Mansh stared at the screen, his heart hammering against his ribs, each beat a violent reminder of the fear coiling inside him. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, barely filling his lungs. A strange coldness crept through his fingertips, numbing them, making them feel detached from his own body.
He didn't want to do this. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop, to turn away, to pretend he had never seen the novel sitting there, waiting for him. His throat tightened as if invisible hands had wrapped around it, choking off any attempt to breathe normally.
But he had no choice.
If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to protect the people he loved—he had to read it.
His fingers hovered above the screen, trembling. His vision blurred slightly, his mind caught in a whirlwind of doubt. A drop of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, the sensation almost unbearable in the suffocating silence of the room. The faint glow of the screen flickered in his wide, unblinking eyes, reflecting his hesitation back at him.
Seconds stretched, each one heavier than the last. The weight of the decision pressed against his chest, suffocating, relentless.
Still, he hesitated.
His hand refused to move, frozen mid-air as if paralyzed by the gravity of what he was about to do. He could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Then, finally, with a sharp inhale, he forced himself forward. His fingertip brushed against the screen, the warmth of the glass startling against his cold skin.
Click.
The novel opened.
As Chapter 4 unfolded, the text appeared slowly, each word materializing as if it were being written in real-time. The deliberate pace forced Mansh to focus, his eyes tracking every letter, every flicker of the screen. His breath hitched. His pulse pounded in his ears, deafening against the thick silence of the room.
The words formed, one by one.
"Nezumi, after two days, was discharged from the hospital—"
Mansh's heart skipped a beat. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of his phone, knuckles whitening. A cold wave of unease rippled through him.
His thoughts raced.
What was this? Why did it feel as if the words carried a weight beyond the screen? The sensation crawled over his skin, a prickling unease settling deep in his chest. The silence around him felt heavier now, suffocating.
He swallowed, throat dry.
And then, with a deep, shaky breath, he kept reading.
But he stopped again, not because of fear, because of curiosity.
'Two days? That means tomorrow… But what about today?'
A chill crept down Mansh's spine. His thoughts spun, tangled in unease. Is everything and everyone safe? His breath hitched. His grip on the phone tightened slightly, his thumb hovering over the screen. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on his chest, heavy and unrelenting.
'At least… no trouble for today… right?'
The words lingered in his mind, but they offered no comfort. The silence around him stretched, thick and oppressive, as if waiting for something to break it.
The text on the screen continued, pulling him deeper.
Nezumi stood outside Kokoro's house, her heart heavy with unspoken gratitude. Four days had passed. Four long days, and still, she hadn't found the courage to face Kokoro.
The memory of that night clung to her like a shadow. Kokoro had risked everything—her own life—to save Nezumi's mother. The thought tightened in Nezumi's chest, guilt settling in like a dull ache.
She should have come sooner.
She should have said something.
Now, standing in front of Kokoro's door, she hesitated. A soft breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. The warmth of the afternoon sun did little to ease the weight pressing down on her.
Nezumi stood in front of Kokoro's house, her fingers tightening into small fists at her sides. The weight of unspoken gratitude and lingering guilt pressed heavily against her chest.
Four days.
Four whole days had passed, and yet she hadn't come sooner. She should have. She knew that. But now, standing here, she felt the hesitation clawing at her again.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. The cool afternoon air filled her lungs, but it did little to ease the nervous energy coiling inside her. She exhaled slowly, her gaze fixed on the door as if preparing for whatever lay beyond it.
Finally, with a slight tremor in her fingers, she reached out—
And rang the bell.
---
Inside the house, the soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet space. Kokoro, sitting cross-legged on the couch, blinked in surprise.
'Who could this be?'
She set her phone down, pushing herself upright. Her brows furrowed slightly as curiosity flickered in her chest. Visitors were rare, especially unexpected ones.
She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and raised her voice.
"COMING!"
Her footsteps echoed as she made her way toward the door.
Kokoro walked toward the front door, her steps unhurried yet filled with quiet curiosity. The faint creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet echoed softly in the stillness of the house. As she reached for the doorknob, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—*Who could it be at this hour?*
With a small breath, she turned the knob and pulled the door open.
And then—
She froze.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her breath catching in her throat. Standing before her was Nezumi.
For a moment, Kokoro simply stared, her mind struggling to process the unexpected sight. She hadn't expected to see Nezumi. Not today. Maybe not ever—not like this, standing at her doorstep.
But as the initial shock settled, something else took its place.
A warmth spread through her chest, slow and steady, dissolving the stiffness in her shoulders. A strange but welcome calmness filled her heart and mind, washing over her like a gentle tide.
A soft smile formed on her lips, her expression shifting into something serene, almost relieved.
With quiet happiness in her voice, she spoke.
"When were you discharged from the hospital? I—"
Nezumi gave a small, reassuring smile, though her words carried a hint of nervousness. She lifted her hand slightly, gesturing for Kokoro to pause.
"Slow down a little, let me explain." Her voice was calm, but there was an undertone of quiet exhaustion beneath it. She took a deep breath, her gaze softening.
"I was discharged today."
She paused for a moment, letting the words settle before continuing. Her eyes met Kokoro's with a hint of humor, a brief, fragile chuckle escaping her lips.
"And don't worry, I'm all right now—literally."
But then, her smile faltered slightly as she added, almost as if the admission were an afterthought:
"Well, except for the fractures in my left hand and leg."
Kokoro's breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of Nezumi's words hit her. The lightness in Nezumi's voice only made the reality more jarring.
She remembered—she couldn't help but remember—how those injuries had happened. How Nezumi had been hurt.
Because of her.
The guilt twisted inside Kokoro like a sharp, unrelenting sting. Her eyes flickered with the weight of that memory, the image of Nezumi's battered form seared into her mind. She could still feel the panic, the helplessness, the fear that had gripped her when she'd seen the extent of Nezumi's injuries.
Her hand trembled slightly, and her gaze softened, misting with emotion. She wanted to say something—anything—to ease the hurt in her chest. But the words stuck in her throat.
Kokoro's breath hitched as a sharp wave of emotion surged through her. Her vision blurred, the edges of Nezumi's face becoming hazy as tears welled in her eyes. Her chest tightened, the weight of guilt pressing down on her, suffocating.
Her voice came out in a whisper, trembling with raw emotion.
"I thought you were going to die… Just because of me."
A tear slipped down her cheek, warm against her cold skin. She clenched her fists, her shoulders trembling. The memory of that moment—Nezumi throwing herself forward, the screeching tires, the unbearable sound of impact—played over and over in her mind like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.
Her voice cracked as she spoke again.
"You shouldn't have saved me." Her breath shuddered. "I was the one who should have been hit by that truck."
The words felt like they shattered something inside her.
But Nezumi stepped forward, her expression firm yet gentle, her presence grounding.
"Don't say that." Her voice was steady, warm. A quiet reassurance. "I'm okay now, and besides, I owe you for saving my mom."
Kokoro swallowed hard, her vision still clouded with unshed tears. Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand and wiped them away. But the ache in her chest remained.
She shook her head.
"I didn't save her," she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were confessing something painful. "She saved *me*… and herself."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy yet full of unspoken understanding.
Then, Kokoro exhaled, forcing the tension in her shoulders to ease. She stepped aside, gesturing toward the house, her voice softer now.
"Let's go inside and talk."
*******
A/N: I love this making this story, but I couldn't upload daily.
Save to library.
Vote me gems{I think that is what thy are called}.