In an almost empty classroom, the afternoon sky slipped in through the tall windows. Orange light fell at an angle, slicing across desks and chairs into long shadows. Fine dust floated in the air, clearly visible in the quiet stillness.
Near the window stood a girl—around fifteen years old. Her uniform was neat, her hair tied simply. She was my classmate. The one who sat two seats in front of me every day, laughed at small jokes, and always borrowed my eraser without ever returning it.
But that afternoon, her back looked fragile.
She stared out the window for far too long. Her gaze was empty, as if whatever lay outside was far more interesting than this world. Her hand gripped the window frame, her fingers turning pale, then slowly loosening.
"I'm tired," she said softly, almost like she was talking to herself."Everything… feels wrong."
I stood a few steps behind her. Not moving closer, not stepping away.
"I've thought about it," she continued, "if tomorrow never comes… maybe everything would be easier. Do I really need to keep living, or…"
At that moment, my mouth moved without thinking."If you really wanted to do something like that, you wouldn't tell anyone," I said, my tone flat and calm.
She turned around. Her eyes widened slightly, but she wasn't angry.
"People who actually do it," I continued stupidly, "usually stay silent. So… you wouldn't, right?"
A few seconds passed. She smiled faintly. A strange smile—far too calm for someone who looked so fragile.
"Maybe you're right," she said.
I thought the conversation ended there.
The next morning, her seat was empty.
During the first period, the homeroom teacher walked in with an unusual expression. Her voice trembled as she said the girl's name. The word died hung in the air—heavy, cold, and impossible to process.
I didn't feel sad right away.Confusion came first.
Then that afternoon came back to me. The orange light. Her fingers on the window frame. That faint smile.
And my foolish belief that I understood human emotions.
From that day on, I learned something far too late:
sometimes people don't speak because they're uncertain. But in that moment, they're hoping someone will listen—someone who understands them, someone who wants them to stay. And maybe, just one sentence from me… could become the final push behind their decision.
If only I had kept my mouth shut back then, maybe everything would have been different.
…
I ran without really knowing where I was going. My footsteps echoed between buildings slowly being swallowed by the evening light. Shadows stretched across the asphalt, and my breathing grew more uneven.
The girl's trail had vanished from my sight.
Ahead of me, the road split into three paths.
"System," I said, gasping, "do you know the girl's location?"
Suddenly, a holographic screen lit up in front of me. A transparent map spread through the air, with a blinking location marker. On one side was my face, and on the other—Nora's.
Thankfully, the distance between us wasn't far.
Without hesitation, I followed the route shown by the system. I took the left path, passed through several narrow alleys, then turned right.
And slowly… I saw her.
Nora stood in front of a railway crossing gate. The barrier was still open, but the warning lights blinked softly, as if waiting for something to arrive from the distance.
She stood still, watching as the gate began to close.
"Hoshino-san!" I shouted.
I ran faster. The distance shrank, and without thinking, I grabbed her shoulder.
Her body jolted.
She turned around slowly. Her face was pale, her eyes empty—not shocked, not afraid. Just… tired.
"Why are you here?" she asked quietly, her voice nearly swallowed by the evening wind.
I swallowed."Hoshino-san… do you really want to disappear from this world?"
Her eyes widened for a moment.
"So… you read it," she said softly.
Nora looked at me with lifeless eyes."It's not… that I want to disappear…"
Her voice trembled. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly let it out, as if the air itself was too heavy.
"More accurately…""…I feel like I already have."
My chest felt tight.
"System," I whispered, almost desperate, "help me."
I fell silent.
I froze when I heard that.
Not because I was surprised—but because I understood it too well.
Before meeting my master, that was the feeling I carried every day. Having no friends to talk to. No one who truly paid attention to me. I existed, but it felt like I passed by like the wind—easily forgotten.
It wasn't that I hated it.
I just had one simple hope: to be noticed by my parents.
But that hope was never truly fulfilled. They were too busy with business matters. Even when we gathered in the same room, the only things they asked were questions—not about how I was doing, but about readiness, responsibility, and the future of the company.
They never asked how I was.Never asked what I'd been doing.Even though we hadn't seen each other in a long time.
I looked at Nora. The person standing in front of me now felt far too close to my past self—only much more fragile.
"You haven't really disappeared," I said quietly."Proof of that… is that I'm here. I'm paying attention to you."
Silence fell. Only the wind and distant sounds remained.
Nora lowered her head. Her hair covered part of her face. Her shoulders trembled slightly—whether from the cold or something deeper, I couldn't tell.
"Liar…"she said in a low voice, barely audible.
She slowly lifted her head. Her eyes weren't wet, but empty—like someone who had been disappointed too many times to cry anymore.
"Don't worry," she continued, her lips forming a thin curve, a smile that looked lifeless."I won't be a burden to you."
The gate closed. I immediately grabbed Nora's hand, and a train rushed past us at high speed.
Slowly, the gate began to rise, and Nora pulled her hand out of my grip.
"Don't worry. I won't do something like that."Her eyes glanced at me, then stopped on my right hand, where I was tightly holding a book.
"Can you give that to me?" Nora pointed at the book in my hand—the one that should have been hers.
"Oh, sure." I handed the book to her.
Nora flipped through a few pages, then tore one sheet out and gave it to me.
"This is a sketch of you that I drew at the park. You don't need to worry—I won't do anything strange with it."
I fell silent, realizing how foolish my earlier words to her had been.
Seeing that I didn't move, Nora tore the paper into several pieces, then grabbed my hand and placed the scraps into my palm.
Without saying much, she put the book into her bag and walked away.