The girl who stayed by Alina Drazheva – extended writing 2026, ниво B2
“The Girl Who Stayed”
Chapter 1
Grandpa’s dead.
The words kept echoing in Towa’s head as she sat stiff on the chair in the small funeral hall. She couldn’t hear anything, her mind had gone completely blank. She couldn’t hear all the voices of the people around her, all the whispers, she couldn’t even hear the singing of the birds outside. It was way too sunny outside. How could it be so sunny when he’s gone? People inside the hall were silently sobbing, but the countryside of Tokyo had other plans for the day. Outside a gentle drizzle pooled on the streets, the asphalt was burning all the shining the sun was doing. The air smelled like lilies. Too sweet. Too clean. Like something trying too hard to cover what couldn’t be covered.
Hiroshi…gone? She couldn’t accept it. Her mind kept replaying the same image in her head: him at home, curled up on the couch in the living room, with a book in his hands, waiting for her to return from school so he could tell her one of his weird magical stories again. His crooked smile, the little laugh he made when a story took an unexpected turn – it was all still there, frozen in memory. But he wasn’t. The memory played so clearly it almost felt real—like if she focused hard enough, she might hear his voice again.
Her aunt stood near the front, whispering condolences to other relatives. Towa couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone else. She only wanted to disappear into her own thoughts, to pretend the coffin and the flowers and the photographs weren’t real. But they were.
Her gaze drifted to his photograph, carefully framed and surrounded by white lilies. He looked alive, as if he could blink at any moment and tell her: “Gotcha! It’s all a joke, I’m right here!” Her chest tightened at the thought, because for a split second – just a second – she almost believed it.
The girl’s breathing grew shallow, uneven and suddenly it felt too loud in the silence. Too noticeable. As if the entire room might turn to look at her at any moment, waiting for her to break.
She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to stay still.
‘Don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of everyone.’
If she started, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop.
Her fingers moved unconsciously, tracing the edge of the funeral program resting in her lap. The paper felt thin, fragile – like it could tear if she pressed too hard. The printed words blurred together as her vision wavered, and she blinked quickly, trying to steady herself.
Next to her, her mother shifted slightly. Towa could feel her presence, close and solid, but distant in a way that had nothing to do with physical space. Her mother’s hand rested gently over hers for a moment, a quiet attempt at comfort, but Towa didn’t respond. She couldn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it. It was just…different.
Her mother had always been there, steady and responsible, filling the spaces left behind after the divorce. But Hiroshi – he had filled the spaces no one else seemed to notice. The quiet ones. The strange ones. The ones that made Towa feel like she didn’t quite get anywhere else. The spaces that made her feel understood without having to explain herself.
And now those spaces felt unbearably empty. A soft voice broke through her thoughts.
“Towa?” her aunt said gently, kneeling slightly beside her. “If you need some air, we can step outside for a bit.”
The girl shook her head almost immediately.
“No.” she whispered. Her voice sounded small and unfamiliar even to her own ears.
She couldn’t leave. If she left, it would feel too real. If she stepped outside, into the normal world where cars passed and people checked their phones and life continued, then she would have to accept that this wasn’t temporary. That this wasn’t something she could just wake up from.
So she stayed. Stayed and stared. Stared and waited for something – anything – to change. But nothing did. The ceremony continued. Words were spoken. People bowed their heads. Incense smoke curled slowly upward, dissolving into thin air. She watched the smoke until it disappeared, wondering if that was all a person became in the end – something that faded too quickly to hold onto.
Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. Towa couldn’t really tell anymore. At some point people began to stand. Chairs shifted softly against the floor and the low murmur of voices grew slightly louder. The moment was moving forward, whether she wanted it to or not.
Her mother stood beside her, hesitating for a brief second before gently touching her shoulder:
“Towa…it’s time…”
Time. The word felt strange. Like it meant something different now. Towa looked up again at the photograph. At his smile. At the version of him that would never change. And something inside her shifted – not acceptance, not understanding, but something quieter. A small aching awareness that this moment, this reality wasn’t going to disappear no matter how much she wished it would. That no matter how still she stayed, the world would keep moving without him – and without waiting for her.
