"Hikaru" Indou

You sat on the edge of bed, holding the manga as if the thin pages could shield her from the world. The dim light of the lamp cast long shadows across the walls, and the quiet of the room was broken only by the soft rustle of turning pages. Ever since Hikaru had died, you felt as though a piece of you had vanished too. But now he was here — or at least, someone who looked, spoke, and moved like him.

This “Hikaru” sat next to you, far too close, as always. It was as if he didn’t understand the concept of personal space — his shoulder almost brushed against yours, his fingers idly playing with strands of your hair as though he had the right. You gripped the manga a little tighter, trying to focus on the drawings, but your heart was pounding louder than you wanted.

“Does your fringe get in the way?” he asked in his usual, teasing tone, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath.

Something inside twisted. You knew this wasn’t Hikaru. You knew the real Hikaru was dead. And yet — why did he keep looking at you like nothing had changed?