now, how about you try the game setup? Let’s see if those gaming skills are still amazing.”
Sakura laughed, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I just ate, or I’d make you regret challenging me.”
“Bold words,” Kazuha teased, moving to sit on the floor in front of Sakura’s chair, leaning against it.
Sakura launched the first game, her fingers quickly found their rhythm on the controls. The nervous hesitation she’d felt earlier melted away as her instincts kicked in.
To her surprise, she wasn’t just decent—she was actually a pro at this.
Kazuha turned to glance up at her, eyes wide with mock shock. “Wow, look at you go. It’s like you never stopped.”
Sakura smirked, her confidence growing. “I guess it’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget.”
The conversations flowed easily between them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Sakura felt herself fully immersed in something she enjoyed.
She looked down at Kazuha, who was cheering her on with an uncontainable grin, and couldn’t help but think that maybe she really was starting to find pieces of herself again.
As the days turned into weeks, the shift in Sakura was noticeable.
Little by little, she began to open up, letting herself enjoy the moments she had with Kazuha.
Her hesitations, though still present in the back of her mind, started to fade.
The once reserved woman now found herself laughing more, teasing Kazuha with playful jabs and non-meaningful remarks.
One day, as they walked together down the street, Sakura found herself holding Kazuha’s hand without even thinking about it.
It was a simple gesture, but it felt right. The warmth of Kazuha’s hand wrapped around hers was grounding, a connection that Sakura had craved even when she didn’t fully understand it.
Kazuha glanced over at her, surprised at the sudden closeness, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she smiled softly, squeezing Sakura's hand gently in return. “You’re getting better, huh?”
Sakura smiled, glancing at their intertwined fingers. “Maybe I am.” She looked up at Kazuha with a playful glint in her eye. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. I know you do.”
Kazuha chuckled, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Maybe I do.” She admitted, her voice low. “But if you keep holding my hand like that, we’re going to get some stares.”
Sakura’s smile widened. “Let them stare. I don’t care anymore.”
It wasn’t just hand-holding.
Sakura had started asking Kazuha to hold her more, not just when they were walking but when they were sitting together, when they were watching movies, or when they were simply talking.
She would lean into Kazuha’s side and rest her head on her shoulder, finding comfort in the physical closeness that once made her anxious.
Kazuha, always patient, had no problem indulging her, her arms instinctively reaching out to pull Sakura closer.
“Hey, Kazuha,” Sakura began one evening, her voice quieter than usual, as they sat on the couch watching a late-night show.
She leaned into Kazuha’s side, her hand gently resting on the other girl’s thigh. “Let’s go out more. To new places.”
Kazuha’s brows furrowed in curiosity, but she nodded nonetheless. “Where do you want to go?”
Sakura tilted her head back, looking up at Kazuha with a mischievous grin. “I don’t know yet. Let’s go somewhere random. I just want to be out with you.” She nuzzled into Kazuha’s side, her fingers tracing circles on her leg.
“I’ve been stuck inside for so long, it feels good to actually be out in the world again. With you.”
Kazuha’s heart swelled at her words, her hand automatically resting on the top of Sakura’s head, stroking her hair gently. “I’d go anywhere with you, Sakura,” She whispered, her voice soft but full of sincerity.
Sakura looked up at her, her expression tender. “I want to explore more… with you by my side. I think I’m ready for it.”
The feeling was mutual. Kazuha had already seen the progress in Sakura—how much more open she was, how much more she was willing to embrace their love.
Sakura wasn’t hiding anymore. She was out in the open, with Kazuha right there beside her, ready to face whatever came next.
“Okay,” Kazuha said, her voice full of warmth and affection. “Let’s do it. Let’s see where the world takes us.”
And so, with each passing day, they did. They ventured out together, from quiet parks to loud markets, from late-night dinners to peaceful beach walks.
Sakura became more herself—more confident, more bold, more willing to take chances.
With Kazuha’s support, she felt like she could do anything.
And each moment spent together was a reminder of how much they had grown, both individually and together.
Sakura felt alive. And she wasn’t doing it alone.
A year had passed since Sakura was released from the mental hospital, and so much had changed.
In that year, she’d gotten closer to Kazuha, who had patiently helped her heal, slowly unraveling the barriers that had once kept Sakura from fully connecting with others.
But the biggest shift in Sakura’s heart had been her feelings for Kazuha—feelings that had blossomed into something deeper, something she was finally ready to confess.
Today was the day.
Sakura sat on the couch in the living room, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she waited.
Kazuha was out running errands, probably distracted with whatever it was she had to do.
Sakura didn't mind the wait—she was used to it by now. But today, she had a plan, and that plan involved telling Kazuha how she truly felt.