***
Towa stood beside her mother near the curb, her hands tucked deep into the sleeves of her shirt, her gaze fixed somewhere near her shoes. Cars passed. People walked. Voices drifted in and out of hearing. Everything felt too normal. Too loud. Too alive. Like it was mocking the silence she felt inside.
“Your aunt will reopen the shop soon,” her mother said, “she might need help.”
Towa didn’t look up:
“I don’t want to go.”
Her mother paused, then nodded once as if she had expected that answer:
“We’ll…we’ll talk about it later.” she said.
They didn’t. Not really. The days that followed slipped past in a quiet blur. Mornings came too early, nights came too quickly, and somewhere in between, Towa found herself standing in a place that was supposed to become familiar – but it never did. Her new school. From the outside, it looked like any other. Students gathered near the entrance, talking in small groups, their voices overlapping. There was nothing strange about it. And yet, the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. Not wrong. Just distant. Like she had walked into something already in motion, something that didn’t need her there to continue. Like she was watching everything from behind glass instead of being part of it.
Inside the classroom, everything followed a rhythm she couldn’t quite match. Students spoke without hesitation. They laughed at things she didn’t understand. Conversations moved quickly, naturally, without effort. Towa didn’t. She sat where she was told to. Answered when she had to. Nodded when spoken to, even if she didn’t fully process the words. At first, a few people tried to talk to her. Simple questions.
“Where did you move from?”
“Do you like it here?”
She answered politely. Briefly. Answers that didn’t invite more questions. And eventually –
They stopped trying to talk. And when they did, the silence around her felt heavier than before.
The days stretched. The sound of the clock ticking became louder than it should have been, each second dragging slightly longer than the last. The light through the windows felt too bright, the air too still, the space around her too full – and yet somehow empty at the same time.
By the time the first school break arrived, she felt worn down in a way she couldn’t explain. Not physically. Just…tired. Like she had been holding something heavy and no matter how still she stayed, it never got lighter.
That afternoon, she went straight to her room. She didn’t stop in the kitchen. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask anything. She stepped inside, closed the door, and peeked out. Her room was quiet. Still. Unchanged. And for the first time in days – that felt right.
She lay back on her bed without changing, one arm draped over her eyes as if blocking out the light might quiet everything else too. The silence here was different from the silence at the funeral. That silence had been heavy, filled with people and expectations and things left unsaid. This one was empty. And in a strange way, that made it easier. She wasn’t going anywhere. The thought came slowly, but once it formed it stayed. Not during the break. Not to school. Not to the shop. Not anywhere. She would just stay here. Where nothing asked anything from her. Where nothing reminded her of-
A knock interrupted the thought.
“Towa?” her mother called softly. “I made something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” Towa replied.
A pause.
“You’ve been in your room all day.” her mother said. “You should come out for a bit.”
Towa stared at the ceiling.
“I’m fine.”
Silence lingered between them.
“You can’t spend your whole break like this.”
The girl sat up slowly, her chest tightening.
“Yes, I can.”
“No,” her mother said, still calm, “you can’t.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to stay here.”
“I know, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t.”
There was another pause. Then Towa said it:
“I’m not going to the shop.”
Her mother didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was gentle – but firm.
“You are.”
“No.”
“You are.” the woman behind the door repeated. “Your aunt needs help. And you need to leave this room.”
Silence, again.
“You can’t avoid everything that reminds you of him.”
“It’s not everything.” Towa swallowed. “It’s just that place.”
“That place mattered to him.” her mother responded. “And it mattered to you too.”
Towa didn’t respond. Because that was exactly the problem. Because it mattered too much.
“You’re going tomorrow.” her mother said finally. “Just for a little while.”
Footsteps moved away. The conversation was over. Towa sat there in silence. Her room suddenly felt smaller. Less safe. Her gaze drifted towards her bookshelf. Towards the stories her grandfather used to read to her. Towards memories she had been trying to not think about.
“I don’t want to see it without him…” she whispered to herself.
