The Other Name

C H 2 : The Long Walk Home

Nia changed slowly, movements mechanical. The uniform came off and was folded with care that felt misplaced, as if treating the fabric gently might make the rest of the night follow suit.

She pulled on an old sweater and pajama bottoms, the cotton thin from too many washes. The bruise on her arm throbbed when she lifted it, a quiet reminder she couldn’t set aside.

She lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Minutes passed. Then more.

The apartment was too loud in its silence. Every sound pressed in, the refrigerator cycling on, the distant rush of traffic, the uneven rise and fall of her mother’s breathing through the walls.

Nia turned onto her side, then onto her back again. The mattress felt unfamiliar, like it didn’t recognize her anymore.

Hunger gnawed at her, sharp and insistent. Her stomach twisted, empty and aching, but the thought of the kitchen, the bottles, the cold light, the quiet, made her chest tighten. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come.

It didn’t.

Time slipped by in fragments. The clock glowed faintly on her desk, its numbers changing too slowly to matter. Eventually, Nia pushed herself upright, shoulders slumping forward as if the weight of the night had finally settled there.

She reached into her drawer and took out the small bottle she’d hidden behind a stack of notebooks. The label was worn, instructions printed in careful letters that had never really felt meant for her. She didn’t read them now. She didn’t count.

She just wanted the edges of everything to dull, for the noise inside her head to quiet enough that she could rest.

She swallowed the pills dry, one after another, face blank. No tears, no hesitation. Just a practiced emptiness.

When she lay back down, sleep came quickly, not gently, but heavily, like something dropped over her.

Her expression didn’t change as her eyes closed. The same dull calm stayed with her, as if feeling anything more would take too much effort.

Morning arrived too soon.

Nia woke before her alarm, body pulled from sleep by habit more than rest. Her head felt thick, her thoughts slow and distant, like they were wrapped in fog. She sat up carefully, waiting for the room to steady. It did, eventually, though the emptiness stayed.

She dressed in silence, tugging on her uniform straight from the chair where she’d left it. The fabric was wrinkled, stiff with neglect. She smoothed it down halfheartedly, knowing it wouldn’t matter. Her reflection in the mirror looked tired and hollow-eyed, hair falling the wrong way no matter how she fixed it.

In the kitchen, she paused.

The room was unchanged. Bottles still lined the counter. The sink was empty, clean in a way that felt accidental. Nia’s stomach clenched again, reminding her of what she hadn’t eaten last night, what she still wouldn’t eat now. She turned away before the feeling could grow sharper.

She glanced once toward her mother’s room. The door was closed. No sound came from inside.

Nia stood there for a second longer, then let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She slipped on her shoes, shouldered her bag, and left the apartment quietly. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the stillness inside.

Outside, the morning was cold and gray, the festive lights dimmed by daylight. People hurried past her, wrapped in coats and purpose. Nia joined them, moving automatically, feeling both too heavy and strangely unreal.

Empty. Hungry. Awake.

She walked on anyway.

Nia walked the long way to school, each step measured and quiet. The streets were still gray, the morning cold biting at her fingers. She passed groups of middle and high school students, laughing in pairs or piled into cars and buses. Their backpacks bounced, hair perfectly styled, uniforms neat.

A dull thought floated through her mind—I have to save money. Walking is cheaper. She said it to herself coldly, emptily, like repeating a fact she already knew but had no reason to care about. There was no frustration, no longing, only the quiet echo of necessity.

The school gates came into view. Nia slipped through with the other students but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. She moved directly to her classroom and slid into her desk, lowering her bag to the floor. She pulled out her notebooks and pens in silence, arranging them mechanically. Then her gaze lifted to the window, staring at the trees outside, the gray sky above the city, and the life continuing without her.

A few students snickered, their whispers cutting through the quiet. Nia felt them like a brush of cold wind against her skin. Her uniform was wrinkled, her sweater slightly askew. She could hear the faint echo of their amusement, but she didn’t look toward them. She didn’t care enough to react.