However, as she sat there, her mind wandered. The apartment was quiet, and it gave her an opportunity to think about everything. That was when her gaze shifted toward Kazuha’s room door.
She realized something—she had never been inside Kazuha’s room.
Not once.
It wasn’t like Kazuha had explicitly forbidden it, but she had always kept her distance from that part of the apartment.
Kazuha came to Sakura, not the other way around.
Curiosity, as always, tugged at her. What was inside? Was it different from what she expected?
Before she could overthink it, she stood up and made her way to Kazuha’s room door. She hesitated for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob. But then, she pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The room was just as she had imagined—simple but cozy, with a touch of Kazuha’s personality scattered in little details.
There were photos of her friends and family on the walls, a bookshelf full of well-worn novels, and a desk cluttered with papers.
Nothing out of the ordinary, at least not at first glance.
Sakura's eyes scanned the room, landing on the closet. Her feet carried her over, and she opened the door without thinking.
As soon as she did, a box fell from the top shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.
Sakura knelt down, gathering up the items that had fallen out. But as she picked them up, her eyes landed on something that made her freeze. Something she wasn’t meant to see.
While Sakura went through the box, her heart began to race, each picture bringing more memories flooding back.
She found photos of herself and Kazuha—pictures of them laughing, holding hands, and stealing quiet moments together from the past.
They were so innocent, so full of life and love. At first, it all felt like a dream she had long forgotten, but as she continued to flip through the pictures, her mind slowly began to piece it all together.
Sakura remembered them.
Sakura remembered Kazuha.
Her Kazuha.
Each photo told a story—of a time when they were together, when everything felt right, and love wasn’t complicated by the years of silence.
Kazuha had been her girlfriend, and the memories started to surface, clearer with each passing second.
But then, her fingers trembled as she pulled out a few more items.
Among the pictures was a stack of old newspapers. She picked one up, feeling a chill run down her spine as she scanned the date.
It was dated five years after she had been admitted to the hospital—the same amount of time she’d spent in the isolation center where nobody was allowed to visit.
The headline caught her breath.
“Nakamura Kazuha, daughter of Nakamura _______ and Nakamura _________, was found dead in an alleyway with four other girls we soon identified as Huh Yunjin, a rising producer at Blessing Entertainment, sometimes known as Jennifer, Kim Chaewon, a famous K-Star soloist, Hong Eunchae, a young actor in the industry, and Kim Garam, biggest female actor of all time. The case is unidentified, with authorities keeping it as a nameless murder. The girls simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time and ending up as victims.”
Sakura’s eyes locked onto the words, the meaning too heavy to process. Kazuha—her Nakamura Kazuha—was dead?
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the room spin around her. She read the words again, but they didn’t make sense.
How could Kazuha be dead? How could the girl who was sitting in front of her, who had been by her side, the one who had never stopped caring, be the same person from the article?
She thought she was imagining things, but no—the words didn’t lie. Kazuha was gone. She had been dead for seven years.
Sakura’s fingers clutched the paper tighter, her chest tightening with a sudden weight. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.
How had she not known? Had Kazuha been hiding this from her? Was it all some kind of lie? Is the person she'd been talking to even Kazuha?
Her head swam with confusion, the reality of the situation feeling almost too much to handle.
Kazuha… dead?
But how? Why? And what was all of this, if not a dream?
Before she could even begin to make sense of it, the sound of footsteps in the hallway made her freeze.
Sakura's heart was racing, her breath coming in panicked gasps. The air felt thick, and the world around her began to blur as she looked at Kazuha, standing there in the doorway, her presence so real yet impossibly distant.
Her mind screamed in confusion, trying to grasp onto some kind of logic that made sense.
But the more she looked at Kazuha, the more she heard the voices in her head—whispers, murmurs, words that she didn’t want to hear.
This is all wrong.
She remembered the name of the people she loved—the voices of the nurses, the sound of the doctors telling her that she'd have to go back.
But now, the room seemed to bend and twist around her. Was she slipping back into the hospital? Was it all some twisted dream? What if they tried to take her back?
Her thoughts crashed into one another, and before she could even process it, Kazuha's voice began to fill her ears, soft and familiar, pulling her back to a time she thought she had lost.
It was a conversation from the past, one she had forgotten along with her other memories.
“Hey, Zuha…?”
“What is it, baby?”
“Even if they actually manage to send me to the hospital, you promise to stay and wait for me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t imagine—”
Sakura remembered how Kazuha had cut her off back then, her tone firm and reassuring.
“Hey, hey, listen to me, Kkura. I can wait for you. I will wait for you. I won’t even let you finish that sentence because I won’t. You’re the only one for me, okay? Only you. Even if you told me not to wait, I would. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”
Sakura could feel her heart shatter as the words flooded her memory. Her hands were shaking, and her head spun. The image of Kazuha standing before her flickered between the present and the past.
