It's been a year since Kane passed away.
And sometimes, it feels like the world hasn't changed at all. The sun rises every day, the seasons turn, and people go about their lives. But without Kane, it feels like something's missing.
Sayoko and Haru are doing well. They've kept up with their studies, just like Kane would have wanted. They've been strong for each other, for me, even when I've felt like I couldn't keep going. But there are moments, quiet moments, when the air gets thick and silent, when I see a small crack in their smiles. I know they miss her too. We all do.
It's strange how grief can sneak up on you. It's not the loud, overwhelming kind you expect. It doesn't hit like a crashing wave. It's more like a quiet shift, like the space between heartbeats, where the absence is felt most. We're all moving forward, but we're moving forward without her.
And that's the hardest thing of all.
The hardest part isn't the silence that follows her absence. It's the silence before. When you're standing in front of someone, watching them fight for their life, and you know — you know — you won't get the time you thought you had. That's the silence that haunts you. The unsaid words, the things left hanging between you, like a question that will never be answered.
I miss Kane more than I thought possible. Her laugh, her teasing, the way she made everything seem a little brighter, even on the hardest days. But when I close my eyes, I can still hear her. It's like she's right there beside me, whispering encouragement. Reminding me of the things I once couldn't believe.
The hardest part wasn't just losing her. It was learning to live again, to love myself again.
I remember how Kane always used to tell me I was stronger than I thought. That I could get through anything. She told me I had a future, even when I couldn't see it myself. But I couldn't believe her — not back then. I couldn't believe in myself.
Then, one afternoon, as the sun set and painted the world in soft hues of orange and pink, I sat on the porch with my sister.
shinobu.
She had her head resting against the back of the chair, her eyes lost in the horizon. I remember asking her, softly, "Do you think Kane's okay now?"
She didn't answer right away, but when she did, her voice was calm, steady. "I think she's at peace, Yuki. And I think she would want you to be, too."
At first, I didn't understand. It wasn't until I started living those words, breathing them in, that I realized what she meant.
It's okay to feel sad. It's okay to miss people, to feel broken by their absence. But it's also okay to heal. It's okay to move forward, because that's what they would have wanted. Kane wanted me to move forward. She wanted us to live, to grow. To cherish what we had and take it with us.
kane taught me to love myself again. To stop running from the pain, to sit with it, and to let it pass. She reminded me that even when the world feels empty, there's still something to hold onto. And now, I understand. The love we share — the silent bonds that tie us together — doesn't disappear. It remains, even after they're gone.
Sometimes, I sit in the quiet of my room, and the world outside is too loud, too full. But in those moments, I remember Kane's words.
"I love you."
And I carry them with me, through every day, through every step I take.
She taught me that love doesn't die, not really. It lingers in the things we do for others, in the way we carry their memory with us. And she taught me that even the smallest gestures, the moments where we feel most alone, are still connected to the people we love. Even in the silence.
shinobu has been my anchor. In ways I never fully appreciated before, she has been my strength. She's become my family in the truest sense of the word. We've healed together, and though the scars are there, we've learned to live with them.
I used to think that I was broken. That I couldn't go on without Kane. But she wasn't leaving me forever. She gave me pieces of herself — pieces I carry with me in my heart. Her spirit is here, with me, with us. And I will be okay. Because I am not alone.
We all have our silent bonds. The ones that don't scream for attention, the ones that aren't seen by the world. The bonds that live inside us, that stay with us, even after the people we love are gone.
Kane is still here. Not in the way she was, but in every laugh, every tear, every moment we share together. In the quiet moments when I feel her beside me.
I will carry her memory for as long as I live. And I will never forget what she taught me — that love doesn't die.
Not really.
And maybe, one day, I'll be able to smile again. Not because I've forgotten, but because I've learned to carry her with me. A piece of her will always be inside me, in the way I live, in the choices I make.
In the silence.
And I know that's enough.
Silent Bonds.