CHAPTER 5: THE WEIGHT OF GLASS SKIES
855 Words
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Chapter 5 – The Weight of Glass Skies
There was no one there.
But Moon couldn’t shake the feeling. That lingering chill that prickled just under the skin, as if someone had whispered her name and vanished into smoke.
She stared out at the Tokyo skyline, at the way the buildings reflected the city’s neon soul, and felt something in her chest shift. It was excitement. It was fear. It was everything she wasn’t ready for.
The note still burned in her palm.
They’re watching you already. Be careful who you sing for.
She folded it slowly, slid it into the back of her music notebook, and tucked the notebook deep beneath her pillow.
No one needed to see it. Not yet.
She climbed back into bed, heart refusing to settle, eyes wide open in the dark.
Rain painted the windows in long, dreamy streaks. Thunder rumbled far away.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Sleep came like fog — uneven, haunting, full of blurred faces and distant whispers.
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The next morning felt like a dream she’d half-slept through. The sky was the color of silver milk, clouds sagging low as if the heavens were tired too.
Someone knocked again.
But this time, it was fast. Friendly.
Haruki groaned and rolled over.
“I swear, if that’s another culty note, I’m switching dorms.”
Moon laughed nervously. “Noted.”
She opened the door to find a sharply dressed man in a navy-blue blazer and thin-rimmed glasses.
“I’m Sato. Your student orientation liaison,” he said, with the enthusiasm of someone who’d drunk three coffees and memorized a script.
“Chiyo sent me.”
He handed Moon a printed schedule, a campus map, and an ID card with her face looking slightly too stunned.
“I’ll be waiting downstairs in ten. Orientation begins in twenty. Don’t be late.”
He turned on his heel and left like a man on a mission.
Haruki pulled the blanket over her head. “Godspeed, my roommate. If you see a cute barista, get his number.”
Moon threw on a hoodie, grabbed her notebook, and sprinted downstairs.
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Orientation was held in a lecture hall big enough to host a minor K-pop concert. Moon filed in with other first-years, a soft buzz of chatter bouncing off the marble walls. She scanned the room automatically.
There.
Back corner.
Caleb.
He sat alone, hood up, glasses on, earbuds in.
Totally uninterested.
Moon looked away before he noticed. Or maybe he had already.
The presentations began.
Speeches from professors. Rules from the dean. Safety briefings, schedules, security measures, health center locations.
But Moon kept thinking about the note.
About “they.”
About who was watching her.
And why.
Then the orientation host said something that froze her spine:
“All creative submissions will be evaluated for originality. Plagiarism will not be tolerated, but remember, not all dangers come from copying — sometimes the danger is in singing something too honest, too loud, in a place where others prefer silence.”
Moon blinked.
That was… strange.
Poetic.
Too poetic for a safety speech.
Was that a warning?
Or just artistic flair?
The session ended. Students poured out like syrup down stairs, slow and sticky.
Moon tried to follow the crowd, but someone grabbed her arm.
Firm.
Cold fingers.
She turned sharply.
A girl she hadn’t seen before. Long braids. Deep violet lipstick. Eyes like a mirror.
“You’re Moon,” she said flatly. “Aren’t you?”
“…Yeah. Who’re you?”
The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she slipped a folded paper into Moon’s hoodie pocket.
“You’ll understand when it’s time.”
Then she disappeared into the crowd like smoke in a storm.
Moon froze.
“What the hell is happening here?”
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Back in the dorm room, Haruki had set up fairy lights and ordered takeout sushi.
The room smelled like soy sauce and strawberries — someone down the hall must’ve been diffusing candy-scented essential oils again. Moon sat cross-legged on her bed, the silence between them filled only by the faint sound of city traffic and Haruki’s chewing.
Moon reached into her hoodie pocket like the paper might bite. She unfolded it slowly.
No handwriting this time. Just a picture.
A girl.
Her face scratched out with thick black ink. But the shape of her body… the hoodie… the hair…
It looked like her.
Haruki looked up, chopsticks midair. “You good?”
Moon swallowed, crumpled the paper, and forced a grin.
“Yeah. Just... jet lag.”
But inside her chest, something was unraveling fast — like a violin string pulled too tight.
She got up and tossed the paper deep into the waste bin, burying it under napkins and receipts. But she could still feel it burning through the layers, like it didn’t want to be forgotten.
Haruki turned on the tiny Bluetooth speaker by her bed, and a soft indie song filled the room. Moon lay back down, eyes wide open, heartbeat too loud. She was no longer sure if she was imagining things… or if something was truly coming for her.
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- Writer