Chapter 2
She had no choice. She went to the shop. By the fourth day, the shop no longer felt entirely unfamiliar. It still wasn’t comfortable – not in the way it used to be – but the sharp edge of resistance Towa had felt when she first stepped inside had dulled into something quieter. Something she could manage. The routine helped. Opening the windows in the morning, dusting the shelves, straightening books that no one had touched, wiping down surfaces that would gather dust again by the next day – it was repetitive, simple, and most importantly, it kept her away from thinking too much.
The shop always smelled faintly of old paper and polished wood, a scent that seemed to settle into everything – her clothes, her hands, even her hair. The shelves weren’t arranged in any obvious order, yet nothing ever felt completely lost. Objects filled every corner, some carefully displayed, others half-forgotten, as if they had been waiting for someone to notice them again. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t neat either – just… lived in, in a way that felt older than she could place.
That evening, the light outside had already begun to fade, the soft gold of late afternoon slowly giving way to the cooler tones of early dusk. The shop was quiet, as it usually was near closing time, and her aunt had stepped out earlier, trusting Towa to lock up on her own. It wasn’t difficult work. Just a few last tasks, a final check, and then she could leave.
Towa moved through the shop slowly, a cloth in her hand, her steps softer than usual as silence settled around her. The bell above the door hadn’t rung in hours, and without customers or voices to fill the space in the antique shop, every small sound seemed more noticeable. Quieter than she remembered.
She found herself drifting toward the back of the shop without thinking about it, the same way she had the first time. The older section. The one filled with objects that didn’t seem to belong anywhere else, things that had been left behind, forgotten or simply never fully understood. Her movements slowed. Not because she was tired – but because there was less to distract her now. Less to keep her thoughts from slipping back to places she had been trying to avoid. She crouched slightly, brushing dust from a lower shelf, her gaze unfocused as her mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
School. The quiet of her room.
Suddenly she noticed something. Something that had caught her eye – a small statuette of a dragon with no wings. It sat tucked between a stack of old books and a small wooden box, half-hidden in shadow. For a moment, she just looked at it, her expression unreadable, her thoughts slowing in a way they hadn’t all day.
There was no reason to pick it up. No reason to do anything at all. And yet, she reached for it anyway. It felt cold and solid. A little heavier than it looked. Familiar in a strange way that didn’t make much sense. Towa turned it slightly in her hands, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over its surface as she stood up again. She didn’t go back to cleaning right away. Instead, she leaned lightly against one of the shelves, holding the small dragon.
“This is kind of stupid.” she said eventually.
Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like she wasn’t sure why she had spoken out loud at all. The dragon didn’t respond. Of course it didn’t.
“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you…” the girl added softer now. “I guess…it’s just easier. You don’t answer. You don’t say anything I have to respond to.”
Her voice wavered slightly.
“I don’t have to explain anything.” Towa looked at the dragon, her expression tightening in a way she couldn’t quite control. “I don’t like it here… Not in school. Not home. Not even this place anymore.” Her throat tightened. “It used to feel different.”
The girl’s grip shifted, her fingers curling a little more firmly around the statuette, as if grounding herself.
“He used to make everything feel…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “easier…”
Her voice faltered.
“I thought-” she started, then stopped. Tried again. “I thought if I just didn’t think about it too much, it would… I don’t know. Feel less real…” A small quiet laugh escaped her, though there was no humor in it. “It doesn’t.”
The girl’s vision grew blurred slightly, and she blinked quickly, but it didn’t help.
“It just feels…” she swallowed, her voice softening even further, “empty.”
The first tear fell before she noticed it. Then another. Towa lowered her head slightly, her shoulders tightening as she tried to keep her breathing steady, but it didn’t work. The silence of the shop pressed in around her. It was still quiet.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” she whispered as she tried to wipe her eyes with her sleeves.
The dragon remained still in her hands. Unmoving. She stayed like that for a while. Not speaking or moving. Just letting the moment pass through her, slowly, unevenly, until the tightness in her chest eased just enough for her to breathe without it hurting. Eventually, the tears stopped. Not completely – but enough. Her expression settled into something calmer.
“Sorry…” she murmured, almost absentmindedly.
After a moment, she straightened, glancing around the shop as if remembering where she was, what she had been doing before. The cloth still rested where she left it, the shelves only half-finished, the small tasks waiting for her to return to them. So she did.
