The next morning, Ms. Aiko was already at work.
The house was quite—too quite.
Only Ren was there.
He woke with a dull headache pressing against his skull, the pain blooming slowly as if it had been waiting for him. His body felt heavy, feverish, and weak. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Empty.
He knew Ms. Aiko wouldn't be back until late. On mornings like this, the silence felt louder than any noise. Sometimes, he wondered if this was all the world had left for him.
And then the thoughts came back again.
The memories that never truly left.
Ren remembered the sound of the road first.
The low hum of tires against asphalt. His mother humming softly along with the radio. His father's hand steady on the steering wheel—one eye on the road, the other occasionally meeting Ren's gaze through the rearview mirror.
It was normal. Too normal.
Then—headlights.
Too close. Too fast.
A car swerved into their lane, moving wrong. Unsteady. Reckless. As if the person behind the wheel had already lost control.
"Hold on—"
The words barely lift his father's mouth before the world lurched.
Metal screamed.
The care slid, flipped—weightless for a heartbeat before crashing back down again and again. Ren couldn't tell where the sky ended and the road began. His ears rang. His chest tightened.
He tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Then—darkness.
–
Silence didn't last.
It was replaced by pain. A slow, throbbing ache that dragged him back into his body
Ren stirred.
Lights burned his eyelids. Something beeped nearby. The air smelled clean—too clean.
"Easy," a woman's voice said gently. "You're safe."
His eyes opened, unfocused. Tears slipped down his temples before he even understood why.
"I'm right here," the voice continued, warm and steady. "My name is Aiko."
That was the first thing Ren remembered
after losing everything.
Ms. Aiko watched him for a moment before speaking again.
"Do you remember anything?" she asked gently. "Your name... your parents...?"
Before she could say more, Ren's voice cut in—soft, almost afraid.
"Where are they?"
The room went still.
Ms. Aiko hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the bed. She took a breath.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly "You were the only survivor."
The words didn't register at first.
Only survivor.
He stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Waiting for her to say she was wrong. Waiting for someone to laugh and tell him it was a mistake.
But nothing came.
His chest felt hollow, like something had been carved out of him. He pressed his fingers into the bedsheet, gripping it tightly, as if that could keep him from falling apart.
"Oh," he murmured.
That was all he said.
His head began to ache again, sharper this time. Images flickered behind his eyes—headlights, shattered glass, a voice calling his name—
Ren squeezed his eyes shut.
"I... can't remember them," he whispered, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I know they were there. I know they mattered. But I can't see their faces."
Something warm slid down his cheek.
"I don't even know what i lost."
Ms. Aiko reached for his hand, holding it gently.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
Ren didn't answer.
He just stared at the ceiling, wondering how someone could lose everything—and not even remember how it felt.
Ms. Aiko spoke again, her voice gentle.
"Someone asked about you today," she said softly. "A student from your school."
Ren frowned slightly.
"Who...?" He asked, confusion threading through his voice. "Did I know them?"
Ms. Aiko hesitated, her gaze dropping for just a moment.
"...I think so."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Ren looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slowly against the blanket. His chest tightened, a dull pressure spreading through him for reasons he couldn't explain.
"I don't remember," he muttered. "But it feels like i should."
Ms. Aiko watched him carefully, worry clear in her eyes. After a moment, she reached out and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.
"You shouldn't rest," she said softly. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."
Ren nodded faintly.
She paused at the door, glancing back at him once more, as if she wanted to say something else—but didn't. Then she quietly stepped out, the door closing with a soft click behind her.
The room fell silent again.
Ren lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
There was someone out there—someone he had forgotten.
And somehow, that scared him more than losing his memories ever had.