The morning air felt strange against Riku's skin.
Cold. Thin. Too real.
He stood in front of Sakura High's school gates with a foreign body and a growing panic swirling in his chest. His hand trembled as it clutched the strap of a bag that wasn't his. His legs felt awkward, bare beneath the hem of a skirt that danced in the early breeze. Hair—long, soft, brown—brushed against his cheek whenever the wind stirred.
This wasn't his body.
This wasn't a dream.
Riku Yamada had woken up in the body of Mei Aihara.
He had tried everything to wake up. Slapping himself. Holding his breath. Splashing cold water. None of it worked.
The mirror didn't lie. The reflection staring back at him had wide, sad eyes and a face pale from years of neglect. A face that used to glance shyly at him in the hallways. A face he once ignored… then hurt.
Now, it was his.
He had rummaged through Mei's house that morning—if you could call it a house. It was more like a small, crumbling apartment. The lights flickered. The wallpaper peeled at the corners. The air smelled faintly of dust and loneliness.
There was no sign of family. No framed photos. No slippers at the entrance but one.
He checked the fridge. A half-empty bottle of soy sauce. Some wilted greens. A small container of rice. No real meals. No warmth.
"Does she… live alone?" he muttered.
Even brushing his teeth had been awkward. Even more awkward was the realization that no one was coming to help him. He was Mei now—inside and out. And if anyone found out, they'd think he was insane.
So, he had dressed. Slowly. Carefully. Mei's uniform was tight in places it shouldn't be, loose in others. Every moment felt like he was violating someone else's life.
Because he was.
Day 1
He dragged himself through the school gates, trying not to meet anyone's gaze. But the whispers came anyway.
"She actually came?"
"After what happened with Riku?"
"She must be desperate…"
Riku's stomach twisted. They were talking about him. Or rather, what he had done to her.
He pushed open the classroom door.
No one greeted him.
He slipped into Mei's seat.
No one noticed.
That silence should've felt peaceful—but it wasn't. It was heavy. Suffocating.
At lunch, he sat alone by the window. Usually, he'd be laughing with Keiji and the others, showing off his new watch or talking about weekend parties.
Now, silence was his only company.
He watched as people walked past him—past Mei—like she didn't exist.
That night, he found her diary under her pillow. It was small, leather-bound, pages worn at the edges.
He flipped through.
"I want to believe that one day, someone will see me."
"Even if no one does, I'll still try to be kind."
"Today, Riku smiled at me. It was small… but it mattered."
He closed the book, his throat tight.
Day 2
He noticed it in the mirror first. Bruises on her arms. Old, yellowing ones, and fresh ones too.
He touched them. Flinched.
In the hallway, a boy shoved him on purpose. His books fell. Laughter followed.
No apology.
No help.
In class, someone threw a paper ball at his head. The teacher saw it. Said nothing.
Riku clenched Mei's small fists beneath the desk. His fingers trembled.
He wanted to scream.
But Mei never did. She just endured.
Day 3
PE class was hell.
The teacher paired him with Ayaka—one of the popular girls. Ayaka hated Mei. Everyone knew it.
During a game of dodgeball, Ayaka slammed the ball into Riku's stomach—hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He stumbled, fell to the ground.
The class laughed.
Ayaka leaned down, lips close to his ear.
"Still pretending like you didn't cry over Riku? You're disgusting."
Riku wanted to snap back. Wanted to say, I am Riku!
But his voice wasn't his own.
He stayed on the ground, silent.
That night, he cried for real.
Not from the pain. But from the understanding.
Mei hadn't been weak.
She'd been strong—stronger than him.
Day 4
He arrived at school, head down.
This time, he glanced toward his usual seat.
Empty.
Riku Yamada wasn't there.
A flicker of panic rose in his chest. Why didn't I show up?
He sat in Mei's seat, listening.
No one asked about him. No one mentioned his absence.
It was like he never existed.
Was this what Mei felt every day?
During lunch, he saw Keiji in the hallway. His so-called best friend.
Riku called out, "Keiji!"
Keiji turned, looked at him—her—with disgust. "What?"
"Do you… know why Riku didn't come to school today?"
Keiji scoffed. "Why would I care about that jerk?"
Riku blinked. "But… you're his best friend…"
Keiji rolled his eyes. "Please. I only hang with him 'cause he's rich. Free stuff, free rides. That's it."
Riku's heart sank.
"You… used him?"
Keiji smirked. "He used people too. Everyone does. Especially someone like him. You thought he actually cared about you?" He laughed. "You're just the latest girl on his list."
Riku stared at him, speechless.
Keiji leaned in close. "Honestly, school's better without him. Less drama. And you? You should've stayed home. No one wants you here."
Then he walked away.
And Riku was left alone, standing in Mei's body, every word of Keiji's like a dagger twisting in his chest.
That night, he didn't eat.
He sat on the floor of Mei's tiny room, back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest.
He stared at her diary again.
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be someone else.
Someone who's loved.
Someone people talk to.
Someone who doesn't cry themselves to sleep."
His hands trembled.
His heart ached.
I never knew… I never even tried to know.
He looked at the window, where the moon hung low and silent in the sky.
"I hurt you," he whispered. "And you… you still wrote kind things about me."
The tears came again.
But this time, they weren't just Mei's.
They were his.
Mei's Apartment
Riku stepped into the small apartment, the door creaking softly as it shut behind him. The air inside was still—stale, like it hadn't been moved in days. No sounds. No warmth. Just a quiet that wrapped around him like a cold blanket.
He kicked off Mei's school shoes and stood there for a moment, staring at the space.
The entire apartment was a single room with a narrow hallway leading to a small kitchen and a compact bathroom. There was no couch. No TV. No dining table.
A single futon lay folded in the corner.
Books stacked neatly on the floor. One framed photo of a flower—no people. No laughter frozen in time. Nothing that said "home."
He wandered to the kitchen.
The cupboards were mostly empty. He opened one: instant noodles, half a pack of rice, soy sauce, a cracked bowl.
He checked the drawers. Only one fork. One spoon. One cup. One plate.
Nothing extra. Nothing shared.
He opened the fridge. Cold air drifted out. There was a lone egg, a bottle of water, and some wilted spinach in a bag.
His stomach growled, but he ignored it.
"I don't even know how to cook," he muttered, staring at the egg like it might bite him. "And even if I did… What could I make with this?"
He turned away, frustrated.
As he sat on the futon and looked around, the silence hit him harder than anything all day.
There were no signs of guests. No extra slippers at the entrance. No second toothbrush in the bathroom. No messages on the table saying, "I'll be home late." Nothing.
It was like Mei had been living in a world built only for one.
And no one ever entered it.
He found her schoolbag and searched through it out of habit. Neatly folded papers. Old homework. A small, worn diary. He opened it, skimming pages until one line stopped him:
"I bought another cup just in case I ever have a friend over… but I broke it by accident last month. So I guess it's just me again."
Riku stared at the single cup on the sink.
It wasn't just loneliness. It was isolation. Complete isolation. A quiet, constant emptiness that echoed through her every day.
He swallowed hard and leaned back against the wall.
The air felt heavier now.
Not because the apartment was small.
But because it was empty of everything except her pain.