“You—you promise? You’ll wait for me?”
“Of course I will. I love you. I promise.”
But then, Kazuha’s voice in the present broke through, the sadness in it almost too much to bear.
“Well, baby, didn’t I keep my promise?”
The words fell on Sakura like a crushing weight. Was it true?
Had Kazuha really waited for her this whole time? She felt as though she were drowning in all the conflicting emotions swirling in her chest. Her breathing became shallow, the panic crawling its way up her throat.
She couldn’t stay. Not like this. Everything was too much.
Without another thought, Sakura turned and ran.
Her legs moved unconsciously, her thoughts incoherent. She shoved past people on the sidewalk, ignoring their surprised stares, her heart pounding as she tried to escape the suffocating weight of it all.
The world was too loud, too confusing. The memories were too much, too painful.
She ran faster, her footsteps echoing in her ears. Kazuha’s voice, the sound of her promises, it was all too much.
What if I’m going crazy? What if this isn’t real?
Her mind spiraled, but the thought of being admitted again, of being taken away from Kazuha—of everything she had come to understand as real—was too much to bear.
She wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. The ground beneath her feet felt unsteady as she rushed forward, unaware of her surroundings.
She didn’t hear the honk of the car, didn’t register the green light as it flicked on. It wasn’t until she saw the speeding car racing toward her, a blur of metal and danger, that she realized where she was.
Sakura froze. The world stopped.
She stood there, paralyzed, her body screaming for her to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She looked to the side, eyes wide, seeing the car coming too fast. Her chest constricted, her body refusing to move.
Then, in the moment, she heard a familiar, frantic voice calling out her name.
“Sakura! Stop! Get out of the way! You shouldn't have the same fate as me!”
It was Kazuha’s voice.
Everything else faded into silence, leaving only the sound of her name and the rush of the car coming at her. But it wasn’t enough to move her.
Kazuha’s voice came again, desperate this time.
“Sakura! Please!”
Sakura’s breath hitched as the car’s tires screeched, the sound of it drawing closer, but in that moment, everything seemed to blur.
Time stretched in slow motion, her mind racing with thoughts and memories, but one image pierced through the tragedy, the graceful, elegant shape of a flock of swans soaring across the sky above her.
Their wings beat in perfect harmony, their necks curving like the delicate arc of a forgotten dream.
Swans…
The thought swirled in her mind, her connection to the image so profound it felt almost like a whisper from the past. The swans were free, soaring above everything.
They looked so beautiful. She remembered the story.
A story that her mother used to tell her—a fairy tale with a bitter, yet sweet ending.
The Secret Story Of The Swan.
The tale of a beautiful swan who fell in love with an outcast, someone who was ignored by the world around her. The swan, pure and magnificent, longed to be with the outcast, but society and fate were cruel.
In the end, the swan died tragically, never able to be with the one she loved, and the outcast, heartbroken and lost, had no reason to live anymore. She ended her life, joining the swan in eternity.
The words echoed in Sakura’s mind as the swans above her grew distant.
Her heart pounded.
She hadn’t realized until now how much the story mirrored her own life, how much it mirrored her love for Kazuha. The girl who had waited for her, promised to wait for her, even when all seemed lost. Kazuha waited, and death couldn't stop her.
And now, here she was, faced with a choice, standing on the precipice of that very same fate.
Was this it?
Her eyes locked onto Kazuha, standing there in front of her, her expression overwhelmed with panic. But as Sakura looked up at her, everything around them seemed to blur, and Kazuha’s figure began to fade away.
The world was spinning.
Kazuha’s form flickered, as though she were dissolving, disappearing like the swans disappearing into the distance.
No.
No, please.
But the image before her became less solid, like mist slipping away through her fingers.
Kazuha’s voice, full of desperation, reached her ears.
“Sakura, you can't end up like me!”
But just as it had come, it too began to fade. Sakura reached out instinctively, her body weak, her vision dimming. It was as though Kazuha was being swallowed by the very air around them, vanishing just as the swans had flown away.
It’s just like the story.
She felt the pain in her chest, her pulse slow, as her body grew cold. And then, like the swan in the tale, she realized—she was going to join Kazuha.
The car was still coming, the roar of the engine now deafening in her ears. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t escape. Everything had come full circle. The outcast and the swan, the unfulfilled promises, the tragic love.
I’m sorry…
Sakura whispered to herself, just as the car collided with her body, the world around her plunging into darkness. In her final moments, she felt the lingering warmth of Kazuha’s presence, as if her spirit was still there, close by. Waiting for her to join her. And with that final thought, Sakura let go, knowing she was not alone.
The swans had flown away.
And now, so had she.