The apartment was quite
Only the ticking of the wall clock broke the silence — steady, patient, merciless.
On the far wall, the giant sketch of her face watched over the room.
Seven feet of pencil lines and shading — each stroke drawn with sleepless nights and unspoken words.
Under the soft yellow light, her eyes almost looked alive.
Too alive.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. A pen dangled loosely from his fingers. The sketchbook beside him was open, but the page was blank.
The girl in the drawing was smiling — a smile he no longer remembered the real version of.
Behind him, the sound of a kettle boiled softly.
Aki appeared from the kitchen, wearing his oversized hoodie, her dark hair tied in a loose knot.
She carried two cups of green tea and placed one beside him.
"You've been sitting there for an hour," she said softly. "Your tea will get cold again."
He didn't look up.
"Let it," he murmured. "Maybe it deserves rest too."
Aki sighed, sitting beside him. "You haven't drawn in days. Not even a sketch. That's not like you."
He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
"I used to draw because it made me feel alive.Now it just reminds me that I'm still breathing."
The words hung between them, heavy and fragile.
Aki looked at the sketch on the wall. "You loved her, didn't you?"
He hesitated. "I don't know what to call it now. Love… obsession… or just regret."
He finally turned to her. His voice lowered.
"Success feels like a punishment sometimes. You chase it so long that when you finally catch it… you realize it's the only thing left standing beside you."
Aki didn't answer. She just wrapped her arms around him quietly, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.
The silence felt warmer that way — two broken people pretending the world still had room for peace.
But the warmth didn't last.
His phone buzzed against the nightstand — a vibration that made his stomach tighten.
He reached for it lazily, still half in her arms.
The caller ID read "India – Unknown Number."
"Hello?"
Static. Then a distant voice.
"Sir… I'm sorry to inform you. There's been an accident."
The words hit like a slow knife.
He didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
The voice continued, each syllable colder than the one before.
"Your parents… they didn't make it."
The phone slipped from his hand, hitting the carpeted floor without sound.
Aki turned, eyes wide. "What happened?"
He didn't answer. He just looked at the floor — or maybe through it.
And then, quietly, he whispered:
"How much more will this world take from me?"
Aki's eyes softened. She pulled him close again, holding him tightly as if her warmth could stop time itself.
But his gaze drifted back to the giant sketch on the wall — the smiling face that no longer belonged to this world.
The city lights outside flickered against the window, reflecting in his tired eyes.
Tokyo looked so peaceful from up here.
So distant.
Two Days Later
A grey sky stretched over Narita Airport.
The MC stood beside Aki, both dressed in black.
The boarding announcement echoed in the background —
"Flight 309 to Kolkata, now boarding."
He looked out the glass wall one last time — at the city that made him a legend and broke him in return.
Aki took his hand. "You don't have to face this alone," she said softly.
He nodded, though his voice barely rose above a whisper.
"No one really faces the past alone. It always walks beside us."
They walked toward the gate together,
the hum of the engines filling the air,
as if the world itself was sighing.
And as the plane lifted into the clouds,
the sketch back in the apartment swayed slightly in the air-conditioning —
her paper smile trembling, as if it knew
he wouldn't return the same.
End of Chapter 2: The View from the Past