There was something about the ribbon.
Soft. Faded. The ends slightly frayed.
But the color—crimson—was unmistakable.
Aiko's color.
I turned it over in my hand again and again, heart pounding. It hadn't been there the day before. I was sure of it.
My fingers tingled.
I knew what it meant.
She was watching me again.
---
For days after Emi's funeral, I barely spoke.
I stopped answering texts. Avoided calls. Even my parents' voices became distant echoes in the background of my thoughts.
I had one focus: the truth.
And Aiko.
She hadn't vanished this time.
She came back to school like nothing had happened. Walked through the halls with the same quiet grace. Carried her books. Sat in her usual seat, eyes fixed forward.
As if none of it had ever happened.
Emi's desk remained empty.
No one dared speak her name.
I tried to stay away from Aiko.
I really did.
But her presence pulled at me—like a tether wrapped around my ribs. I hated it. Feared it.
But I needed to understand it.
I needed to understand her.
And—deep down—I needed to understand myself.
---
It was after school, the first time I approached her again.
She was sitting beneath the old cherry tree behind the gym—alone, as usual. Petals drifted around her like snow. She wasn't reading. Wasn't doing anything.
Just waiting.
Like she knew I'd come.
"You left the ribbon," I said flatly.
She looked up. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're remembering."
I frowned.
"Remembering what?"
She tilted her head. "The other you. The one before the forgetting. The one who smiled at me under this tree and promised he'd never leave."
My mouth went dry.
"You're making that up."
She stood slowly, brushing petals from her skirt.
"You always say that, at first."
---
I stormed away.
But the thought rooted in my mind like a splinter.
Had I really known her before?
Had something happened between us I'd buried so deep even I forgot?
I couldn't sleep that night.
I opened the old notebook she left behind months ago—the one I found in that padded room.
This time, I read it differently.
Not with fear.
With curiosity.
Page after page described memories I didn't recognize.
Shared laughter in an empty art room. Whispered conversations after midnight. A kiss on the rooftop in the rain.
Were they delusions?
Or forgotten truth?
---
At school the next day, I asked my teacher a strange question.
"Was Aiko always in our class?"
He hesitated.
"Of course. She transferred in at the beginning of the year."
"Did you see her records?"
He gave me a wary look. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Just curious."
I walked away before he could press further.
But something didn't sit right.
I pulled my class yearbook from the library shelf.
Flipped through the pages.
Found our class.
Twenty-six students.
But no Aiko.
---
I slammed the book shut.
It wasn't possible.
I had memories of her. Everyone did.
Right?
---
Later that week, I found her on the rooftop.
She was feeding the birds.
Tiny sparrows landing on her palm.
Unafraid.
"You're not in the yearbook," I said without preamble.
She smiled.
"I wouldn't be."
"Why not?"
"Because I never enrolled."
I stared at her.
"Then how are you here?"
She looked over the edge of the roof.
"I'm here because you brought me here."
I laughed. Bitter.
"That's insane."
She turned to me. Her eyes were glassy, strange. Like something shimmered just behind them.
"You made me up."
The world tilted.
"What?"
"You wanted someone to see you. Someone to understand. Someone who'd never leave."
She stepped closer.
"You created me."
I took a step back.
"That's not—no. You're real. You were in my house. You left things in my locker. You—"
"Acted out the part," she finished. "Because that's what you needed. Until you turned away. Forgot. Pretended it was all just obsession."
I shook my head violently.
"This is crazy."
She reached out, gently cupping my cheek.
"You were lonely. So lonely. You built me out of scraps. Red ribbons and whispered names."
"I didn't—!"
Her voice was calm.
"You did. And then, when the world came back, you shoved me into the cracks."
Tears blurred my vision.
"If that's true… if you're not real…"
She leaned in.
"Then how do I bleed?"
She pressed my hand to her chest.
Her heartbeat was real.
Her warmth was real.
Her breath hitched as my fingers trembled against her.
"I'm not asking you to understand everything," she whispered. "Just... remember. The truth is in the pain."
---
I pulled away.
Ran again.
I didn't know where I was going anymore.
I walked the streets for hours.
And everywhere I turned—I saw her.
In reflections.
In shadows.
In people's expressions.
Something inside me cracked that night.
A mirror I'd held up to the world finally shattered.
And beneath the glass, I found memories that didn't belong in daylight.
A forest.
A knife.
A promise made over broken bones and stolen time.
"If I can't have you in this life, I'll follow you into the next."
I screamed into the dark.
But the truth was already out.
---
I returned to her that night.
To the house with the red curtains.
She was waiting at the door.
No questions.
No smiles.
Just silence.
And understanding.
---
"I remember now," I whispered.
She nodded.
"I never stopped."
---
We stayed there for hours, saying nothing.
Just sitting in the quiet ruin of everything we'd built—real or not.
Her hand in mine.
Our fates tangled like ribbon.