chapter:
The Girl "Metaphor of the sea " herself.
The sea never forgets where it's been.
Even after storms pass and the waves calm, the ocean still holds every whisper of pain beneath its shimmering surface. Like a diary written in ripples, carrying secrets to the shore with every tide , gentle, constant, unseen.
Just like that sea…
She too, remembered everything.
Her name was Mikasa Aoyama, the girl we're going to follow from this chapter on. A sixteen-year-old schoolgirl with quiet footsteps, soft eyes, and a heart that once bloomed like spring.
But now,
She was a season paused midway.
Neither winter nor spring.
Not frozen, but not alive.
You would find her each morning in Classroom 2-B, always in the same seat by the window, always early. She didn't speak. She didn't raise her hand. She didn't ask for help, nor did she ever seem to need it.
People noticed her.
but only as an outline. Like the faint scent of a flower pressed between the pages of an old book.
They called her many things behind her back:
"The ghost of Hinokawa High."
"The silent girl."
"Broken."
But no one really knew Mikasa Aoyama.
They only knew the silence she wrapped around herself like a second skin.
The sky outside was pale and overcast, and a fine mist still lingered from the early morning rain. Water droplets clung to the cherry blossom branches outside like tiny tears that nature hadn't wiped away yet.
Inside the classroom, it smelled of damp sweaters, wet floors, and chalk dust.
And in the middle of it all sat Mikasa, her fingers moving gently across her sketchbook, as if afraid to disturb the page.
She wasn't drawing anything special.
Just a girl standing on a beach, holding her shoes in one hand and watching the sea.
The girl's face was unfinished.
like every face Mikasa drew lately.
When the classroom filled with students, the noise arrived like a wave crashing over stillness. Chairs dragged. Backpacks hit the floor. Laughter cut through the air in uneven lines.
Someone leaned closer and whispered,
"She still doesn't talk?"
"I heard she went into shock after… you know…"
"Shh! What if she hears us?"
Of course she heard them.
She always did.
But Mikasa didn't react.
She hadn't spoken in over 218 days, and no one knew if she ever would again.
That morning, something different happened.
The homeroom teacher walked in, hair damp from the rain, glasses fogged.
"Everyone, we've got a new student transferring in today. Be kind."
The classroom hushed.
Then the door slid open, and in stepped Haruto Kisaragi.
He looked ordinary. Calm.
His uniform wasn't ironed perfectly. His shoes were a little scuffed. And his eyes? They looked like they were used to seeing things that didn't make sense.
"I'm Haruto," he said. "Nice to meet you."
No long introductions. No fake smile.
He just looked around the room like he was searching for something.
Then his gaze landed on Mikasa.
And lingered.
He was told to sit in the empty seat next to her.
As he passed, his school bag lightly bumped her desk. Something small clinked.
Mikasa saw a cracked marble tied to the zipper of his bag with a red string. For some reason, that marble stirred a flicker of memory she couldn't place.
A voice.
A promise.
A red thread, they said, connects the ones meant to meet.
But that couldn't mean anything… right?
As class began, Mikasa focused on her sketchbook, trying to push the strange feeling down. But Haruto didn't open his books like the others. He opened a notebook—black, worn—and began writing quietly. Not notes. Symbols. Shapes. Circles, feathers, numbers. It didn't make sense.
Then, without saying a word, he slipped a folded piece of paper onto her desk.
Her fingers hesitated.
She opened it.
Just three words, written in neat ink:
"Can you hear?"
Her heart skipped.
It wasn't fear.
It was something else like the sea stirring after a long stillness.
She looked toward him, startled.
But Haruto was already staring out the window, as if he hadn't done anything at all.
That morning, for the first time in months, something stirred inside Mikasa.
A ripple across still water.
A petal caught in a breeze.
Not loud, not certain
But enough.
Enough to begin a story.
Enough to crack open the shell she'd been hiding in.
The sea, after all, never forgets.
And Mikasa Aoyama
Was beginning to remember what it felt like to feel the wind again.
[End of Chapter 1]