At some point – without really thinking about it – she carried the little dragon statuette with her to the front of the shop. She didn’t notice when she set it down. Didn’t think about the fact that it hadn’t been there before. That it didn’t belong on the counter. It just ended up there.
By the time she finished, the sky outside had darkened, the last traces of daylight fading. The shop was dimmer now, quieter in a different way, like it was settling into rest. Towa stood near the counter for a moment, looking around. Everything was in place. She reached for her bag, then paused before walking through the door of the shop. Her gaze drifted to the little statuette. Towa hesitated for a second. Then almost without thinking, she spoke:
“Watch the shop for me, okay?”
Her voice was soft. Half-serious. But she didn’t wait for an answer, she just left, locking the door.
***
The next day she felt excited. She didn’t know why exactly that was, but she rushed to the shop anyway. The air outside was cool, the streets were beginning to wake up. The girl stood in front of the door of the shop for a second, then unlocked it. The bell rang softly as she stepped inside.
“Good morning!” she said automatically, though no one was there to hear her.
She quickly passed by the counter and absentmindedly tapped the dragon statuette a few times, like she was greeting it. She set her bag down near the counter and exhaled lightly, shaking her head slightly, a faint breath of amusement escaping her before she picked up the cloth and began her routine. Dusting, straightening, opening windows, letting in the morning light. The shop slowly came alive in its own way.
Morning light slipped through the windows in narrow beams, catching on glass surfaces and dull metal edges, making certain objects glint briefly before fading back into stillness. Dust moved slowly in the air, visible only when the light touched it, drifting lazily as if time inside the shop moved just a little slower than outside. Even empty, it never felt entirely lifeless – just quiet, waiting.
Time passed in quiet repetition. The windows were opened, shelves were wiped. Objects were adjusted into neat order. The shop slowly settled into the rhythm of the morning, filled only with the soft sounds of her movements.
Then-
Towa stopped. Not because anything obvious happened. But because something felt different. She lifted her head, listening. The silence had changed. Subtle, uneasy, and yet – no bell had rung. Towa’s brows drew together slightly:
“Hello…?”
No response, still she was certain. Something had moved. She set the cloth down and walked toward the front of the shop, her steps slower now, more deliberate. The bell above the door remained still.
And then she saw it. A man stood just inside the shop. Towa froze. For a moment, her mind struggled to process it – he hadn’t been there before. The door hadn’t opened. The bell hadn’t rung. Her first instinct came quickly – an intruder.
Without thinking further, she grabbed the broom from where it leaned nearby and stepped forward.
“Hey!”
WHACK. The broom struck his shoulder.
“Wait-!”
WHACK.
“Stop-!”
WHACK.
“Who are you?! How did you get in here?!” Towa said as she kept hitting the man.
He raised both of his hands, stepping back to create distance.
“Please stop! I’m not here to steal anything!”
Towa hesitated, still holding the broom in front of her:
“Then… what are you doing here?”
The man exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. Then unexpectedly, he smiled – calm, unshaken.
Now that he wasn’t moving, Towa actually looked at him. Really looked. His appearance was… strange, but not in a way she could immediately reject. His hair, a muted pink, was styled neatly back, framing a face that seemed both expressive and composed at the same time. His eyes were a clear, striking blue, steady and observant, as if he had been watching her long before she noticed him. A monocle rested over one eye, held by a thin chain that glinted faintly when he shifted. His suit – orange with subtle stripes – felt oddly formal, paired with a large red cravat tied carefully at his neck. Small green earrings hung from his ears, swaying slightly. Nothing about him looked rushed or out of place, and yet… he didn’t quite fit into the shop, or anywhere else she could think of.
“I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting…?”
“For you.” His gaze shifted briefly toward the counter.
Towa followed his glance despite herself. The dragon sat exactly where she had left it.
“My name is Yumenaga.” he continued gently. A brief pause, then with quiet certainty, “I think… you’ve already met me before.”
Towa’s grip on the broom loosened.
“What…?”
Chapter 3
Towa lowered the broom slowly, her grip loosening as the tension in her shoulders began to fade – not completely, but enough to make the moment feel less like a confrontation and more like something uncertain.
