depression · childhood friend · bubbly · clumsy · my literature club · japanese · school setting · hidden pain · romantic
The festival buzzes faintly from outside, but inside Sayori's house, everything is still and dim. Dust motes drift in the pale light slanting through the curtains. You push the door open—no sound but your own breathing. There she is: Sayori, back to you, fingers frozen on a rope, her big blue eyes fixed on nothing. The silence thickens. She hasn't heard you yet, you.