The photo stared back at her.
Yuki's hands trembled. Her phone slipped onto the bedsheet, her heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted to escape.
A photo of her… now.
Taken from somewhere inside the room.
She froze.
Then slowly looked around.
The curtains fluttered lightly in the breeze. The door was shut. Her desk lamp was still on, casting a soft glow over her notebooks and tea mug.
But the shadows in the corner seemed just a little too deep tonight.
She ran to Ren's room.
Banged on the door.
"Ren! Ren—open up, please!"
The door flew open, and he was there—shirt wrinkled, eyes groggy, but instantly alert the moment he saw her face.
"What happened?"
She shoved the phone toward him. "Someone just sent me this."
Ren stared at the image. His jaw tightened.
Without a word, he grabbed a flashlight, pulled on his jacket, and led her through the house. They checked every door, every window, every closet. Nothing. No footprints. No signs of forced entry. Just that chilling message and that single, perfect photo.
Back in the kitchen, Yuki sat down, hugging her knees.
"Ren… what if this isn't just someone playing a prank? What if someone's been watching me since the day I moved back?"
He crouched in front of her, his eyes fierce. "Then we're going to find out who. I promise."
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
The fear softened, replaced by something quieter—older. The kind of connection that doesn't vanish with time.
"You haven't changed much," she said softly.
"You have," he replied, with a small smile. "You used to bite your sleeves when you were nervous. Now you just… start wars with frying pans."
She laughed despite herself.
Then fell quiet.
"Why did you really come back, Ren?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he sat beside her, reaching into his coat pocket.
He pulled out… a letter.
Not one of hers.
But one with her name on it.
In her grandmother's handwriting.
Yuki blinked. "Wait… what is that?"
"She gave it to me before she passed," Ren said quietly. "Told me to give it to you. Said it would make sense when the time was right."
Her fingers shook as she took the envelope and slowly unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was shaky but full of warmth:
"My dear Yuki,
If you're reading this, it means Ren came back. I always believed he would. Because some people are tied by something stronger than chance.
There are things I never told you. About the lighthouse. About the letters. About your past.
Follow the key I've left for you. It unlocks the room your parents sealed years ago. The truth waits there.
I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. Some things must unfold on their own.
—With love, Grandma"
Yuki stared at the paper.
"What… room?"
Ren reached into the envelope again.
There it was.
A small, rusted key.
"I think we're about to find out," he said.
They walked down the hallway to the farthest door—one that had always been locked, dusty, forgotten. Yuki had never even thought to question it.
She slid the key in.
It turned with a click.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the air smelled like time and memories. Dust floated in the glow of Ren's flashlight.
Books. Paintings. Shelves of tapes. A table. A mirror—
And a wall covered in letters.
Hundreds of them.
Every one addressed to Yuki.
Some handwritten.
Some typed.
Some even torn.
All with one thing in common.
None were from Ren.
Yuki stepped closer.
Then her eyes widened.
At the center of the wall was a picture.
Not of her.
Of a young man.
And scribbled underneath:
"He was never supposed to find her."
To Be Continued…