“You’re not an intruder?”
Yumenaga smiled faintly, though his eyes lingered on her with quiet attentiveness.
“No.” he replied. “I’m not.”
A brief silence settled between them. Then, as if something had only just occurred to him, Yumenaga’s expression shifted slightly. His gaze moved past Towa, towards the deeper parts of the shop, as though searching for someone he expected to find.
“Hiroshi isn’t here?” he asked.
Towa blinked.
“Hiroshi?”
“Yes.” His tone remained calm, but there was a subtle familiarity in the name. “The man whose family owned this place.” He looked back at her. “Is he in the back?”
The girl hesitated. Just for a moment.
“He’s… he’s not here.”
“I see…” Yumenaga nodded once, as though accepting the answer without question.
Another pause followed. Then Towa added:
“He passed away…”
The words settled into the space between them. Yumenaga didn’t react immediately. His expression remained composed, but something in his gaze shifted – subtle, inward, as though the information had reached somewhere deeper than his outward calm.
“…I see…” he said again, quieter this time.
He turned his attention slightly away, toward the shelves and the counter, taking in the shop with a different kind of awareness now.
“That explains why the feeling is different.”
The girl watched him carefully, her own thoughts quieting as she observed his reaction.
“You… knew him?” she asked.
Yumenaga gave a small nod.
“Yes, when he was a kid.”
“A kid?” That made Towa pause.
“Mhm.” A faint warmth returned to his voice. “He used to come here often. Always asking questions. Listening more than he spoke. He liked stories…”
A small, almost nostalgic smile formed on his face as he said that. His gaze drifted toward the counter where the dragon rested:
“He was one of the few humans who could see things as they are.” he continued. “Not just as they appear.”
Towa followed his gaze, then looked back at him. His appearance looked familiar, like she had heard about him before. And she remembered – a man dressed in a bright orange suit with tiger-like stripes. She did know him; her grandpa had told her countless stories about him.
“So… the stories he told me, the ones about dragons, and strange places, and people who weren’t quite human… were those just stories?”
“No.” Yumenaga answered with no hesitation.
“They weren’t?”
“They were memories. His memories. And mine.” Yumenaga tilted his head slightly. “The world he showed you through those stories is not separate from reality. It exists alongside it. Most people simply forget how to see it.”
“So all of it… was real?” Towa’s brow furrowed.
“Yes, or rather – still is.”
The girl tried to process that in silence. Yumenaga observed her for a moment, then spoke again, his tone gently easing the weight of the moment.
“Hiroshi never told his stories as if they were exaggerated. He didn’t need to.” A faint smile returned to his lips. “He experienced them.”
“You’re not surprised…?” Towa glanced up again.
Yumenaga’s expression softened.
“I’ve seen many children grow. Some who could see. Some who listened. Some who believed… and some who forgot.” There was a quiet understanding in his voice – not sadness exactly, but something older.
He didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he added lightly:
“So no, I’m not surprised.”
“You’re okay with that?” Towa studied him. “People forgetting?”
Yumenaga considered the question briefly, then he gave a small shrug, easy but not dismissive.
“I’ve had a lot of time to become used to it.” he paused for a second. “Though that doesn’t mean it never matters.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. Towa looked at Yumenaga again, her grip on the broom now fully relaxed.
“You’re really from the world in his stories…”
Yumenaga nodded once.
“Yes.”
A brief pause.
“And now… it seems those stories have found their way back. They need you.”
Chapter 4
Towa didn’t remember when she agreed to this. At one moment she was standing behind the counter, pretending to be busy organizing something; the next moment – she was walking behind Yumenaga on a country road. The girl also didn’t remember how exactly she entered this magical world. But here she was, in the middle of nowhere, following a weird magical man who she had met a few hours ago.
“So… the shop is something like a bridge that connects this place with the human world? I didn’t know that…”
Yumenaga chuckled as he kept walking down the road, swinging his cane around.
“Of course you didn’t know, it’s supposed to be a secret entry. Wouldn’t be very secretive if you knew about it, no?”