One girl in the back scoffed loudly, standing with hands on her hips as though daring Nia to respond. Her voice was sharp. “Hey, look at you—can’t even dress properly!”

Nia’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak. The girl’s scowl deepened, stepping forward as if ready to push her.

“Enough,” the homeroom teacher said suddenly, opening the door and stepping in. The classroom quieted immediately. “Take your seats. Let’s begin.”

The girl muttered under her breath but sank into her desk. Nia continued to stare out the window, expression unreadable, eyes hollow.

Time dragged. The bell rang, and the classroom emptied with the sudden burst of energy only teenagers can create. Laughter, shouting, sneakers squeaking against polished floors—life spilling out into the hall.

Nia bit her lips, feeling the ache in her stomach twist sharper. The smell of sandwiches, coffee, and sweet pastries followed the other students out. She reached for her water bottle, drinking slowly, letting the liquid slide down her throat. It didn’t satisfy the hunger, but it was something, and that was enough to keep her still.

When the bell for class rang again, the students returned, chattering and bright. A few whispered about her as they passed her desk, mockery dripping in their tone. Some ignored her completely, turning their heads as if she didn’t exist at all. Nia didn’t flinch. She didn’t respond. The hollow feeling inside her had long replaced any spark of anger.

Hours passed in the classroom. Lessons dragged by. Nia’s head began to feel heavy, a dull weight pressing down from her temples to her neck. Her vision blurred slightly at the edges. She shook it off, willing herself to focus on the teacher’s words. Just focus. Don’t let them see anything.

Then the world tilted.

Her chair scraped against the floor sharply, the sound louder than it should have been. Nia’s body didn’t respond in time. Her knees buckled, her hands slipped from the desk, and she fell forward with a thud.

A sharp gasp swept through the classroom.

The homeroom teacher jumped to her feet, rushing toward Nia. “Call the medical staff at the school! Now!” Her voice was urgent, trembling with the sudden shock that had pierced the routine of the day.

The students froze, some staring wide-eyed, others whispering in hushed panic. Nia lay still for a moment, face pressed to the floor, chest rising and falling unevenly. The hollow, empty part of her remained, even as panic and attention flooded the room around her.

A hand reached down to touch her shoulder, but she barely felt it.

Nia woke in the small, sterile room of the school’s medical office, the sharp smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air. The nurse hovered over her, voice calm but tinged with concern.

“You fainted, Nia,” she said, gently touching Nia’s arm. “And you’ve had a couple of nosebleeds… stress and use of some certain kind of medications seem to be the cause. I think… you should go to a proper hospital. It’s safer, Tokyo Medical Center has an emergency department. They can check you thoroughly."

Nia blinked, the fluorescent lights above spinning faintly. Her stomach twisted, still empty and aching. She felt the dull throb in her head from the fall, the lingering hunger, the constant weight pressing in her chest.

The homeroom teacher whispered to the nurse outside the room, their words low and urgent. Nia’s eyelids fluttered, then lifted fully, and she realized she was conscious again.

“…Nia?” the nurse asked softly. “We want to take you to Tokyo Medical Center. You’ll be okay there—”

“No!” Nia’s voice cut sharply. She scrambled upright, grabbing her bag. “I—I can’t. I have work!”

Her words were desperate but precise. She bolted from the medical office, down the hall, ignoring the shouts behind her. The fluorescent lights blurred past as she forced herself out of the school building, heart hammering. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Hours passed.

Darkness had fully settled over Tokyo, the city lights bleeding through the smoggy night. Nia’s footsteps echoed against the narrow streets as she arrived at the CVS for her part-time job. She worked quietly, mechanically, the world outside reduced to a blur of fluorescent aisles and cash register beeps.

By 23:43, the store was nearly empty. Nia was at the payment counter, finishing up her shift, when a sharp, hot trickle ran down her face. She froze. Another nosebleed. Her school uniform was stained crimson across the collar. She bit her lips so hard it hurt, tasting copper, frustration and desperation mixing with the ache in her stomach.

