The morning sun filtered softly through my new apartment's window, laying golden streaks across the hardwood floor. I hadn't gotten curtains yet, but I didn't mind. The light was warm, gentle, like it was easing me into a new kind of life, one that still felt like it didn't quite belong to me.
I stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring a cup of instant coffee, staring out at the city skyline. The air felt different here. Cleaner. Not just literally, but emotionally, there were no memories here, no echo of harsh whispers in lecture halls or the sting of laughter aimed at my back. Just walls and space that I chose, that I paid for, that I owned.
It had been almost a month since the lottery win. Ten million yen. I still kept the scratch card in a drawer, creased, worn, but sacred. It wasn't just a ticket. It was the crack in the universe that let the light in.
I hadn't told many people about the money. Not really. My bullies, Kazuki and Ryo, had found out thanks to someone gossiping in class, and since then they'd tried everything from fake concern to sickly smiles in the hallway.
I ignored them.
But pretending they didn't exist didn't erase the damage they'd done. The truth was, even with the money, even with the apartment and the silence, I still felt haunted.
"Money doesn't fix everything," Miyu had said once, when we met for lunch last week. "But sometimes, it gives you the space to start fixing things yourself."
I believed her. I wanted to believe her.
The buzzer rang, an unfamiliar, shrill sound in my still-new home. I placed my coffee down and moved to the panel, pressing the intercom.
"Delivery," a voice said.
I buzzed them up, confused. I hadn't ordered anything.
Moments later, a knock. I opened the door to find a young woman holding a neatly wrapped box and a clipboard.
"Takeda Haruki?" she asked, eyes scanning a paper.
"Yes."
She handed over the package. "This is for you. No sender name, though. Just this card."
I thanked her, signed, and closed the door.
Sitting down at the small table near the window, I unwrapped the box. Inside was a carefully folded hoodie, gray, simple, but familiar.
My heart stuttered.
This was the same hoodie I'd lost months ago. Back when Kazuki had tossed my bag into a fountain near campus and laughed while I scrambled to recover it. I had assumed it was gone forever.
There was a card tucked into the fabric. I opened it slowly.
"I saw what happened that day. I wanted to give this back earlier, but I was scared. Congratulations on everything. – Rina."
I blinked. Rina.
The name echoed in my head. A quiet girl, always sitting near the back in lecture. Tall, serious, glasses always sliding down her nose. We'd never really spoken beyond a passing glance or two.
I didn't expect this.
I didn't expect to feel something so small shake something so big inside of me.
It wasn't just about the hoodie. It was about being seen.
I folded the note and set it gently on the table. For the first time in weeks, I felt the corners of my mouth lift into something honest. Not a grin. Not a laugh. Just a soft smile. The kind that came from the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't invisible.
That afternoon, I walked to campus with a strange lightness in my chest. No headphones. No slouched shoulders. I wasn't trying to disappear.
The lecture hall buzzed with its usual static of chatter and yawns. As I walked in, I noticed Kazuki watching me from the front row. His gaze clung to me like oil.
I ignored him.
Instead, I found Rina sitting alone near the middle. I took the empty seat beside her before my nerves could argue.
She glanced at me, startled, but didn't speak.
I cleared my throat. "Thank you… for the hoodie."
She blinked. "You read the card?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I didn't expect that. Or you."
She looked down, adjusting her glasses. "I saw what they did to you. A lot of us did. But no one said anything. I'm sorry for that."
Her voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. Sincerity.
"You said you were scared," I said. "So was I. All the time."
Rina gave a small, understanding nod. "But you didn't stay afraid. That's the difference."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. So instead, I asked, "Want to get coffee after this?"
She looked up, surprised. Then smiled. "Sure."
That word. That one small word carried the weight of a thousand rejections I'd faced before.
After class, we walked to a small café two blocks from campus. It wasn't fancy, but it was warm, filled with quiet music and the smell of cinnamon.
Over cups of coffee, we talked. About classes, about books, about how exhausting people could be. Rina didn't ask about the money. She didn't treat me like I'd changed.
She just treated me like me.
"You know," she said as we stepped out into the golden afternoon, "people don't really change because of money. They just get louder. If they were kind, they become kinder. If they were selfish, they get worse."
I glanced at her. "What do you think I became?"
"I don't know yet," she said. "But you asked me for coffee instead of ignoring me. So that's a good start."
It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't a compliment. It was real.
And I needed real.
That night, as I walked home through the dimming city streets, I realized something. This was the beginning of something else. Not a happy ending, not a perfect life, but a new chapter.
A chapter where I could choose the people around me.
A chapter where I didn't have to be the version of Haruki that shrank to fit inside other people's cruelty.
I arrived home and sat at my desk, the city lights blinking like lazy fireflies outside my window.
I opened my journal and wrote:
Entry #47: Today, I wore my old hoodie again. The same one I once thought I'd lost along with my dignity. But somehow, someone held onto it for me. Maybe some parts of us aren't really gone. Maybe they're just waiting to be returned.
I paused, then added:
I'm learning that healing doesn't come in lottery tickets or new furniture or pity smiles from old enemies. Healing comes in hot coffee and honest conversations. In seeing and being seen.
And with that, I closed the journal, turned off the lights, and let the quiet settle.
Outside, the city kept moving.
But for once, I wasn't afraid to move with it.