Towa remained silent. She didn’t really have a response to that. For the short time she had spent with Yumenaga, the girl noticed he had this weird habit of always answering in a strange way. Or maybe that was normal over here, who knows. But so far, everything that surrounded them looked normal. The grass was green, the sky was blue, nothing out of the ordinary. Only that at times the ground they were stepping on felt unstable, wobbly even.
Still… the longer she walked, the more she noticed how vivid everything felt. The green of the grass was brighter than it should have been, almost glowing in the sunlight, and the sky stretched endlessly above them, a shade of blue so clear it felt unreal. The air carried a light warmth, gentle and calm – like a place that had been carefully kept just the way it was meant to be. And yet… every now and then, the colors would soften slightly, like a painting fading for just a moment before returning to normal.
“Is this normal?” Towa stopped and looked down at her legs. “Why is the ground moving like that?”
Yumenaga also stopped in his tracks.
“It wasn’t normal a few years ago. Now it is.” the man said as he tapped on the ground with his foot.
“What do you mean by that?” they continued walking.
“The world is slowly beginning to fade.” Yumenaga spoke up after a small pause, his voice serious now. “Some parts of it are almost completely gone.”
Towa frowned. She looked around, at the bright blue sky that moved in a weird way at times.
She looked up again, more carefully this time. The sky was still beautiful – but it didn’t feel entirely steady. The light shifted just a little too often, like the day couldn’t quite decide how bright it wanted to be. It wasn’t breaking… just wavering. Like it was trying to hold itself together.
“Why?”
“The human world and our world have always been connected. But it’s much more than that; the two worlds are dependent on each other. Our world depends on yours so it can function properly.”
The girl was looking at him and listening carefully.
“This world exists because it’s remembered.” the man continued speaking. “Because it’s believed in. Because stories, dreams, and everything in between still have a place somewhere. But that place is fading. So is this world.”
Towa felt her chest tighten as she kept walking. They were nearing a small village. It looked exactly how her grandpa used to describe the towns in his stories. The place was full of people, not exactly crowded, but still with too many people around. Two men passed by them, carrying big boxes; it seemed very busy.
Up close, the village was just as beautiful. Warm-colored buildings lined the streets, their windows catching the sunlight in soft reflections. Flowers grew along the edges of the paths, blooming in colors that felt almost too bright to be real. Everything looked alive—full of care, full of purpose. And yet, as she watched more closely, she noticed small things: petals falling too early, colors dulling at the edges before returning, like the world was quietly losing its strength and forcing itself to keep going anyway.
“Careful not to get lost!” Yumenaga called out as he waved at Towa to keep following him.
Of course she didn’t want to get lost, but there was something mesmerizing about this place and its people. Everyone seemed happy, content with doing what they did. There was something off though; Towa could tell that there was worry beneath all this happiness. The people smiled, talked, worked – but there was something in the way they moved, something slightly careful. Like they were aware of something fragile beneath everything, even if they didn’t speak about it.
“What’s this place?” the girl quickly skipped to where Yumenaga was standing.
“The town of Unfinished Things.” the man simply said as they began to walk again.
“Unfinished… Things?”
“Yes, this town’s purpose is to store all of the unfinished stories, books, music, and everything created by someone that was unfortunately forgotten. The folk’s job here is to try and finish all those forgotten things.”
“And we are here because…?”
“We’re here because we have to finish your story.” there was a glint in Yumenaga’s eyes.
“My story?”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for a bit. It was like Towa was waiting for something to happen.
“Care to elaborate?” she spoke up again after she saw nothing was going to happen.
“The moment Hiroshi began to tell you those tales about this place, he began to write down your own story here.” Yumenaga looked at the buildings around. “But since he’s gone now, your story was left unfinished. It’s your job to do it now.”
“That… sounds confusing…”
“I know.” the man gave a small understanding nod. “Let’s keep going, you’ll have time to figure everything out.”
Both of them kept walking through the town. Towa noticed something – a figure standing on the street. For some reason, whoever that person was, they stood out. As they got closer, Towa took a better look. It was a boy; he looked somewhere around her age, maybe a bit older. He was staring at them, his expression calm, almost unreadable, but not unfriendly – just quiet, like he was observing rather than reacting. His eyes lingered on Towa for a moment, studying her in a way that felt more curious than suspicious. Then he turned to look at Yumenaga:
“You brought someone.”