She grabbed her coat, but it offered little comfort. The muffler around her neck was all that shielded her from the chill. Without thinking, she stepped into the night, her shoes slapping against the asphalt, the cold pressing into her bones.

The streets were narrow, dimly lit.

Shadows pooled along the edges, and every step felt amplified in the silence. Then she sensed it, a presence. Her pulse spiked.

She turned her head slightly, scanning behind her. A man in his thirties was there, on the phone, voice low and distant, walking in her direction, just behind her. Something about him made her stomach knot. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but his pace mirrored hers.

Nia swallowed hard, her throat tight. The muffler scratched against her chin as she pulled it closer, trying to ward off the chill, or maybe the fear. She began walking faster, each step pounding the empty streets.

A few meters later, she risked a glance over her shoulder. He was still there. Still following, still keeping pace.

Panic bloomed, sharp and all-consuming. Her fingers clenched around her bag strap as she broke into a sprint, legs pumping, lungs burning, heart threatening to burst. The muffler slipped slightly, the school bag bouncing against her side, but she didn’t care.

The narrow road stretched endlessly ahead, streetlights flickering, shadows dancing with her every step. Behind her, the man’s presence stayed constant, a dark rhythm chasing her through the night.

She ran faster.

And still, he followed.

Nia’s lungs burned, each breath ragged and sharp. The streets blurred around her, pale orange lights smeared across rain-slick asphalt. She jerked her head left, then right, desperate for some sign, some small shop, some passerby, some flicker of movement that meant she wasn’t utterly alone, but the city felt abandoned, frozen in its indifferent silence. Windows were dark; doors were closed. Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist, closing in on her.

Her heart hammered so loudly it drowned out everything else. She tried to call out, to scream, to warn someone, but her voice caught in her throat, a tight, dry lock of fear. The sound wouldn’t come. She opened her mouth, jaw quivering, tried again.

A strangled gasp, nothing more. Panic clawed up her spine, sharp and unforgiving. Her hands shook violently, clutching her bag like it was a lifeline, and yet it offered no comfort.

Tears blurred her vision. Warm streaks ran down her cheeks, mixing with the damp sweat on her temples. She blinked rapidly, hoping the world would stop spinning, but the city didn’t care. Her muffler tangled around her neck as she tugged at it in frustration, her movements jerky and desperate.

In that moment, reality fractured. She realized with a cold, suffocating clarity that she hadn’t been thinking about the route back to her apartment, her home, the place that should have been safety. She had run without direction, without a plan, driven only by the instinct to escape. Panic flared hotter. Where was she? How had she gotten so far from the place she knew?

Her pace faltered, legs suddenly heavy with exhaustion. The man—he was still there. She could feel him. Not behind her, not chasing with visible intent, but like a shadow over her back, a presence that made her skin crawl.

Nia’s stomach dropped, bile rising. Her knees trembled. She wanted to scream, to call for help, to beg—but again, no sound came. Only a strangled, silent scream inside her chest, twisting tighter and tighter until it ached.

She spun in place, eyes wild, scanning the emptiness. Every door was shut. Every light was out. A single cat slinked along a fence, its eyes glinting in the darkness, indifferent to her terror. Her chest heaved. She staggered, almost falling, and braced herself against a wall, trying to pull in air, trying to ground herself.

Tears poured freely now, unchecked. She pressed her palms over her eyes, wishing, praying, that it would all end—the fear, the hunger, the pain, the impossibility of reaching safety. Her fingers dug into her temples, into the strands of hair plastered to her face, as if gripping something physical could pull her out of the nightmare she was trapped in.

She took a shuddering step forward, then another. The city loomed, a maze of cold steel and shadow, and for the first time, the thought that she might not make it back home flickered through her mind. A fragile, terrifying realization: she was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

And the man was still there.

—to be continued