Chapter 3
1092 Words
The way he watched her
Takuya — Present
The night air smelled like rust and old smoke.
Takuya stood by the balcony rail, half a cigarette between his lips, eyes on the skyline. Below, the city stretched endlessly, a glowing maze of shadows and sirens.
She was behind him.
Sleeping, maybe. Maybe staring at the ceiling. He could feel her energy still wound tight, coiled like a spring that hadn't known rest in years. He didn’t need to see her to know she was awake.
He always knew.
It was the same way he used to feel her, years ago, before either of them had a name for it.
Flashback — Ten Years Ago
Myiah — Age 13
Takuya — Age 15
She was the quiet one in the classroom. Always sitting two rows from the back, near the window, doodling dragons in her notebook instead of paying attention.
Takuya noticed her the first time she didn’t flinch when someone said his name.
Everyone else knew better than to look him in the eye. His last name—Kurosawa—was a warning in every hallway. His father ran the Ryujin-kai back then. People feared what ran in his blood.
But not her.
She never stared. But she never ran.
Just once, on a rainy Thursday, she looked up at him in the middle of class.
He was already watching her.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.
Just… nodded.
That was the first time he felt it.
That strange pull. Like something in her saw something in him.
Something not ugly.
Takuya — Present
She never knew what that did to him.
How that moment—barely a second long—shifted something deep in his bones.
After that, he watched her. Not obsessively. Not like the rumors said. Just enough to make sure she was okay.
She never spoke much. But when she smiled—at the librarian, at a stray cat, at the vending machine that gave her two drinks by accident—it lit up something he thought he didn’t have anymore.
Hope.
She was the only soft thing in a world made of blade and glass.
He kept his distance, but his gaze always found her.
He remembered the day she came to school with a cut on her cheek.
Flashback — Age 14 & 16
She said she “fell.”
But she didn’t look like a girl who fell.
She looked like a girl who was trying not to cry.
Takuya had been waiting by the stairwell that day. He never approached her. But that time, when he saw the bruise… he followed.
Not close. Just enough.
He watched her slip behind the old music building, curl up on the concrete steps, and wipe at her face like she was trying to erase it.
She didn’t see him then.
But that night, a man showed up at the hospital with a broken nose and no memory of how he got there.
Takuya never told anyone.
Especially not her.
Myiah — Present
She sat on the floor by the window, legs pulled to her chest, staring out at the night like it held answers.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.
It was layered.
Weighted.
She didn’t trust him. Not yet. But there was a strange comfort in how he existed near her without pressing.
He didn’t ask for stories.
He didn’t ask for tears.
He just stayed close.
She hated that part of her remembered it—how he used to lean against the back wall of the school courtyard, arms crossed, eyes always finding hers when she thought no one was looking.
Back then, he was a shadow.
Now, he was something heavier.
Stronger.
Safer.
But she couldn’t tell if that was real… or just what she needed him to be.
Flashback — Age 15 & 17
The last time she saw him before everything fell apart, he was bleeding.
She had found him behind the school gym, knuckles split, shirt torn. Someone had jumped him. Probably one of the rival gang kids who thought they could take a shot at Kurosawa’s heir.
He didn’t speak when she approached.
She just sat beside him.
Pulled out a pack of tissues from her backpack.
And handed him one.
He took it silently.
She didn’t ask what happened.
He didn’t offer.
They sat there for twenty-three minutes.
And in that silence… something passed between them.
Not love. Not yet. But something close to it. A quiet promise neither of them knew how to keep.
The next day, she was gone.
Takuya — Present
He never forgot the way she left.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just a hollow desk and an emptiness that echoed louder than the school bell.
He searched for a while.
Not out of anger.
Out of need.
But she had disappeared, and he couldn’t afford to lose control looking for someone who didn’t want to be found.
Still… some nights, when the city quieted, he’d find himself staring at the streetlights and wondering where she went.
And why she had never come back.
Until now.
She stood in the kitchen again.
This time, she made her own food. Quietly. Without waking Emiko. Without asking Takuya for help.
He hadn’t spoken to her much since yesterday. He gave her space.
And she didn’t know what to do with that.
She remembered the boy who used to hover at a distance like he was afraid of touching her wrong. Who once left a packet of band-aids in her locker with no note, no name, just silence.
Now he was a man.
But he still watched her the same way.
Like she was breakable.
Like he didn’t want to be the one who broke her.
She found him outside that night.
Leaning against the balcony rail, cigarette in hand, eyes on the stars.
“Do you remember that day?” she asked softly.
He didn’t look at her. “Which one?”
“When I handed you tissues behind the gym.”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
She stepped closer, unsure why she was even asking.
“I always wondered if you hated me. After I left.”
Now he looked at her.
“I didn’t hate you,” he said. “I just wanted to know if you were still breathing.”
The wind picked up.
She didn’t move.
And for the first time since she’d arrived… she didn’t feel like a prisoner.
She felt like someone being seen.
Not loved. Not yet.
But seen.
- Writer