“I did.”
The boy’s gaze returned to Towa. There was something about him that felt… balanced, in a way the rest of the world wasn’t. The light around him seemed softer, more stable, as if it settled instead of shifting. The faint wavering she had been noticing everywhere else didn’t touch him in quite the same way. If anything, it felt like the space near him was holding together better than the rest.
“She’s human.”
“You don’t have to say it like I’m not here.” Towa frowned a bit.
“I know you’re here.” he replied calmly. There was a pause. “You look like you don’t belong here.”
“I don’t think I do…” Towa hesitated.
Something in the boy’s expression shifted. Not pity. Not amusement. Just understanding.
“Neither do I…” he said calmly.
Yumenaga smiled faintly.
“Tasogare.” he said, as if that explained everything.
Tasogare. The boy inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the name more than introducing himself.
The three of them stood silently for a moment, the air shifting around them, as if the world was listening.
Then Tasogare spoke again:
“It’s getting worse.” he said as he looked at Yumenaga.
Yumenaga let out a somewhat tired sigh. Helpless, even. Towa gave them both a confused look.
“He’s talking about what I told you earlier – the world fading.” the man looked at Tasogare, then at Towa. “Tasogare’s parents are also a big part of how our world functions.”
“My parents were supposed to keep everything in balance.” he said. “Light and dark. Day and night.”
Towa blinked:
“Your parents?”
“The Sun,” Yumenaga said lightly, “and the Moon.”
“You’re joking…” the girl stared at them.
Neither of them laughed.
“You’re not joking…” her expression shifted.
Tasogare shook his head slightly.
“But they’re not together anymore.” he said. “And because of that, nothing stays the way it should.”
The sky above them shifted faintly, light bleeding unevenly into shadow. Towa looked up again, noticing it more clearly now – the imbalance, the way nothing quite settled into place.
“And this is because of that?” she asked.
“Partly.” Yumenaga said. “But not entirely.”
The magical man turned to her, for once completely serious:
“The human world is forgetting. Stories. Wonder. The things that sustain this one.” He looked a bit sad while he was speaking. “And yet, you didn’t. You were raised by someone who understood this place. Who kept it alive in ways most people no longer can.”
“Grandpa…” Towa’s voice came out quieter.
Yumenaga nodded.
“He knew, and now – you do too.”
The girl looked down for a moment, her thoughts unsteady:
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…” she admitted.
For a second no one spoke. Then Tasogare stepped a little closer.
“You didn’t have to know yet.” he said.
Towa looked up at him. His expression was still quiet, reserved in a way, but not distant.
“Just… don’t leave…” he added. “This problem isn’t supposed to get solved by only one person, and no one should try to do it alone.”
Chapter 5
Yumenaga didn’t say he was leaving. He simply… wasn’t there anymore. Towa noticed it a few seconds too late, her gaze shifting from the uneven sky to the empty space where he had been standing. It should have felt unsettling – but it didn’t. Not completely. There was something intentional about it, like he had stepped away on purpose. Like he trusted this moment to happen without him.
That left her alone with Tasogare. Not entirely alone, but close enough. They stood side by side, both looking up at the sky, trying to settle into anything whole. Light stretched too far into shadow, then pulled back again, like it couldn’t decide which side it belonged to.
“It looks tired.” Towa said quietly.
Tasogare glanced at her.
“Tired?”
“Like it’s trying to do something it can’t finish.”
He looked back up.
“It didn’t use to be like this.” the boy said.
Towa let out a small breath and sat down, her movements slower now, less guarded. After a moment, Tasogare sat too, leaving just enough space between them to feel natural.
“You said your parents kept everything balanced.” the girl continued. “So… how did it get like this? Did something happen?”
Tasogare shook his head.
“No. That’s the problem. Nothing happened all at once.”
“Then what changed?” Towa frowned slightly.
“They stopped meeting each other halfway. At first, things still worked. Even when they disagreed, day still followed night. Night still followed day.”
“So it didn’t break immediately.” Towa nodded.
