Souta lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The world outside carried on, oblivious to the weight pressing down on his chest. The same ceiling, the same room, the same life. Nothing had changed.

  Except for the voice.

  It had spoken to him that night on the rooftop, but since then—silence. As if it had only existed in that moment, only long enough to keep him from taking that final step.

  Maybe that was all it had been. A delusion. A desperate trick of the mind.

  But then why did the silence feel heavier than before?

  ---

  Sixteen Years of Loneliness

  Days passed. Souta moved through them as he always had—like a ghost in his own life. School was the same blur of faces that never turned his way. Home was an empty space filled with voices that spoke around him, never to him.

  The loneliness wasn’t new. It had been carved into him for years.

  He remembered being seven, sitting alone in class while the other kids ran outside to play.

  He remembered being ten, standing outside in the rain, waiting for a mother who had forgotten to pick him up.

  He remembered being twelve, hearing his name whispered in the hallway, followed by laughter.

  And then he remembered sixteen—standing on the edge of that rooftop, wondering if it would all finally stop.

  It didn’t.

  Because he was still here. And he didn’t know why.

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  ---

  Drowning in Silence

  Souta had stopped expecting kindness a long time ago. The world didn’t offer it freely. People only cared when it was convenient.

  He had learned that lesson well.

  A teacher once told him, "You should speak up more."

  A classmate once said, "You should try to fit in."

  But no one ever asked why he was quiet. No one ever wondered why he never spoke. They only saw the silence, not the weight behind it.

  And now, even the voice—the one thing that had broken through that silence—was gone.

  Had it abandoned him too?

  ---

  The Moment It Returned

  It happened on a night like any other. Souta sat at his desk, an open textbook in front of him. He hadn’t turned the page in an hour. His thoughts were too loud, and yet, they led nowhere.

  Then, out of nowhere—

  "You’re wasting time."

  Souta’s breath caught.

  The voice.

  It was there again, as if it had never left. Calm. Unshaken. A presence that had no weight, yet felt heavier than anything else in the room.

  He swallowed. "Where… where have you been?"

  No answer.

  Of course. It only spoke when it wanted to. When it needed to.

  And right now, it needed to say that. That simple, cutting truth.

  "You’re wasting time."

  Souta looked down at his hands. He had spent days drowning in old wounds, in the past, in the silence.

  The voice hadn’t spoken because there had been nothing to say.

  But now, when he was on the verge of sinking again—

  It had reminded him of the one thing he had never been taught.

  That his time mattered.

  That he mattered.

  Even if he didn’t believe it yet.