The sun was going down.
Its light filtered weakly through the hospital window, painting the walls with fading shades of orange and red. Shadows grew longer, stretching across the room like ghostly fingers.
Anari sat beside him.
Her hands were clasped together, knuckles white from pressure. Her eyes were hollow—staring, but not seeing. She hadn't moved for hours. Food had been brought to her, warm bowls and soft bread left by the bedside. Asahi's mother had tried to convince her.
"Anari… you can go now," his father murmured gently from the doorway. His voice was low, tired.
His mother stepped in beside him, eyes soft with concern. "Yeah… it's already late…"
Anari didn't even look up. Her eyes stayed locked on Asahi. "No," she replied, her voice cracked and weary. Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. They clung to her lashes, shimmering with hopelessness.
His mother stepped forward. "I... I can understand—"
But the father raised his hand, touching his wife's shoulder gently. "It's fine," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. His eyes flickered to Anari. He saw the way her hands trembled slightly as they rested on her knees. "Anari… you haven't eaten anything since the afternoon…"
His voice broke on the last word—dark, unsteady.
Anari managed a smile—a small, broken thing that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not hungry," she whispered. Her lips quivered. Her hands squeezed tighter. "I'm fine."
The father's eyes glimmered with something raw and unspoken. He glanced at his son, lying motionless on the bed—pale, lifeless, yet breathing. His heart twisted painfully. Asahi… my son…
His mother stepped forward again, her voice softer this time. "There's a bed nearby, Anari. You can sleep there if you want…"
Anari just shook her head, still smiling that same hollow smile.
The father placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and nodded toward the door. Without another word, they stepped back, pausing only to glance at Anari one last time.
His mother smiled faintly, eyes brimming with gratitude. "Thank you… for everything."
A tear slipped from Anari's eye before she could stop it. She wiped it quickly with the back of her hand and forced the smile back on her face.
The door closed.
The room fell silent again.
Anari leaned back in the chair, her hands resting on her lap. Her eyes were dull, drained of light. Hollow. Dead.
But still… she stayed.
Still… she waited.
And she kept talking.
Her voice filled the silence—not loud, not soft, just… there. A whisper against the quiet. A murmur of memories and nonsense. Even she didn't understand what she was saying anymore. Words just spilled out, fragments of memories, pieces of stories… anything to keep him company.
Time passed.
The sun slipped below the horizon, and darkness crept into the room.
The clock ticked.
9:30 PM.
Anari was still there, sitting in that chair, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes locked on Asahi's face.
"Asahi…" she whispered, her voice soft. Her lips curled into a smile—sad and broken. "And then… you wake up…"
The room was silent.
"You know… you were so dumb back then…" she continued, her voice shaking with the memory. "When you were smaller… dumber than me, I guess…"
Silence.
"Asahi… when you wake up…" her voice cracked, but she pushed through, her hands gripping her skirt. "I don't know when…" She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Even if it's days… weeks… months…"
Her eyes grew glassy, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away. She just let them fall.
"Even if it's a year," she whispered, her breath shaking. "I will wait. I'll be here… right next to you… until you're not afraid anymore."
Her hands reached forward, gently brushing his cold fingers. She flinched at the chill, but she didn't pull back. Her fingers entwined with his, holding him softly.
"And when you wake up…" she whispered, her voice so low it barely reached the corners of the room. "I'll give you a surprise."
She smiled. A genuine one this time—small, delicate, like it might shatter at any moment. But it was real.
Her fingers clutched his hand tighter.
Her eyes stared at his lifeless form with a determination that refused to break.
Because even if he couldn't hear her…
Even if he couldn't see her…
She was there.
And she would wait.
Time passed.
The hospital room was silent.
Too silent.
The clock on the wall ticked away, its hands moving in slow, agonizing circles. The only sound was the hum of the machines, the rhythmic pulse of life that kept Asahi tethered to this world.
Anari sat beside him, unmoving.
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on Asahi's face.
Her eyes were hollow—devoid of light, reflecting only the emptiness that filled the room.
11:50 PM.
The walls seemed to close in. The air grew heavier, suffocating.
Anari stared ahead, her gaze locked on him, unblinking.
The lights were dim, flickering faintly as if the world itself was losing hope.
The room was quiet.
Dead silent.
She didn't look away.
Not once.
Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, but she didn't move.
Just… watched.
Just… waited.
11:55 PM.
The clock ticked.
Its hands dragged forward with an unforgiving patience.
The room remained still—untouched by time, untouched by hope.
Anari blinked slowly, her breath coming out in shallow whispers.
Her eyes drifted to the clock.
The seconds ticked away, uncaring.
Relentless.
Nothing happened.
The light remained dim.
The room remained hopeless.
She remained hollow.
Her eyes returned to Asahi.
Still, lifeless, unmoving.
11:57 PM.
The world held its breath.
Anari did too.
Her fingers gripped her skirt tightly.
The lights flickered slightly, casting shadows that stretched and danced along the walls.
Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, searching for any movement—any flicker of life.
But there was nothing.
11:58 PM.
Suddenly, she stood up.
Her legs wobbled slightly from hours of sitting still, but she didn't hesitate.
Her eyes were glassy, drained of light, drained of hope.
She moved towards him—each step slow, deliberate.
Asahi lay there, hollow.
Suffering alone.
Trapped in a silence that no one could touch.
Anari knelt beside the bed, her eyes locked onto his face.
Her breath shook. Her fingers reached out, brushing his cheek with the gentleness of a whisper.
Her lips trembled.
"You're suffering a lot, Asahi…" she whispered, her voice cracking, splintering into a thousand pieces.
Tears slipped from her eyes, falling silently onto the white sheets.
"He's suffering… alone…" she murmured, voice shaking.
Her hand brushed against his cold cheek.
"All alone… hopeless…"
11:59 PM.
Anari sat on the edge of the bed.
Her gaze was locked onto him, unmoving.
Her hands reached out, touching his face—softly, gently.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she didn't blink them away.
She leaned forward.
Asahi began to twitch—his head jerking to the right, his body shivering.
The white substance bubbled from his mouth, spilling out slowly, staining the corners of his lips.
But she didn't stop.
Her eyes grew softer. Her breath steadied.
She leaned in closer—her forehead touching his.
His convulsions stopped.
The white substance dripped silently, but his body grew still.
Anari didn't pull away.
Their faces were so close their noses almost touched.
Her breath mingled with his—a whisper against his lips.
Her eyes closed.
Her lips trembled.
She leaned in—slowly, gently.
The room was dead silent.
Only the ticking of the clock echoed in the silence.
Closer…
Closer…
12:00 AM.
The clock struck midnight.
—DAY RESET.
—
The light poured in through the window.
Sunlight spilled across the floor, creeping up the walls.
The curtains fluttered slightly with the morning breeze.
Asahi lay in his bed.
His room was untouched—quiet, still.
The clock on his wall read 8:30 AM.
He twitched.
His head jerked slightly to the right.
His eyes fluttered open—blank, hollow, unseeing.
His breath came out in shallow whispers.
He lay there… unmoving.
Hopeless.
Suffering.
His hand trembled slightly against the sheets. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above him.
And in that moment—he knew.
He knew the day had reset.
Again.
Asahi's breath came out ragged.
His body lay there—still, unchanging, lifeless.
His eyes stared up, unblinking.
Unfeeling.