“No, it was slower than that.” he paused briefly, then continued. “My dad – the Sun – he thought things should stay the same. That if he just kept shining, everything would stay stable.”
“Like… holding everything together?”
“Yes.”
“And your mom?”
“She believed things had to change.” the boy said. “That rest mattered. That darkness wasn’t something to avoid – but something necessary.”
Towa looked back at the sky.
“So… neither of them was wrong.”
“No…” Tasogare said quietly. “But they stopped listening to each other.”
That sat between them for a moment.
“They chose their own way instead of trying to understand the other.” Towa spoke up.
“And after that, things stopped working.” Tasogare nodded.
The girl pulled lightly at her sleeve, her thoughts shifting.
“That sounds familiar…” she murmured.
The boy glanced at her.
“My parents are divorced.” she said. “I don’t remember everything, but… I remember that it wasn’t sudden either. Things just… got quieter. Like something important was missing, but no one said it out loud.”
Tasogare listened.
“And then one day, it was just… over.” the girl added. “No real explanation. No clear ending.”
“Unfinished…” the boy said suddenly.
Towa nodded once.
“Yeah…”
They sat in silence again – but this time it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like they were both looking at the same thing, just from different sides.Towa glanced around slowly, at the shifting edges of the world, at the places where things flickered and didn’t quite hold.
“This whole place feels like that…” she said. “Like things that didn’t finish properly.”
“It is.” Tasogare replied.
“Not just your parents.” the girl added.
“No.”
That answer came easier now. Towa exhaled softly.
“I thought I was the only one dealing with something like this.” she admitted. “Like… everything just kind of… stopped, and I didn’t know what to do after.”
“You’re not.” Tasogare looked at her more directly this time.
“Yeah… I’m starting to see that.” she let out a small breath, something almost like relief slipping into it. Her thoughts shifted again, slower now, more steady. “Yumenaga said he’s met other kids.”
“He has.”
“So they came here because something in their lives felt wrong too.” she continued.
“In different ways… You can say it like that.” Tasogare nodded slightly.
Towa tilted her head, thinking.
“…and they didn’t stay stuck like this?”
A small pause.
“Most of them didn’t.” the boy said.
“Why?”
He hesitated, then answered honestly.
“Because they stopped trying to fix everything at once.”
Towa blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“They didn’t make the problem disappear.” he said. “They just… understood it differently. And that changed what they did next.”
The girl looked down at her hands.
“So… they didn’t have to solve everything?” she murmured.
“No.”
“They just had to keep going.”
“Yes.”
That settled into her more deeply than anything else. Towa leaned back slightly, looking up again. The sky flickered – but this time, it didn’t feel as overwhelming. Still uneven. Still uncertain. But not impossible.
“I think I get it…” she said quietly.
Tasogare didn’t respond, but he was listening.
“This place isn’t here to fix things for me.” she continued. “It’s just… showing me that things don’t have to stay broken the way they are now. And I’m not the only one who’s felt like this.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Towa let out a small breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.
“Then maybe I don’t have to treat it like the worst thing in the world” she said.
The boy glanced at her.
“It can still matter.” he said.
“I know,” she replied, “it just doesn’t have to be the only thing.”
That seemed to be the right answer. A faint shift passed through the sky above them, light settling just a fraction more evenly than before before drifting again. Towa noticed.
“It changed again.”
“It does that.” Tasogare said. “When something else does too.”
The girl looked at him, then back at the horizon.
“Then I’ll stay for a while.” she said.
“To fix it…?” he tilted his head slightly.
“No. To understand it,” a small pause, “…and maybe help where I can.”
Something in the boy’s expression softened.
“That’s enough.” he said.
Towa glanced up at the sky one more time, watching as light and shadow slowly, imperfectly, tried to find their balance. Her problems weren’t gone. Her grandfather was still gone. That hadn’t changed. But maybe that didn’t mean everything had to stay broken.
Somewhere in the distance, Yumenaga watched, quiet and knowing, as if he had seen this moment many times before – and yet still found it worth waiting for.
Towa took a small step forward. Then another. Not away from what she felt – but through it.
And this time –
She didn’t stop.
