Chapter #4: Her picture
All content in this novel is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This story may include emotionally heavy or distressing themes. Reader discretion is advised.
The sun is already starting to dip by the time school lets out.
I walk with the crowd at first, letting the noise carry me a block away from the gates, before my feet drift toward the side street with the bookstore. The sign is faded, the windows cluttered with posters and handwritten recommendations, but I know the place by heart.
I hesitate only a second before going inside.
The bell above the door chimes softly. The air smells like paper and dust. It’s quiet in the way only bookstores are, where even footsteps feel polite.
I head straight for the manga section. Third bookstack, fourth shelf from the top.
There it is. The next volume of The Unemployed Detective Lady.
My fingers brush the cover. The familiar art and weight of it settle something in my chest that nothing else really does. It doesn’t ask anything from me. It doesn’t judge either.
I check the price out of habit, then head to the cashier. After paying, I move to the small reading area by the window.
The outside world fades the moment I open the first page.
Panels blur together. Dialogue pulls me forward. I don’t notice the light changing outside until my phone vibrates against the table.
Hiro:
Where R U man?
Mom’s not home yet but will be if you don’t get your ass home.
My fingers pause. I check the time.
Me:
I’m on my way.
Three dots appear, then disappear.
Hiro:
Dad made teriyaki chicken!!
I can almost see his grin.
Me:
Don’t even think about breathing near the food until I get there.
Hiro:
Wow. Threats already?
Me:
It’s a warning.
I slid the book into my bag and head for the door.
Outside, the air is cooler. Streetlights hum faintly as I walk, glancing at my phone one last time.
That’s when a black car rolls to a stop beside me. The window slides down.
“Mio.”
My mother’s eyes meet mine from behind the wheel.
“What are you doing on your phone while walking?” she asks. “That’s careless.”
“I’m sorry,” slipping it into my pocket.
She studies me for a moment, then gestures to the backseat. “Get in.”
The car smells like her perfume—clean, expensive, overwhelming. I sit straight, backpack against my knees, the seatbelt clicking into place.
“Hey mom why are we going to Miyama?” I ask quietly.
The car doesn’t slow. For a second, I thought she wouldn’t answer.
“Your grandmother fell very ill,” she says. “The doctors say she’s on her deathbed.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“She wants everyone there,” my mother continues.
My chest feels tight, but I don’t know what to say. By the time I find the words, the car is already pulling into our driveway. The engine cuts off.
Hiro opens the door before we reach it. “Hi, Mom. How’d everything go?”
“Fine,” she replies. “Dinner smells ready.”
From the kitchen, Dad calls, “Food’s on the table!”
I slip off my shoes. “I’m going upstairs to freshen up.”
In my room, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. Everything feels like it’s happening too fast.
“Mio, hurry up!” Hiro calls from downstairs.
“Yeah, I’m coming!”
I quickly stood up and headed for the bathroom to wash my face. I change my clothes and hurry downstairs.
At the table, mom says, “After school tomorrow, you and Hiro will go out. We need some supplies. And a small gift for your grandmother.”
She slides Dad’s credit card across the table.
I nod. “Okay.”
Hiro looks surprised, then shrugs. “Sure.”
Dinner passes in quiet fragments—plates clinking, small talk that doesn’t mean anything.
When I stand to wash my plate, my phone vibrates again.
This time, it’s Takumi.
I wipe my hands before unlocking the screen.
Takumi:
Hey, this is going to sound random, but are you busy?
Me:
No, why?
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Then a picture loads.
A yearbook page.
It takes a second for my eyes to understand what I’m looking at. A yearbook page. The paper is yellowed, edges frayed, the print slightly warped like it’s been scanned too many times. The class photo is neatly arranged. Rows of students in stiff, practiced poses.
Except something is wrong.
There are gaps between them. Awkward, empty spaces where someone should be standing.
Another photo follows.
A different group. Same problem. Arms resting on shoulders that aren’t there. Hands hanging midair. Students leaning inward, like someone was cropped out.
My fingers tighten around the phone.
Takumi:
I was helping the librarian clean out old shelves.
This was in a box that wasn’t catalogued.
Doesn’t this look… weird?
I don’t answer.
I zoom in on the photo.
Between two faces near the center is a faint distortion—like someone was erased.
Takumi:
Mio… I swear there was supposed to be someone standing there.
I lower the phone slowly.
Somewhere down the hall, my mother’s voice drifts. Plates clink at the table.
The dream flashes through my mind—the voice that always feels just out of reach.
And for the first time, a thought begins to take shape.
Maybe the dreams aren’t memories. Maybe they’re—
A plate clatters loudly in the sink.
“Mio, if you’re done, bring your cup over,” my mother calls. I blink, the thought slipping away before I could catch it.
My screen goes dark as I lock my phone. For a moment, the reflection staring back at me looks like it’s about to remember something.
But it doesn’t.
