Chapter 8: The Invitation

  The bell rang.

  Spring break had officially begun. Students exploded out of the classroom like bottled-up fireworks. Shiro sat still, unmoved by the excitement.

  Outside, the cherry blossoms had begun to fall. Pale petals drifted on the breeze, spiraling like slow snow. It should've been beautiful.

  But to Shiro, it felt like a funeral.

  Mrs. Mori handed out midterm folders with mechanical cheer. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. When she reached Shiro, she placed his folder on his desk gently, almost carefully.

  "Stay after class, please," she said.

  He barely nodded.

  The room emptied.

  For a moment, he sat in the quiet, watching the petals drift. He wondered if anything about him had changed on the outside. Did they see it? Did they feel it?

  Then came the voice.

  "Hey," Daiki said. "Got any plans for break?"

  Shiro blinked. "No."

  Daiki smiled faintly. "Then you're coming with us. Riku found some weird trail near the woods. We’re thinking about checking it out."

  Shiro hesitated.

  Woods. Trails. A whisper in his chest said: Not again.

  His mouth opened, the words "I can't" right on the edge. But then—

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  That bench. That cold wind. That feeling of being forgotten.

  He didn’t want to be left behind again.

  He looked at Daiki, and what came out was:

  "Yeah. Sure."

  Daiki studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. You need air."

  As Daiki walked away, the wind stirred outside. A single blossom hit the window, stuck there for a second... then slid down like a teardrop.

  Shiro looked at his reflection in the glass.

  And for the first time in weeks, it blinked half a second late.

  Like the world was drifting slightly out of sync.

  Like something had noticed.

  The classroom emptied. Mrs. Mori leaned against her desk, watching Shiro with a furrowed brow.

  “Shiro,” she said softly. “Can I ask something personal?”

  He didn’t look at her.

  “I’ve seen your grades. You’re smart. But something’s been off. You don’t speak anymore. You haven’t turned in your last essay. You don’t even look out the window the same way.”

  Shiro stayed silent.

  She tried again. “Whatever it is, I want to help. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

  Still, he said nothing.

  Mrs. Mori sighed, stepped forward—and Shiro stood.

  “I’m fine,” he said, voice flat.

  She watched him leave without another word.

  The cherry blossoms outside clung to the glass. None dared fall.

  In the hallway, voices filtered through thin walls and slamming lockers.

  "Did you see how dead he looked? Like, what happened to him?"

  "I heard he snapped on Takumi."

  "No way. Takumi's the only one who still talks to him."

  They didn’t know Shiro was still there, just around the corner. He stood in the shadows, back pressed against the cool concrete. The voices weren't cruel—just careless.

  He slipped out the side door, unnoticed.

  The walk home felt longer than usual.

  The wind pushed against his back one moment, then shifted, tugging at his jacket from the front. Petals danced overhead, then hesitated mid-air before slowly rising again—like time skipped a beat.

  Shiro paused.

  The air smelled like damp stone and rust. The kind of smell that came before a storm. Or after something had bled.

  He shook it off and kept walking.

  That night, he dreamed of the forest again.

  But this time, it wasn’t distant.

  It was waiting.

  The trees bent inward like skeletal fingers. Roots curled in patterns he couldn’t decipher. He stepped forward, drawn by a rhythm beneath the soil—a heartbeat, steady and deep.

  Then a voice.

  Soft.

  Low.

  "Shiro..."

  His name, spoken like a secret. The syllables hung in the air like mist.

  He turned.

  No one there.

  Only shadows.

  He woke in the dark, his skin cold. The wind outside rattled the window once.

  And somewhere in the night, petals continued to fall upward.