The days that followed blurred like watercolor in rain. Ayaka became a constant presence — always by Hiro's side, always with that same gentle smile and crimson eyes that held storms beneath their surface. If he looked up from his laptop, she was there. When he turned a corner in the library, she was already waiting. When he left his dorm, she stood just outside, perfectly dressed, as if anticipating his every move.
At first, Hiro told himself it was sweet. Nostalgic. Even endearing, the way she remembered things he had forgotten about himself. But with each passing hour, a feeling deeper than suspicion began to take root — a pressure in his chest, like a string pulled too tight.
It didn't help that people began to notice.
"So, that's your girlfriend now?" teased Ren, one of Hiro's project partners, during a coding session. "She looks like a model, man. Lucky guy."
"We were childhood friends," Hiro replied, eyes not leaving the screen.
"Childhood? She acts like she owns you."
The words hit harder than Ren meant them to. Hiro laughed it off, but it stayed with him.
That afternoon, Ayaka appeared at the computer lab with two coffees — one exactly the way he liked it, the other untouched.
"I thought you might need a break," she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Ren raised a brow. "How'd you know where we were?"
She smiled. "I always know where Hiro is."
Ren laughed awkwardly. Hiro froze.
Later that evening, Hiro received a message on his university app: *Ren Nakamura has been marked absent today in all classes.*
Weird. He had just seen him that morning.
He tried to call. No answer.
The next day, the police were spotted near the dorms. Rumors flew — that Ren had gone missing, that his room was untouched, nothing stolen, no struggle. Just... gone.
Coincidences, Hiro told himself again.
But when he asked Ayaka if she had seen Ren after the lab, her expression shifted for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something — satisfaction?
"No," she said. "Should I have?"
He let it go.
The university buzzed with worry. Posters went up. Extra security appeared near the dormitories. Hiro found himself watching Ayaka more carefully now — noticing how her smiles never reached her eyes, how she moved silently, how no one really knew where she lived.
One evening, she invited him to her apartment — a lavish, high-rise flat that overlooked the city, filled with expensive furnishings, silk curtains, and a faint scent of roses that didn't quite mask something more metallic.
"You live here alone?" he asked.
"Father arranged it before we moved back. I told him I needed to be close to you."
She handed him tea in a porcelain cup with intricate gold filigree. He hesitated to drink it.
They sat on the couch. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Do you still dream of the sea?" she asked.
"What?"
"Our house by the ocean. With the wind chimes and jasmine flowers on the fence. You used to say you'd build it yourself."
He felt a pang in his chest. It had been a dream, yes — but not one he remembered voicing aloud.
That night, Hiro dreamt of crimson waves crashing against jagged cliffs. In the distance, a house burned while a lullaby played.
The next morning, another girl was missing.
Miyu — a second-year literature student who'd once invited Hiro for coffee. She had disappeared without a trace. No security footage. No texts. No signs of leaving.
Hiro tried not to connect the dots. But they were connecting themselves.
He found himself retracing his steps — the coffee shop where he last saw Miyu, the bench where Ren had joked about Ayaka. And Ayaka — always near, always smiling.
She caught him one night in the engineering lab.
"You're avoiding me," she said softly.
"I'm just... overwhelmed. The disappearances. The pressure."
She took his hands. "Then let me carry your burdens. I'll take care of everything. Like I always have."
Her grip was tighter than expected.
"Ayaka... what are you not telling me?"
She tilted her head. "You're scared of me."
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer. "I love you, Hiro. I always have. And if I have to eliminate every obstacle to keep you safe and happy... I will. Isn't that what you'd do for me?"
He stepped back. "That's not love. That's obsession."
Her eyes shimmered. Not with tears — but delight.
"Then call it what you want. But I'm not letting go. Ever."
She left, the echo of her heels vanishing down the corridor.
Hiro locked the lab door behind her, then sank to the floor, trembling. He looked down at the red ribbon still tied to his wrist. It hadn't loosened, not once.
He tried to untie it.
It didn't budge.
When he finally cut it with scissors, it bled.
No — his wrist did. The ribbon had tightened like a noose. Where it had touched skin, it left a mark — a faint red line shaped like the word: MINE.
His breath caught.
He stared at the broken ribbon in his hand and whispered, "What are you, Ayaka...?"
Outside, the cherry blossoms had stopped falling.